The Thyroid Source Book by M. Sara Rosenthal

After picking this one up at Barns and Noble, I finally believe that this cancer really is curable.  Almost 100 percent.  A great book. 

There’s a whole section on how to tell family and friends.  Get informed first, it says, then make a list of who you need to tell, and “choose your words carefully.  For example, instead of saying “I have cancer” why not begin with “I have to have an operation on my thyroid gland.”  Then lead slowly into the reasons for the operation.  That way, the information is presented in a more logical sequence rather than an emotional sequence.”

 I felt like laughing my head off.  Never in a million years would I be logical instead of emotional.  Ha, ha, ha, ha. . . .

This is a good book.  It’s written by someone who had thyroid cancer, gives info on all the steps of the treatment in detail, and is in plain language.  Could take almost 20 years for the cancer to spread to lungs and bones.  It’s very slow growing, and very unlikely.  More poeple die during childbirth than from this type of thyroid cancer. 

 I’m glad I picked up this book.   Esther really is going to be okay. 

Woo hoo!

Spring

Real spring weather.   Esther’s birthday is tomorrow.  I remember going into the hospital in Fairfax, Va with soggy slacks because the amniotic sac had broken.  I seem to recall that being a bigger pain in the ass than I expected.  Didn’t matter how often I changed or whether or not I wore a pad.  Flood waters. 

I remember going into the hospital and the trees were bare, or nearly bare (and this was northern VA), and coming out with Esther and the trees were full green.  I’ll never forget that.

So, I’m a little sentimental.  Give me a break.  I forgot to mention yesterday that there are two sets of baby geese on the pond, just showed up.  They are fuzzy yellow cute things, but the parents get pissed.  Can’t walk the dog without them approaching us and hissing like crazy.  I wonder if they’d actually attack the dog.   That’d be interesting. 

Esther is more caught up in the drama of her boyfriend’s ex girlfriend finding out about their relationship.  Oh, the excitement of it all.  Amidst it all, she’s a little moody now, but not bad.  Things will get a bit worse before they get better, but for now, she feels good, and the weather is lovely and she’s heading off to work today.  Friday she called in and said “I’m stressed.”  They said OK.  I told her to soak it for all it’s worth. 

Did I say that already? 

Tomorrow we go to Red Lobster, her favorite restaurant, for her birthday.  Emma will come.  Emma is coming with us to the surgeon on Tues too.  I do like having the support and the extra set of ears to help me process info.   Esther does too.  I think Chuck will come for the surgery.    I do like the cute little colored booklet they give you on Thyroid cancer:  plain language, colorful pictures, politically correct, an asian man, a black woman, a white somebody:  what to expect from surgery and afterward.   Much nicer than the internet.  It’s weirdly comforting.  Still, I keep reading, and I keep reading things will be fine, even for children the prognosis is excellent. 

As I understand it, she may get very depressed and tired for a few weeks as her thyroid levels bottom out before the radioactive iodine treatment.  I’m a little worried about that, only because its going to be such a drag to see her unhappy or miserable.  

I’m getting ahead of it again.  I guess a little depression is a fair price.

Still not done grading lit papers and final exams.  My head is so not in it.   

quick update

Got biopsy results for the mass on Esther’s thyroid and turns out she does have papillary carcinoma, the most common type of thyroid cancer, and also, the most highly treatable.  The spooky-ish part is that she is so young, and she has had this big neck for so long (why did no one ever suggest a tumor?  It does piss me off).  So, youth and the size of it, are not good.

Still, I’m reassured from her surgeon and others that the outcome is excellent.  She will have a total thyroidectomy in the coming weeks, chest X-rays to see if its spread, likely followed up with some sort of thing called radioactive iodine treatment to kill off whatever’s left.

Esther is doing well, feels good, has quite the sense of humor, has a boyfriend, who has taken her out for her 18th birthday tonight.

Sure puts things in perspective fast.  

I taught a course in journal writing at the University of Iowa once (a creative nonfictional approach).  I remember telling my students that the interesting thing about a journal, as opposed to a memoir, is that you’re not writing a story about the past, you’re writing the story as the story unfolds.  And you follow it without knowing where its going or what’s going to happen.   

That’s what’s happening here. 

So much for the fucking weather.
 

Biopsy

I can’t decided whether or not I’m a drama queen.  I think I’ve been accused of that before, that I blow things out of proportion and cause “alarm.”  

Today, Esther’s thryroid is the size of a basketball and growing larger by the minute, along with my anxiety, again.  I can’t seem to help it.  I went into work yesterday and hanging out and talking with others about their sisters and their own thyroid cancers and tumors made me feel tons better.  But when I hang out at home alone, my stomach hurts, my hands shake and I get a headache.  But enough about me. . .

Today, or Monday (how cruel), we’ll hear about the biopsy results.  In either case, she IS going to be fine.  There’s still the little bitty “what if” stuff.  If it comes back showing some evidence of carcinoma (sounds better than cancer) I’ll have to try not to flip, especially for Esther’s sake. 

It has been raining and foggy this morning.  I’m going to hang out today and read Nonfiction essays for my lit class, wait by the phone, and pray for my Xanax prescription to get called in today.   Then to Mt. P tonight, if all is quiet.  We’ll see.

