On Friday I went back in for a follow-up with Dr. Lungs. Again, my friend Spawn of Doctors accompanied me and I’m sure – due to our old-married-couple behaviour at the best of times and the fact that she has accompanied me on all my visits to his office — he by now thinks we’re a particularly chic, yet closeted, lesbian couple. I’m fine with that – I think it ups my hip factor and makes us all feel like we’re on an episode of The L Word – which in this case could stand for “Leanne” or even “Lungs.” Cooool.
This is not the point of this post, of course. The point is Dr.Lungs was his usual fantastic self and balanced the facts + humane-ness of perfect bedside manner superlatively, once again. When I asked how bad this cough could get and what to expect, he said reassuring and confident things like “I am not convinced that the metastatic spots in your lungs are causing your cough.” This I took to be kind of a bold stance; “Eff you cancer, you’re not going to stare down this respirologist!” No, siree, this good man is not slacking off and leaving it to the chemo to take care of my cough — he is still looking at kicking its butt and preventing it from becoming yet another discomfort, another cancer reminder for me.
Which basically means I left with some weird nasal stuff to squirt up my nose, as Dr. Lungs thinks it might just stop the coughing. Or maybe not, but either way we’ve got another recruit for my army! Welcome aboard, Dr. Lungs, thanks for the nose squirty stuff and the determination.