It’s been two years now since I had my thyroid removed. I can still vividly remember where I was and
how I felt when I first felt the tumor.
I was driving south on I-405, just past exit 5, in the right
hand lane. It was sunny with clouds that
day. I put my right hand to my neck and
swept my fingers down in a smooth, slow stroke.
It wasn't soft and even like I expected it to be. There was a lump.
My breath left my lungs immediately, giving no heed to the
tingly black spots it created in my vision.
I couldn't breathe. I felt sick,
like I could throw up or faint. I forgot
how to drive and swerved dangerously close to the roadside barrier. When I put the car back in the lines, the
tears came, hot and pricking.
That was a day that changed my life. I’ve only had a few of those days in my short
existence. The dreadful ones where you
just know nothing will ever be the same.
Or the exhilarating ones when you hope nothing will ever be the
same. Or the eerie ones where you know you
just know nothing at all.
Those days have a way of visiting again and again. Teaching us a lesson we never knew we needed
to learn. Or revisiting a lesson we have
to learn again. More often than not, I
find it’s the latter. A lesson we've already been taught knocks on our door again because we've forgotten the
importance, or grown complacent in our newfound knowledge. We have to learn the lesson over again, this
time, perhaps focusing on a different facet, reaching another level, or simply flipping
on a light bulb of realization.
Those days change you.
It’s unavoidable, inevitable and irreparable. It shapes who you are no matter how you fight
the net of the universe as it drags you where it wants you to be. You
never know when they are coming or which kind they’ll be.
The day I heard the word “cancer”, the day my grandpa died,
the day I had a miscarriage, the day I lost my job – those were the days that
slammed me to the floor and hovered over, taunting, daring me to get up. Nothing in life would ever be the same.
But it’s not always for the worse, even though my gut and
every logical thought would disagree.
The days that change you can be uplifting and magically joyful. The day I told Ben I loved him, the day my
son was born, the day I heard “No evidence of disease” – those exhilarating
days were wrapped in quickened heartbeats and this resounding feeling of
monumental, breathless change. Nothing
in life would ever be the same.
Those wretched, heartbreaking, agony-filled days that
changed my life were truly the ones that saved
my life. And those goose bump-inducing,
blissful, deep breath, closed eyes days made it a life worth saving.