I didn’t expect my weather report to turn into this.  For any readers who are worrying about Esther, keep in mind I tend to dramatize and blow things out of proportion.  I hope.

The Consultation

Today is thyroid consultation day.  It is raining, real April showers now, and the jets are flying in low on their way to the airport.  A sad and drippy day.  I’m trying to read student essays,  a hundred and sixty some odd altogether before tomorrow 11:30, and my mind is on Esther’s pregnant neck.  Her father is coming along today.  I’ve imagined every scenario possible so I can be “ready.”  I’m not ready.  Likely we won’t know too much until the thing or things comes out and its looked at. 

Esther is care free right now.  Its interesting how seemingly unaffected she is:  busy with Dairy Queen, enjoying the job, shopping and watching TV with Kotie.  I only see her a few hours a day, if that.  I suppose my job is to absorb all the anxiety so she doesn’t have to.  I’m glad she’s feeling good, because its gonna tear me up when, or if, she gets scared. 

                                                                          * * *

Later:

Visit with surgeon went well.   I liked her:  she was kind, competent, professional, explained everything in full detail about what’s going to happen with Esther.  I felt shitloads better after seeing her.  I was glad Chuck came.  Having him there made all the difference. 

Esther had a needle biopsy today.   She was scared, but did fine.  She went into work tonight, but looked tired.   We should have biopsy results on Friday or Monday.  Still, the mass will come out, but if its cancerous, the whole thyroid may come out, plus affected lymph nodes.  They follow that up with radioactive iodine treatment.   Because she is young, and because the mass is so large, it’s my understanding that it would not be surprising if it’s cancerous.  Still, an excellent outcome.  There’s a possibility of spread to the lungs, but that’s getting way ahead of the game.  Then again, there is the very real possibility that all is benign. 

I’m partly relieved.  She will likely have surgery in the next week or two. 

I can’t believe how giddy and stupid I’ve been since. 

Chuck had to leave.  His mother called, and his father is having internal bleeding and is in a bad way in the hospital.  A double whammy for him. 

I’m too wired to read portfolios.  Mangaged to make it to my night class with Esther and Chuck in tow, to pick up final papers.  I must have looked like a train wreck. 

I think I’ll sleep tonight. 

Mass

Windy and cooler today, big waves on the pond and branches coming down.   Very pleasant.  I’m still reading student portfolios.  The dogwood trees are blooming. 

I went to doc’s office to get the ultrasound report on Esther’s pregnant neck.  It is filled with ugly things:  a huge mass on her left lobe (2cm is considered large:  hers is “5.5 cm X 3.8 cm X 2.6 cm) various cystic and solid nodules on the right, a necrotic lymph node.  It all sounds so yucky, like her neck is filled with these gnarly, grotesque, ugly. . . things. 

The mass contains “multiple tiny hyperechoic foci” suspicious of “microcalcifications whih is a finding seen in paplillary carcinoma”:  one of the more common thyroid cancers, I think.  It’s beginning to seem to me that she likely does have this papillary carcinoma.  I guess thats why its being biopsied. 

Dad told me to stop researching it.  And I should.  Just when I read that the prognosis is excellent, even if it has spread to the lymph nodes, I read something else about size of the main tumor being a  problem, or her age, indicating a possibility of recurrance.  All I  know is this “thing,” or these “things,” have been in her neck for as long as I can rememeber.  Every pediatrician, at the U of I hospitals and elsewhere, at least 3 different ones, said, “lets just keep testing her blood, wait and see, etc.”   Why now did they decide to stop waiting and seeing?  It was our nurse practitioner who said, “Lets see what’s in there.”  Why has that never happened before? 

In the meantime, Esther is nuts about Kotie, and he seems nuts about her too.  Good.

And, suddenly, her neck is HUGE, a huge bulb above her collar bone, and now I can’t stop looking at it.

“Stop looking at me!” She says. 

Her Dad is coming down on Wed when we see the surgeon.  We’ll know more than.  I guess I should settle down and wait. 

Summer heat

Summer hot today, but no leaves on the trees.  Lots of dandelions.  For Mother’s day a long time ago, I got Mom a box of Slow Pokes (I bought the Slow Pokes, put them in a fancy box with a lid) and a bouquet of dandelions.  Every time I see the dandelions and later, the lilacs, I think of Mother’s day and spring. 

 

But it gets too hot up in this tree house.  I live in a townhouse on the 3^rd and 4^th floor above a big pond with an island.  It’s beautiful.  I can see the fish swim from up here. There are some big ones in there.  The geese are going through their mating rituals—having lots of fights. The honk like crazy through out the day.   About a week ago, I heard a bunch of splashing and when I looked out, there were two geese with their beaks locked, practically drowning each other, flapping their wings like crazy.   I had no idea they’d get that aggressive, though sometimes they come after me and the dog, hissing.  That’s after the babies show up.  It’s fun to see the first batch swimming around.  There are ducks out there too, but I have yet to see any baby ducks.  I wonder where they go.  My guess is the geese nest on the island. 

