Goodbye to Tamoxifen

I perceived a subtle change in Dr RAM. She is no longer the burst of sunshine that she once was. What had happened between then and now only she alone knew. She had that look in her eyes which bore some semblance to those embroiled in political polarization. I don't know. It's just a fleeting feeling.

The doctors at the Gastroenterology Clinic had, in their report suspected Tamoxifen to be the cause of my elevated liver enzyme. As such, they had recommended a change in treatment. Tamoxifen had been dropped and a new drug introduced, Arimidex. This is a non-steroidal aromatase inhibitor (whatever that meant) which costs about an arm and a leg. Arimidex is also known to increase osteoporosis and worsen the arthritic condition in some patients. (I suspected that my stiff finger joints were arthritic although good ole Dr Choo opined that they were caused by over-work.) I am now scheduled for a Bone Mineral Density Scan next month. At the moment I have no idea what that meant but by next month I should be able to give a full account.

I could not help feeling a tad depressed with this new development. With all the tests on my list, and all the medications, I wondered if in the end, I survived this to die of something else.

Brooding and deep in unsavory thoughts, I stepped into a waiting cab. The driver was especially chatty this morning. He executed a cheery monologue about the colossal profits collected by the farmers on the FELDA scheme. He wasn't bothered by my silence but went on to talk about a motorcycle on the road which burst into flames due to some illegal wiring. "You can't beat the insurance company," he said. "They dig in deep and are very thorough in their investigation."

Bread and butter issues, I thought ,as my eyes swept through the interior of the car. The seat covers were worn thin and bare. Stain marks on the car's ceiling suggested a humid past. Marks left by water (or was it blood?) was visible. The man was dark in complexion. Thin hands grabbed the steering wheels in an unusual manner. The picture of the licensed driver on the dashboard of the car did not match his.

Through the rear mirror, he took quick looks at me, increasing my discomfiture. I turned my gaze outwards. We are on the right track and its broad daylight so I held my trepidation, ignored his speeding and was immensely glad when he stopped outside my home. He wanted to know which house mine was, and pretending that I hadn't heard him, I left without collecting my change.

I chose to follow my instincts.