Happy Anniversary!

This week marks one year since my thyroid cancer diagnosis. While trimming the side dishes for Thanksgiving last year, I had a bomb drop on my otherwise clean bill of health. This year I can bake my pumpkin pies with a clear head- mostly anyway.

I get to ring in the new year with another round of poking and prodding to make sure the cancer is still gone. I recently had to get the party started by placing an order for Thyrogen, a drug that simulates hypothyroidism... or hell on earth as I like to call it. Ok, so that is a bit of an exaggeration, but it still sucks rocks. Going "hypothyroid"' is a necessary component of the testing process at the one year mark to find any remaining- or resurfacing- cancer. The good news is that Thyrogen is a trippy magic drug that helps my body not know that it's gone hypo. So the process should be insignificant compared to my ride on the hypothyroid express last year. However, I think I've had a bit of a mental awakening since the Thyrogen train pulled into town. I've managed to barely think about cancer since I was declared cancer-free last spring and now this is raining on my parade.

I can't complain though. I've truly had a great year, despite my violent break-up with my once beloved thyroid. The little amber bottle filled with pretend thyroid hormone that sits by my bedside every night is my cuddle buddy. It makes me feel all warm inside- quite literally actually, since I froze my crap off when I was low on the thyroid totem poll last year. It's like Christmas covered in chocolate when my prescription order arrives in the mail. Hey everyone! I get to be human for another 3-months! Yippeeee!

Despite my trusty pill bottle though, I know God is my true source of care. He's taught me so much, and continues to do so. So it is in that spirit that I will head into my test and hopefully declare I am cancer free once again. ALL ABOARD!

Congratulations... It's NOT cancer anymore!

I guess the title says it all. This is a very late post, but a few weeks ago I got blood test results back that put me in the clear for having any cancer remaining. It was a bit anti-climactic because I was living under the assumption that God had already put me in the clear. Turns out I was right. There is a first for everything.

The thyroglobulin level was undetectable. Translation: the radioactive iodine pill not only obliterated half my brain power for a few weeks but it also got the cancer. I think that makes the RAI pill my best friend for now.

Funny thing is that I don't know what to do with myself now. It was a whirlwind diagnosis followed by lightening speed treatment that seemed to put a quick and dirty end to my cancer journey for now. I know there will be years to come of tests and check-ups based on the possibility of an encore presentation, but for now I am counting my blessings and wondering what to do in the meantime.

It's great news, of course. Kind of like, "Hey honey, we're having a baby!" Sound of giant "thud" from my husband hitting the floor.  But it's a lingering thought that doesn't seem to get erased by the words "cancer free." It has always been surreal, but uncomparable to others who have been through cancers of much graver circumstance. Even so, anything with the word "cancer" attached to it is a hard pill to swallow.

So what do I do with that now? I was barely getting my head wrapped around this idea and now the picture has changed. I think God had a lot for me to learn and I did. I think there will be more to come, but for now I will rest assured that He has my back. He always has and always will. Even if the encore presentation makes a return, I will still trust in Him.

Thank you, Lord, for your act of grace and healing. I owe another day to you. Again.

Getting There

A much enjoyed 90210 marathon later, I made it through the radioactive period and went home. I have been taking my thyroid medicine for about 4 or 5 weeks now and am definitely feeling improvement. I am not 100%, but at least I am not daydreaming about putting the choker-hold on myself just to get a little shut eye.

I had a follow up appointment with my doctor today, and let me tell you that getting there was an adventure in and of itself. I drove my one-year-old to my mom's house and ventured to the appointment with my preschooler. Though I have to admit that Rowen was quite the trooper in going with me, a 5-hour excursion for a 45-minute doctor appointment wasn't really on my bucket list. I think I would have rather donated a kidney.

My doctor gave me some good news though. She thinks it's pretty likely that the cancer is gone. They took some blood to check for my thyroglobulin level (can you say that word without thinking of Slimer from Ghostbusters?) which will indicate whether any cancer remains. I should know the results next week. She said the numbers looked good even before the RAI treatment, so things were looking hopeful. I'm sorry, could you repeat that? My 4-year-old just said he is an apple tree that got cut down and fell on me. I hope you don't mind if he is doing a Peter Pan off your exam table too. She also said I probably wouldn't have to be deprived of my thyroid medicine or be subjected to the low-iodine diet again. Good thing because I would rather have opted to donate my other kidney.

