Angela Wright said:Wouldn't he actually gain more credibility in my eyes if he were just honest about the uncertainty? After all, doctors are human beings first and scientists second, and even the most brilliant minds have to face the fact that so many things remain mysteries to us all! To me, he is primarily a man before he is a physician, and since he certainly isn't God, how could he possibly claim the divine authority required to issue a definitive prognosis like "you only have one year left"? Whether one approaches life through faith or science, shouldn't we leave the ultimate turn of events to God or the unpredictable forces of nature? As a true professional, wouldn't it be much more dignified to refrain from such bold predictions and instead offer us meaningful insights based on the actual statistics?
What does it actually mean to be "realistic"? Is it simply clinging to credibility by obsessively clutching at statistics and insisting that a situation is utterly hopeless? If that were the case, then what is the point of medicine or doctors in the first place, given that we are all destined to pass away eventually, objectively speaking? Miracles—whether medical or otherwise—don't just happen in some distant parallel universe; they occur right here, every single day, in our actual reality! Perhaps they don't happen nearly as often as we might wish them to, but they certainly do exist! You, me, my mother, every one of us deserves the right to believe in that possibility without having someone swoop in immediately to nip that faith in the bud, don't you think? Hope should always be the very last thing to die.
What are the actual odds of someone plummeting from 4,500 meters without a parachute and walking away with nothing more than some broken ribs and a fractured leg? Is that just a pure medical anomaly, or could we be looking at a genuine miracle from God? And honestly, do you even think that person cares about the "how" anymore? He’s finally back among us, isn't he! Isn't it just wonderful news?
It seems I was mistaken once again when I suspected something was amiss with our oncologist—just as I previously felt that same unsettling intuition regarding the neurosurgeon! Isn't it fascinating how we can fall prey to that unmistakable "God complex" so often? I actually reached the point where I started questioning my own perception, wondering if perhaps my expectations were simply too high, because I constantly feel as though she—and he did this once as well—is playing God with everyone else's lives. Am I just a mere mortal caught in the middle while she holds my mother’s life entirely in her hands, only to ultimately decide its fate with phrases like, "I'm not quite sure," or "I need to consult with the team first"?
When I read that other patients have gone through similar experiences, I can't help but feel that the medical staff isn't quite handling things the right way. Is it really appropriate for them to maintain such a cheerful, upbeat demeanor while delivering life-altering prognoses? Personally, I find myself staying silent when faced with those kinds of attempts at optimism, because isn't it true that only God should decide our ultimate fate rather than a group of doctors? I also find myself struggling deeply with the decisions being made within the oncologist's domain. At the start, I was told there would be 21 radiation sessions, then suddenly it shifted to 25, and now, just when I thought I understood, she tells me it will be 30! Why wasn't I given the full picture from the beginning? It’s so incredibly confusing. Then, there was the matter of the MRI; she initially mentioned needing it 30 days after radiation, though she expressed doubt we could even get an appointment given the six-month waiting lists. After we went through all the trouble of using connections to secure a slot just four weeks after treatment, she suddenly informs me that three weeks is actually the requirement! Surely she knew this much earlier, didn't she? Well, we will simply try our best to get everything finalized.
When we first sat down for the radiation consultation, she told me quite confidently that chemotherapy wouldn't even be necessary! But then, just a few days ago, she comes back to me with this rather peculiar little smile and says, "Of course you're going to need it." Well, I didn't blink; I simply told her that the cost wasn't the issue—just give me the names of the medications so I can start tracking them down. She pulled out a list of three drugs—CCNU, Procarbazine, and Vincristine—and mentioned they would run about $350. I assured her immediately that money was no object and that I’d get right on it, especially since these aren't things you just pick up at a local CVS but have to order specifically. I actually called around later to check prices, and while they ended up being more than double what she claimed, that isn't really the point here, is it? The real kicker was when I told her the expense was fine, only for her to suddenly pivot and claim she wasn't actually sure if she would even prescribe the chemo yet—almost as if she couldn't decide if it made sense until after the MRI results were in! I just sat there in silence. And then came the final blow: after all that hesitation, she suggests that while she still needs to "think about it" or "consult with colleagues," she actually thinks a different option would be better. She started recommending Temodal, which is an incredible drug, but one we absolutely cannot get covered by our insurance for this specific diagnosis. It costs roughly $15,000! She looked at me with this expression, almost as if she were waiting for me to admit we couldn't afford it so she could politely, but firmly, dismiss us from her office forever... Can you believe the audacity? I was honestly too stunned to say anything during that ten-minute encounter, but I've finally processed the sheer absurdity of the conversation and have started calling around to pharmacies to get some real answers.
But isn't the real question just so vital—how can someone who appears to have absolutely no clue about what they actually need, which dosages are required, when to start, or how long the treatment should last, and who acts like they couldn't care less about any of it, make decisions entirely on an ad hoc basis? How am I supposed to find the strength to trust them or know how to act in the end, especially when seeking a second opinion from another oncologist feels like walking straight into a lion's den where they might all turn on me at once? I truly don't know what to do...