Are We the Cancer Treatment Experiments?

Me, in the autumn of 2017 … when I learned I “had cancer.”

It’s in the nature of cancer that its history tends to be a long story. Mine began to change from routine mammograms in 2015, when the technicians at my local hospital opted for extra ultrasound examination of my left breast. After a long hour of a probe being slid through “jelly” on my skin, the technician said “it looks okay, but get it checked next year.”

Then the bill arrived: $1200, at a time when I was supporting a homeless relative as well as my increasingly disabled husband. The amount was devastating; earning as much and as rapidly as I could, to keep up with family needs, I knew my total earnings wouldn’t qualify me for a financial break with the hospital. And I was self-employed, without costly health insurance. Okay. Forget holiday gifts, new clothes, et cetera. I buckled down to paying for the extra testing. And stayed away from more testing for two long years.

The enormous gift of turning 65 brought accessible health insurance, a combination of Medicare and a gap policy. Within a week, I scheduled my next mammogram. This time, in 2017, there was no doubt: tests showed a “malignant neoplasm” in the left breast.

Massive support from a neighbor who’d gone through the same process led me to an excellent surgeon. Like many in my shoes, my terror said “Take the whole breast off. Take both, if you want. Just give me…