I still don't have my sense of taste back to normal yet, as the radiation pretty well obliterated that. I am also pretty foggy and tired, but I really can't complain. I can eat pizza now in place of rice cakes. So what if I can't really taste it? I'll take that over that low-iodine diet, which pretty much did me in. I barely pulled out the last day of it. I thought it fitting that I celebrated the end of the diet by throwing up my last meal. Good-bye bland, welcome back taste... sort of.

I will be eager to get my thyroglobulin (eh-hem, proton pack) results back. That will be the telling thing to this whole ordeal. So long as my levels remain undetectable, I think I will be in the clear. Because the final results of the radiation treatment can't really be understood until a year later (uh, did she say a year?), I really won't be doing much in terms of treatment anyway until next February.

God really has been pivotal in all of this. I'm not even talking about a healing from the cancer. I am talking about what He's been showing me all along. Prayer is powerful. God if faithful. He is my comforter and my provider. I understood these things to a greater degree even before the good news started pouring in. That's a "Yay God" if I've ever heard one.

Radio-acto Girl on the loose

Slower than a speeding bullet. More exhausted than the Octo-mom. Hungrier than the Very Hungry Caterpillar. It's... Radio-acto Girl!

Yup, it's official. I am now radioactive.

Public Service Announcement: If you are not a fan of whining, complaining, or plain old cry-babying, you may want to skip this post. It's for your own good. Trust me.

The last 4 weeks have been rough. That's putting it nicely. I have been gradually getting more and more worn out and exhausted to the point I can't see straight at times and have had to take a power nap just to be able to stand. This low iodine diet I've been on for 2 weeks now has been really, really bad. God bless my sister for doing it with me, but at the 1-1/2 week mark, she almost had a nervous breakdown and had to pull out of the race. I don't blame her. My choices are plain chicken, a rice cake, or plain chicken for dinner. Again. Um, I'll take hunger for 1000, Alex.

The tiredness is indescribable at times. Sometimes I am really not sure if I am conscious. A normal thyroid level is supposed to be below 5. Last week I checked in at 74. I am not a mathematician, but I think that when you add in the diet and divide it by the anxiety of all the trips to the hospital this week, it equals a big bag of suck.

So on my fourth trip to the hospital this week, I was beyond ready to get my radioactive on. I pictured a guy in a space suit dropping the pill on me with a fishing pole. Something like Marty on Back to the Future when he tells George McFly he will fry his brain if he doesn't ask Lorraine to the dance. It ended up being a guy in a white lab coat who handed me a heavy, double container that had a little capsule in it. "Just be sure you don't put it in your hand in case there is some radioactive residue on the outside," he said to me. Ok, good thing you told me. I will just put it in my mouth and ingest it into my body instead. Much safer.

I think I got a little delirious because I couldn't help but laugh so hard I started to tear up a little when he was handing it to me. I asked him if he was going to dive over the partition when I unscrewed the cap. He didn't really dive, but he did take a few very cautious steps back. Bottoms up.

And that was that. I sat in a chair for about 45 minutes so they could make sure I didn't hurl and then they sent me off. There was no secret passage way I took to get out of the hospital. I felt a little strange doing this. At least if anyone tries to mug me on my way out I won't need karate. I'll just pull out my radio-acto girl card that Lab Coat Guy gave me and they will beg me for mercy and run away screaming like a baby. (Insert Radio-acto Girl theme song here).

So I drove off to my secret Radio-acto Girl location where I will spend some much needed quiet time to rest. Good thing we got a few feet of snow dumped on us out here because when I got to the house I got my car stuck at the bottom of the driveway. Well, I guess it won't hurt me to shovel for the next hour even though I haven't had anything to eat or drink since the night before and I think I may pass out. Oh well, no rest for the weary.

So here I am with a room full of movies and 5 days to watch them. It's pretty quiet around here- not something I'm used to. My 10-month-old is ready to walk any day now. I told him to hold off until mommy gets back next week. My 4-year-old said he would call me each day and I will look forward to that. Until then, I am counting the minutes until I get to eat regularly again, start taking my medication that makes me feel human again, and go home. Lab Coat Guy said I should start pounding down some sour candies in the morning, as it helps bring out the radiation a little faster via my salivary glands. Yum, can't wait. Um, doesn't pizza do that too? I swear I heard that somewhere. I'd be happy to substitute.

So here's to a few days of solitude, sleeping, and a marathon of the Twilight movies. Radio-acto Girl is up, up, up and awaaaaaayyyy!

