They Missed My Diagnosis

I try to keep my spirits up by laughing about my situation. I like to joke about how cancer is going to finally take care of my weight problem, and without having to do a minute of exercise! I tell people that I’ve done enough damage on this planet so I’m getting called back home early like a kid who causes too many problems at the playground.

I like to make those jokes so others don’t worry, but I’m, of course, terrified. The diagnosis isn’t great. At least the diagnosis is right now (more on that in a minute), but it isn’t as rosy as too much stomach acid like it was before. I spend my nights reading up on what each stage of cancer means and how bad my chances are. Then, I try to think up new ways to laugh off that look I keep getting from everyone that I tell.

What is worse than the fear, which is what everyone has, I suppose, once they get this diagnosis, is the anger. My chances would be so much better if they’d caught this earlier if they’d just gone and looked.

What makes this particularly upsetting is that I just found out during my hours of evening research, that my misdiagnosis should count as medical malpractice. Apparently, just brushing someone’s stomach pain off as a stomach acid issue and giving a useless prescription can get you sued. Maybe I ought to do it, just to see that doctor’s face. I don’t know if I have time to make him pay, but if it keeps him up at night, I’d feel pretty justified in the whole encounter.

But who am I kidding? I’m starting treatment tomorrow and I likely won’t have the energy to fight such a case. Still, it’s infuriating.

The fact is, I wouldn’t even know the diagnosis was wrong if I hadn’t chosen, seemingly at random, to switch doctors and get a second opinion. I just had a feeling that my doctor wasn’t being thorough with me. Looks like my intuition was right, much good it’s going to do me now.

So, ahead of me is a long slog to try to beat the odds on this thing. I think anger probably won’t help any, so I’m going to try and be the bigger person and simply forgive the devastating oversight made by my former doctor and move on. I’m writing this as a bit of therapy, to just get it out so I can move on and focus on myself. I’m what matters right now. After all, people do survive this, and I intend to be in that minority who make. I may say it to others, but I haven’t been the bad kid on the playground who should get called home early. I’ve been pretty good in my life, and I want to stay out and play as long as the other kids. I hope I get the chance.