Scars and Swearing

WARNING: As the title suggests, within this blog, there are swear words and pictures of scars.  Close now if either offends or sickens you.  I should also note that it's not a short post.  It's not a short story.  Christ, is it a long story.


Six months ago, I had a total thyroidectomy for Follicular Thyroid Cancer.  I guess I am writing to celebrate that.  It sounds a little ridiculous to me as I write it, mostly because six months isn't even a medical milestone.  It's not one year, it's not five years, it's sure as hell not ten years.  It's nothing.  But it's all I have and dammit, I am going to celebrate until my thyroidless self passes out from exhaustion.


Lots of people know what happened.  Let's see if I can condense it for those who don't.  In April of 2010, I was a little more than anxious.  Scared of just about everything.  Things logical and not.  I bordered on crazy.


Long story short, I found a lump on the right side of my throat.  It moved when I swallowed.  It was like a squishy, hard ball.  And of course, I completely freaked.  


Doc said it was nothing.  Okay, cool.  Three months later, it was still there.  I went to another doc.  She said it was nothing.  O-kay... cool.  Three months later, in October, it was still there.  Third doctor said, "Hey, lets just do some tests and see what we can find."  How fucking hard was that?   


Later that month, I had an ultrasound.  I cried all the way through it.  I may not be a doctor, but I know that what I saw wasn't normal.  It found a two-inch tumor on the right side of my thyroid and a one-centimeter one on the left side.  I couldn't have been more pissed off, scared and, let's be honest, vindicated.  I wasn't crazy.  I was belligerently, apologetically, there-will-be-no-living-with-me-after-this right.


November began with a needle biopsy of both sides.  Yippee.  I'll tell you what, I pretty much passed out.  As good as the doc was, the numbing injection was not where the needle went in (over and over).  I could not only feel the needle scraping, I could freaking hear it.  I still shudder when I think about it.  I got sent home with ice packs and slurpies. 

As you can see, I have fixed an ice pack to my neck with my favorite scarf.  I'm a damn genius.

  

The results came back with no signs of cancer.  Swell! . . .  You waiting for that other shoe to drop?  So was I.  They removed only 200 cells from my tumors, which were made up of thousands of thousands.  Good game, tumors, good game.

I met with an Endocrinologist who suggested I have either the large tumor half or the whole thyroid removed.  There were many reasons.  The tumors could be cancer.  They could turn into cancer.  They could block my windpipe after years.  On and on the reasons went.  After so many opinions, prayers, discussions and pro/con lists, I decided to have a total thyroidectomy.  


My surgeon is a serious rockstar.  People come from all over the country to have him cut into them.  As such, he was so nonchalant about the procedure I could have strangled him.  "It's no big deal.  I do them all the time." That's all well and good.  But, for me, it's a big damn deal. 


The doctor told us all the side effects and potential risks.  Aside from, you know, dying, they were pretty understandable.  All except one.  It was possible that they could cut a vocal chord when removing the tumors. Now, I don't pretend to be an amazing singer but I was okay.  I did theatre in school and love to sing.  It broke my heart that my voice could potentially be gone or altered for a while or forever.  I decided to record some songs with what I had before it was jeopardized.  I had a blast.  I recorded the song below.  

Remember, I never said I was a rockstar.  No mocking.  

Here is the cat that lived at the studio.  Want.  One.

We showed up on February 23rd, 2011 to Overlake Hospital.  Pretty, pretty hospital.  I don't remember anything but the fish tanks.  But I was told it was nice.  

Here I am bright and early. Excited (see: so nervous I can't poop) and decked out in my pajamas.  No scar yet.  Don't worry.  It's coming. 


It was the the only day  we got snow and ice practically the whole year.  We were told, "You may have to reschedule if doctors/nurses can't make it in."  I got up at 3 AM.  I am terrified.  I am here.  We are having surgery.  

The hospital was amazing from start to finish.  The doctors, nurses, techs, pudding deliverers, everyone was totally great.  They let my husband and his bestie play Warcraft in the waiting room while they waited for me.  

I was laying in the bed while they pumped my arm full of delightful sleepy drugs.  They wheeled me into a room that I remember asking, "Why are we in the supply closet?" which got laughs.  Then I remember nothing.  I didn't even have to count backward from ten.  Surgery was about two hours.  Not very long at all.  

Here come the scars.

I don't remember having my picture taken.  I got drugs and asked Ben if the room was being squished.  I felt pushed down.  He just laughed and handed me ice chips.  The orange on my skin is iodine.  I didn't get a bad spray tan.  

Here is me on drugs.  They attached the vital monitor to my finger and it glowed.  

I do remember thinking I was ET.

A smile.  I get pudding.

The next morning I tried to eat eggs.  With my right hand.  While seriously drugged.  Enjoy.  

You can see at the end, I get super pissed.

When they took my thyroid out, local pathologists looked at it.  They couldn't tell if there was cancer.  Thyroid Cancer isn't as "easy" to diagnose as say, lung cancer.  All the damn cells look the same.  So my thyroid got to take a trip to Johns Hopkins.  There, three weeks later, they found Follicular Thyroid Cancer in the small tumor.  That sneaky, tiny bitch that I couldn't even feel.  

It's taken me six months to be able to say through teeth clenched so hard they squeak, "Thank God for the two-inch tumor.  Thank God for my dark, anxious times.  Thank God for the universe refusing to do anything other than teach me lessons I truly need to learn."  

Because they wouldn't have found the cancer without it.  Because I wouldn't be the less anxious version of me without it.  

Even though I may never be able to be grateful for my cancer, or this experience, I can be thankful for the outrageous serendipity of how it all came to be and of the lessons I continually take from it.  

Because, as we all know, you hardly ever learn a lesson just once.  You can't be a superhero every single day.  You are never out of the woods.  Life is a journey and all that shit.  More scars incoming.     

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two month scar

four month scar

six month scar

I've heard that, for cancer patients, there are triggers for bad days, outbursts, depression, visceral reactions, etc.  For instance, driving past the hospital where they received treatment, taking medicine daily, seeing the scars. . . Any of those can cause a hitch in an otherwise smooth get-a-long. 

Well, my scar is getting lighter.  Taking a pill every day is getting easier.  I can maintain normal breathing when I drive past the hospital.  

For me, it's the fleeting moments when I can't help but think, "I can't fucking believe I had cancer." that get me.  So, I guess that makes me lucky.  Nothing constantly triggers it.  It's weird and haphazard, just like this whole surreal experience.  

Some days I can't believe it's been six months.  And, some days I can't believe it's been six months.  Two seemingly identical sentences, but vastly different emotions attached.  There are days I wake up and think, "Wait, when did I have surgery?  That was a lifetime ago." and some moments I rage at the fact it's only been 180 some odd days.


I guess all I can do is celebrate the little victories every chance I get.  Try my damnedest to get through the moments that randomly blindside me.  Since I know tomorrow could be filled with those jarring moments, I will focus on today.  And, just for today, I will deny worry, refuse anger and maintain gratitude.