Zombie Land

I am about 4 weeks away from taking my radioactive iodine pill. All joking aside, I've been pretty scared about the process. I have been off my thyroid hormone pill for 2 weeks now and have been taking a substitute pill that goes out of my system almost as fast as it goes in. It gives me a boost for now, but that even goes away Tuesday when I have to stop taking that. It took some time to even get that dosage right. It was making me hyperthyroid for awhile. I found my heart beating out of my chest and woke up one night needing a 4-course-meal at 1 a.m. Needless to say, I called my doc the next day.

I'm not sure if I will become zombie-like in the next few weeks or if I will escape the mortal consequences of having no thyroid. I am praying I won't have to accept what seems to be the inevitable, but I have to be prepared either way. I recently read someone else's blog that stated she'd rather take her chances with cancer than to go hypothyroid. It feels like I have an anvil around my neck waiting to pull me under.

I think the many prayers I've received have given me a peace about the whole process. There are days I forget I even have cancer. I can listen to my son go on and on (and on) about steam engines and coal cars and actually engage. Ok, that's a lie. There's only so much train talk I can take, but I do feel happy and plugged in to spending time with my little train conductor.

I bought my first-ever can of infant formula today. Just another reminder of the choices that have been taken away from me. I hadn't planned on cancer taking away my decision to nurse, but here I am. Public service announcement: it's not about the great formula vs. breastmilk debate. It's about my choice.

So if my next blog post is in zombie-speak, please disregard and send happy thoughts my way anyway.

Now where is my little train conductor? I think I have some train talking to do.

Don't stand so- Don't stand so- Don't stand so close to me

So that Police song pretty much covers the next step here. I don't think Sting said anything about standing at least 6 feet away, but you get the point.

The date is set for February 25. That's the day I swallow a pill that contains such extreme amounts of radiation that I can't be close to another human being for 5 days. Maybe I can wear one of those lamp shades they put on dogs after they have surgery- excuse me, but do you have this in a 6-foot?

I walked out of the doctor's office last week with a detailed schedule of how the next 2 months will go. First thing's first: stop taking my thyroid medication. That is the part I am most worried about. I imagine the doctor could have said something like this:
You will feel so sleepy that you might not even be aware that you are conscious at times. Forget about eating anything and actually getting it to come back out.  You will probably feel extremely depressed, so don't keep any sharp objects nearby. You don't own a gun, do you?
This is honestly the part I had to hold back tears about. I have become somewhat fond of my thyroid meds. So if you see me trying to score some levothyroxin on the streets, just turn the other cheek. 

I also have to start a low-iodine diet two weeks before taking the radioactive iodine (RAI) pill. No salt. No dairy. No chocolate. No taste. This helps the remaining thyroid tissue that will be targeted by the RAI pill to better soak up the sun-shiny rays of radiation.

For three days straight before the treatment, I have to report to the hospital at the crack of dawn to subject myself to poking and prodding-most of which I don't yet understand. They have to give me a test pill and make sure I haven't been impregnated without my prior knowledge. Then the big day... drum roll please...

I will choke down my glow pill and high-tail it into hiding for five days. I guess I will do my best to stay in the car pool lane on the way there.

A new superhero: Radioacto-girl!

The morning after surgery, my surgeon came in to give me the play-by-play of the procedure. He told me he removed the cancerous tumor along with my thyroid. He said it looked like it was fully enveloped in the thyroid and he got it all. Got it all... yay! Before I did a cancer-free dance (ok, I was still loopy and hooked up to IV's... it was a cancer-free gesture), the surgeon dropped a bomb and ran.

"Your lymph nodes looked a little enlarged so we took samples from them to test. Enjoy your jello!"

Translation: your cancer is spreading.

Although my doctor says I am still stage 1 cancer, it is hard for me to understand. Stage 2 means that it has spread. This is true in my case. Some of the texts I've read attest to this as well. I guess there is still a lot I have to learn.

So the next leg of my journey is treatment. There is a treatment that is specific to thyroid cancer called radioactive iodine therapy. From what I gather, it is a pill I will take that will destroy any remaining thyroid tissue left in my body. It is a process by which I will have to go into isolation for 2 to 5,682 days (depending on who you talk to) so that I don't spread my radio-activeness to anyone. I have to stop breastfeeding my son, which breaks my heart to no end. Being away from my husband and kids for a few days is bad enough, let alone having to change my baby's routine like that.

In the meantime, I can't help but be scared. I have divvied up the life insurance payout Brenner will get in my mind about a hundred times. I know God will not forsake me, but there are various definitions of what that might look like. It sounds like this cancer is fairly easy to beat, as it has a 95% cure rate if it is in stage 1, but still nothing to mess with.

