The "C" Word

“Your biopsy results have come back. They are ‘highly suspicious for cancer.’ That said, I’ve never known one of these tumors not to be cancerous,” says one of my doctors.

Well, just rock my world.

Hectic days follow—a Sestamibi scan, piles of vials of blood, an MRI and nearly three-and-a-half hours of surgery. The left side of my thyroid is removed, the side that contained a Hurthle cell tumor. A “rogue” parathyroid was removed—one that had rendered all diagnostic procedures “inconclusive,” but that was adenomatous just the same.

Then the wait…waiting…waiting. Nine long days of waiting to find out what had happened/is happening with the glands inside my neck.

Do I have cancer?

I think I am dealing with the idea of cancer with aplomb until a week after surgery, when I break down and cry. I need to know the diagnosis, now; this waiting is too hard to bear. But, bear it I must.

I think back to 1995 when I had an ovarian tumor removed—a cystoadenofibroma—that turned out to be not exactly benign but not exactly cancerous, either. This is getting repetitious.

I make plans in my mind. I’m afraid to make plans. If the tumor is cancerous, I will have to have another surgery in just a week or two’s time. I’m healing, yet my optimism is shadowed with the specter of the “Big C.”

At my post-op appointment, I ask the medical assistant about the results. She says, “let’s see.” She finds she cannot read the complex pathology report in the short time she has with me. She sprays the inside of my nose with anesthetic and leaves the room.

I hear the doctor in the hall. I wait, scribbling anxiously in my notebook.

The doctor enters. I’m afraid. I want to cry. He smiles—the tumor is benign. Relief floods through me and I feel hot and cold all at once. Do I laugh or cry?

We deal with the physical part of the exam.

Doctor, I do not want you to put that scope up my nose and down my throat again, thank you very much.

Yuck.

No choice, huh? Okay, I grudgingly accept yet another unpleasant procedure.

I profusely thank the doctor and his assistant. I walk out, tears of relief welling in my eyes, big smile on my lips.

I call my husband. I call my sons. I call my sister.

(**Author’s note: After years of ill health, and coexisting with several chronic conditions, I make the conscious decision to ferociously live wellness to my fullest extent. This is my journey. I know I cannot change at least one of my physical conditions but I choose live more consciously and in better health than I have for the past 18 years, since a congenital spinal condition rendered me “disabled.”

I have a team to help me to this end. Krista Williams, a dear friend, and a senior in the kinesiology program at Sonoma State University, who has chosen me as her semester project case study and who will help guide me through an individualized physical rehabilitation program. Vilma, my literary friend, led me to a homeopath M.D. who is helping me take a whole-body approach to health and wellness. I have two additional physicians, who while more conventional than alternative in approach, have shown compassionate interest in my complexities and who believe that I can regain my health.

This blog promises to be an honest portrayal of my journey to wellness—the parts that are difficult as well as the parts that are easy. I hope that my experiences may serve to support and inspire others with chronic conditions as they journey toward optimum health.

Disclaimer: Any healing modalities I may try are individualized for me and created in conjunction with the advice of my physicians. Nothing I write should be construed as medical advice. Please seek proper medical attention for any condition(s) you may have.)