Twenty-three years ago, I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. It was quite possibly the most terrifying thing I’d ever experienced. My babies were 3 and 1/2 years, 6 years, 6 years, and 8 years old. I was terrified that I was going to leave them motherless. At the same time, the doctor discovered what he called “diseased tissue” in both breasts. To this day, I still don’t know what “diseased tissue” is or if the two conditions were related. I just knew that something was terribly wrong with my body.
My primary care physician, who delivered the news over the phone, was unprofessional and unsupportive. She abruptly quit as my doctor (via registered mail, delivered the day after she gave me my diagnosis). She provided no explanation about my prognosis or treatment options. Yes, I’m serious.
While I’ve forgiven my initial primary care provider (PCP), I still don’t understand her actions. However, I hope that if she were ever in my position that she received better medical care than she provided me. In contrast, I’m deeply grateful to the oncologist, breast specialist (read below for a fun story about my breast surgeon), and surgical team who treated me with compassion and gave me hope during my journey. My eternal gratitude goes to Dr. Greenhalgh, his wife, and their staff, who quite literally saved my life – they were an answer to my prayers.
My family – Tony, Symone, Jazmine, Brandon, and Bryanna – lifted my spirits when I needed it most. Their unwavering love gave me strength. And I’m especially grateful to my mother-in-law, who selflessly cared for my children, allowing Tony to care for me. She was truly amazing. I also have to give a special shout out to my little sister who offered to cut her hair to make a wig for me, while she was deployed to Turkey with the Air Force.
Am I going to die? Will my kids remember me? Does Tony know how much I love him? How long do I have left? Will I go peacefully?
Why me?
Those were just some of the thoughts that tumbled through my head as I stood there holding the phone. Did the doctor really just tell me I have cancer? Over the phone? I couldn’t deal with that right then. At that moment, I had to start preparing for the possibility that I might die. That I’d leave my husband to raise 4 small children alone.
My husband stood there looking at me, waiting to hear the results of my biopsy. I told him what the doctor said: “I have ‘a little bit of cancer’.” Her words: “You have a little bit of cancer…” What does that even mean? Don’t deal with that right now. You’re going to die. He grabbed me in his arms and held me tight. So tight that it hurt to breathe. But I wanted him to hold me tighter. Squeeze the tumor out of me. Smash it. Squish it. Just don’t let it kill me…
I went into “Mom Mode”. I grabbed a floppy disk {a bright yellow floppy disk, the color of the sun, the color of life, something I was going to lose} and wrote letters to my kids. I made a list of songs I wanted them to hear, movies I wanted them to watch, books they needed to read. The pens they should use. The only pens they should ever use: Pilot Precise V5. I wrote stories about my life. I wanted them to know me, to see me as more than a picture or a vague memory.
I organized their closets. I washed everything and hung them on color coded hangers so the hubs would know which clothes belonged to whom. I arranged their drawers in birth order. I didn’t think about what he’d do when their clothes got dirty and were washed. He’d have to hang them on his own.
I bought their favorite shampoos and foods in bulk. I made sure he was fully stocked with laundry detergent. I made lists of everything. I, the woman who hates lists, became obsessed with lists. All of this in less than a week’s time.
I cried.
I stared at my babies and cried.
I held my husband and cried.
The hubs saw the desperation in my eyes. He talked to his aunt, a Surgical Head Nurse, and she was able to get me in to see an oncologist at her hospital. They calmed my nerves. They told me I was going to live. I was going to live. I had to have surgery and radiation therapy. I was going to live.
I had a total thyroidectomy {removal of the entire thyroid} and surgery on both breasts to remove “diseased tissue.” The breast tissue was benign, but I do have to make sure I keep current on my mammograms. I also take Levothyroxin daily and will do so for the rest of my life.
In the years since my diagnosis, I’ve watched my children grow into adults. I’ve become a grandmother, completed two master’s degrees, run several 5Ks, and started training for a 10K.
I lived.
I continue to live.
I’m not sharing my story because I want sympathy for what I went through or praise for surviving. I’m sharing my story because I want you to understand that there is no “normal” reaction to a cancer diagnosis. Some people fall apart. Some people go into fight mode. Some go into denial. Everything that you feel is real and it’s normal. But don’t wallow. Find a reason to fight. Hold the people you love close to you.
If you’ve never received that diagnosis, be aware of your body. You know when something is “off” or doesn’t feel right. And even if nothing feels wrong, do your breast examines every month. Go to your doctor for yearly checkups. Do what you can to stay healthy.
About My Breast Surgeon
My surgeon was a priest turned breast surgeon. During my consult, he admired my tattoo and asked if I wanted him to save it if he had to remove my breast. I told him if he had to remove my breast during surgery, I trusted his decision regarding the tattoo because, honestly, that’d be the last thing on my mind. But I did appreciate the consideration.
You have to take care of you in order to be able to take care of everyone else.
THANK YOU
Thank you for stopping by my blog. I hope you enjoyed this post and learned something new. If you like what you read, please consider sharing this post on Facebook or Twitter. You can also share on Pinterest. While I pay for many of the items I share on this blog out of my own pocket, some items are gifted to me {I always disclose those items}.
Affiliate Information
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