You Know You've Been to the Oncologist Too Many Times When...

Kevin Berry

I’ve been doing the cancer thing for over 12 years now. I’m treated at a local “neighborhood” onco, as well as at our disease’s version of the “big box” store, a cancer megaplex about three hours away. These places have become second homes to me. The other day, in my pre-med haze (sleepy on antihistamine, buzzed on steroid and detached on nausea med) I realized just how much time I’ve spent in these places. Aided by the chemical creativity enhancers, I came up with own version of the classic “you know you’ve …” routine.

You know when you’ve been at the oncologist too many times, when:

- You walk in and the entire staff yells your name, al la “Norm” of Cheers fame
- The operator at the mega center recognizes your voice and phone number
- You get torqued off when someone has “your” chemo chair, out of the 24 available
- The nurses have your birthday, including the year, memorized
- The doctor opens your chart and says, “Wow! I’ve never seen anyone who’s had THAT much Rituxan!"
- A new doc asks for your medical history, and runs out of paper making notes
- You got to a walk-in clinic, the doc asks for your medical history, you sigh, and say, “buckle your seat belt."
- You are correcting nurse’s pronunciations of your meds, even the chemical formulas
- Former employees are asking you for the latest office gossip
- You are in charge of the book shelves, even though there are volunteers available
- They ask your opinion when redecorating the office
- The doctor is more interested in your job and family than talking about your disease
- You are telling the research docs about published papers they haven’t heard of yet

And, best of all:

An attractive woman says, “Drop your pants, I want to feel your groin.” And your wife just goes on reading her book!
Besides the other wonderful blogs on, I hope you'll also visit my Taking Vienna site. That’s where I talk in a much more personal way about my battle, my family and friends and other random and odd musings.
Print | cure Printing...