So I have to figure out how I am going to go radioactive and stay sane all at the same time. I have to give up the craziness of life for a few solitary days of peace and quiet. Wait a second, what am I saying? Er, was this radioactive thing a ruse for tired mamas who wouldn't mind watching Twilight for the 42nd time in peace? Hmm... anyone have a cabin I can borrow for a few days? Preferably with a hot tub?

Hello doctor, what a shiny scalpel you have.

I have thyroid cancer. Not exactly something I will sign my Christmas cards with, but nonetheless it is the newest addition to our brood. The best part about my diagnosis is that it started out with the word "suspected" attached to it. Suspected thyroid cancer. Really? What does that mean? Don't freak out, but you might have cancer. We are going to rip your thyroid out of your neck anyway.

So that is how girl meets boy... or patient meets doctor anyway. He paced in front of me in his flourescent-lit exam room exacting how he would slice and dice. While the picture wasn't pretty, I was finally getting some answers.

He assumed it was cancer. No hope-filled words attached. Just me and my cancer. All the fuss was about a small nodule on an already underachieving thyroid. I had been on a small dose of thyroid medication for a few years for being slightly hypothyroid. That basically means my little thyroid gland was not the varsity kicker. It wasn't working properly anyway, so we may as well go ahead and pull it on out. Anything else in there you'd like to take out, doctor?

The next morning, Brenner and I made it to the hospital at 9:30 a.m. I hadn't eaten or drank anything since 11 p.m. the night before. That is a feat for a breastfeeding mama. Did I mention that before? I was still nursing my 9-month-old. This posed an altogether different problem. I couldn't nurse him for 24 hours following any narcotics (mmm, narcotics) from surgery. I was determined to get back in the game asap, so I was going to do my best to opt out of any drugs (mmm, drugs) as soon after surgery as I could.

A pastor from our church came by beforehand to read me my last rites, er... to pray with me. Yes, I was a little nervous. When they called me back they told me they were ahead of schedule so they had me put on my hospital gown like I was shot out of a cannon. They were going so fast that I had to do some last minute breast-pumping (sorry guys) on the fly with the nurse asking if it was ok that she asked me questions while I did it. Sure, I love to pump in front of strangers. Why don't you call that custodian over there in too. We can make a day of it. Oh well. I pretty much lost all my dignity in childbirth anyway.

After I was saddled up with an IV, a young man came to wheel me and my hospital bed into the OR. Too bad I didn't notice my boob was hanging out of a hole in the front of my gown (sorry again, guys). Nice touch. Is this the hospital gown I will pay $4,000 for when the bill comes?

So somewhere between the anesthesiologist making small talk about my kids and waking up to a stranger asking me if I was going to puke, my thyroid was removed. It was removed along with a cancerous tumor. A real tumor. Double gulp again. On second thought, that kind of hurts now.

Conrgratulations! It's... thyroid cancer!

The phone rang the day before Thanksgiving. It was a call I'd been waiting for all day. The surprise in my doctor's voice was not comforting. "The biopsy revealed suspected thyroid cancer," she said. The inflection in her voice on those last two words-thyroid cancer-came through loud and clear. My 4-year-old ran circles around me as I tried to focus on what she was saying.
Thyroid cancer. Radioactive iodine... what?
Happy Thanksgiving.

It started 4 years earlier at my post-partum check-up with my first son. My doctor ho-hummed through the average-joe check-up when she ran her hands across my neck. Her eyes went to the ceiling like she was trying to figure out a math equation. If a train is traveling west at 65 mph...

She actually brought another doctor in to take a stab at the problem. And another train is traveling east at 45 miles per hour...

"You have a nodule on your neck," she said. Double gulp. I think the trains just derailed.

After I made a stupid joke about when I was to start chemo, both doctors looked at me as if I had lost my mind. "You need to see a specialist."

The specialist told me it was a thyroglossal duct cyst. Try saying that with your hands tied behind your back. She explained it as something I'd had since birth that had likely been affected by my pregnancy. No harm done. She wanted to keep tabs on it for kicks though. A biopsy revealed nothing out of the ordinary as did all of my other ultrasounds.

In March of 2010 I gave birth to my second son. I hadn't felt my neck in awhile and in doing so after he was born, I convinced mysef it had gotten bigger. I made an appointment to see my doctor in July.

"It's gotten a little bigger, but it's probably nothing. Let's schedule another biopsy in November just in case," she said.

Um, did you hear a train horn?

This brings me to the day before Thanksgiving. The phone call that changed things. A lot of things. Necklaces will never look as pretty on my Frankenstien neck, I can't get my life insurance upped, and I no longer have a thyroid. I'm pretty sure that last one's gonna suck. A lot.