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.
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