 

I’m having a hard time focusing on students’ final portfolios.  I’m feeling a little anxious about Esther’s pregnant neck, and I have an allergy head.  She doesn’t seem too concerned, yet, but hung up on her new boyfriend, Kotie.  Good.  She kind of likes the idea of having the surgery for cosmetic reasons.  Why not?  Esther will be 18 in a week, and tonight she called and said, “What time do I have to be home?” 
 

Esther’s pregnant neck

Esther told her friends the other day her neck was pregnant.  She had to go to downtown GR for an ultasound on her thyroid.  Just like the ones I had with both girls.  I couldn’t see any thyroid.

The nurse pracitioner called today and they want to do a biopsy fairly soon.  Esther has always had a swollen neck and docs have always drawn blood, but this is the first time anyone’s looked at it.  Apparently she has a “mass” on her left lobe.  Whether they do a needle aspiration thing or surgery, I don’t know.    From what I’m reading, looks like they might just take the whole thing, or part of her thyroid, out.   Not likely cancerous, especially since she’s had this puffy neck forever.  Still a little unsettling. 

She called home today after school and I told her.  She was with her friends.  She said, “Shit, I’ve got a fucking tumor!  Oops.  sorry, Mom.”

 We’ll know more next week.

Otherwise lovely t-shirt and shorts weather–real spring.  My head feels like a cotton- filled balloon and I’ve got a funky cough.  Allergies I think.   I have a million student portfolios to read, and it makes me sleepy.

May Sarton was reading Teilhard de Chardin (The Divine Milieu) and wrote down a passage, part of which I’ll write down.   Very Annie Dillard-ish:  “It is we who, through our own acitivity, must industriously assemble the widely scattered elements.”   I assume she’s referring to artists, or others. 

My head is too foggy to think about why I like that line.  I’ll think about it tomorrow.   

April

It feels like April now.  Walked the dog this morning.  Scared a duck out of the woods.  What was a duck doing in there anyway?  I do live near a pond, but did not expect to see the duck leap out when the dog went sniffing through the trees.  On Kent trails a deer and I had a stare down.  The dog stared too. 

It feels more like April.  It rained a little, and smells like springtime, which is nice.  The giant fish carcasses are rotting around the pond’s edge like miniature beached whales. 

 I’m re-reading May Sarton’s A Journal of Solitude, to help put me in the mood.  I think it might make me feel gloomy.  She likes her gardens and the weather and the flowers and her neighbors, but goes through bouts of depression and crying.  I’m not in the mood for gloominess.   But usually whatever I read affects what I write.  So, I guess I’m in a mood.  

 A phone call from a prestigious university about a job:  another rejection.   They do pile up fast.   

The Finger

“I held my fist a few inches from the driver’s face, and slowly lifted my middle finger to the sky”  T. T. Williams.

In Refuge Terry Tempest Williams gets pissed when she finds out that the highway department in Utah bulldozed a burrowing owls’ nesting mound, something that had been part of the The Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge and part of her personal landscape for as long as she could remember.  In its place was a sign that read Canadian Goose Gun Club, and a handwritten note:  Keep Out.    She went back to find the mound and it was gone.  She saw a a couple of guys in a pick up truck.  One said,  ”Howdy Ma’am.  Still looking for them owls, or was it sparrows?”  The other winked (12).

So she flipped ‘em off.

Her mother was appalled.  She shook her head, saying she had no idea where she came from. 

This has a whole lot of not much to do with what happened to me yesterday in Mt. Pleasant on the way to Robaire’s.  I was driving my dad’s van, and my mother, who has dementia, was in the front next to me.  I got into the left turn lane to pull in.  All’s clear.  I began to make my turn when someone about 30 yards ahead turned right out of the same parking lot I was turning into.  He saw me and gunned it, heading right for me, and blasted his horn.  I was so infuriated I stuck my middle finger up in front of my elderly mother’s nose, aimed at the guy’s windshield and yelled “fuck you!”  He saw my middle finger loud and clear, even if he didn’t hear me. 

My 82 year old father, cheered me on.  I don’t know if my mother had any idea what was going on: she might have been appalled, once upon a time (or not), but not now.  I was ready to drive after the fucker and give him a piece of my front end (the car, that is). 

I pulled into the handicapped space, pulled the plastic blue thing with a wheel chair logo on it out of the ashtray and snapped in onto the mirror, slammed the door and got out of the car.   I was pissed.  Dad helped Mom out, we went into Robaires, and it took me a good 20 minutes to calm down. 

 ”Just let it go,” a fellow alcoholic at the table said and giggled.   That didn’t help.  I had never flipped off another vehicle before in my life.  But I’m not sure another vehicle has been so deliberately aggressive toward me as that car was that day.   My own anger caught me off gaurd.

We become different people behind the safety of our windshields.

I met Terry Tempest Williams at Iowa 4 or 5 years ago.  A super nice person.  She signed My copy of Refuge which I’ve read about 6 times, and taught in my nonfiction and other courses classes several times: For you Sarah, Respectfully,  Terry Tempest Williams.  30 March 01.

I guess it was more like 6 years ago.  Time flies.