I just heard from my ass-cancer doctor that he's retiring from the medical profession effective today. He sent me a message on Facebook. And I thought finding out you have cancer via a phone call was odd. Oh, the world we live in!
I'm kind of shocked in a weird way. I had heard that he'd been having some issues that were impacting his work but I kind of didn't want to believe it. I can't really imagine a more stressful profession. If I screw something up at work or if I'm having a crap day, nobody dies. I mean, that's gotta take a toll on a person. Not to mention that you also have to run a business, deal with insurance companies (enough to make a person want to slit their wrists in and of itself), and sacrifice your family for lots of early morning rounds and emergency late night or weekend surgeries. So I get it. I really do. But this guy literally save my ass...and my life. The other doctors I met with at the Huntsman Cancer Institute wanted to do full-on surgery that would result in a colostomy bag - no other options. Period. That, to me, was a pretty close second to death. Dramatic, I know, but there you go. How do you waterski with one of those?! Ick.
Dr. E was the only one who had a good option. He would take out my bowels and some intestines and kind of re-create them with this thing he called a j-pouch. I'm sure there's some more technical name but that's the name I can remember. Considering how low the tumor was and our inability to stage it without risking the bag, this was my best option. A little surgery, some chemo and radiation and it should be alright. It was aggressive and radical, sure, but it sounded a hell of a lot better to me than the alternative. He had to go through a huge debate with the cancer board (yeah, who knew that when your doctor sets a treatment plan for you, he also discusses it with a bunch of other doctors to get their buy in) but I'm here to tell that ten years later, it was the right choice for me. I may have to dart out of a meeting sometimes and Imodium is a dear friend but it all works. The scars on my stomach have faded a bit but my memories of his passion and commitment, his occasional remarks about how much I reminded him of his sister who was my age, and his energy have not.
So I can't decide if I'm sorry to hear that he's leaving the profession because he's done with the politics and the system. I'm not even sure what that means exactly. Or if I'm happy that he's doing something that makes him happy. I feel so lucky that he was my doctor and miracle worker. His message on Facebook said that he appreciates being able to see our happy life and cute kids because it reminds him of why he was in medicine. He said "enjoy the wonderful life that God gave you." Whatever! I enjoy the wonderful life that YOU and God gave me every day. You saved my ass (literally!) and my life. You made it possible for me to get married and celebrate 10 wonderful years with an amazing man. You made it possible for me to stay healthy and have these two beautiful, precious children. You made it possible for me to run, and swim, and golf, and ski, and wakeboard, and travel, and write and...be. Sure, me and God and the family and friends, and a little-slash-whole-lotta luck may have been part of the equation too but I will always thank you and treasure you for the gift you gave me.
Dr. E is a part of our life in a very special way and I hope and pray that his choice is the right one and that it leads him to success and happiness. I think he deserves at least that. And hopefully some other miracle worker is picking up where he left off!
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