THE VARSITY

I came to my oncology doctor by accident--a scribbled list from the surgeon. At my first appointment, another patient sat down beside me, looked at my papers, and exclaimed:  You got the GOOD doctor.  She was right.

He started to tell me all the possible medicines for my DCIS.  I admit I interruped to say I was interested in Tamoxifen (after a lot of reading and a friend's bad time with the regular regime.) 

We got along (he used a real stethoscope).   Away I went with my prescription.

Things were fine.  Or at first they seemed fine.  I sometimes felt confused or forgot something.  I missed several visits to the physical therapist (I had moved here after spine surgery.) I didn't always know what to do next.  Programs I had used at work seemed harder.

I was afraid to tell anyone, because at my age, they might drag me off to one of the "dementia doctors" who were all over the place.

At my next appointment (which I managed to get to on the right day)  I told him my troubles.  He picked up a pen and cut my prescription in half.  Told me it used to be the standard amount.  Then they doubled it. 
"Nobody complained."

I assured him they never complained because they couldn't even find his office on the bigger dose.  He laughed. 

He feels like a friend, and for me, that counts.  Counts BiG.