No..not that one. I rather like bandying that one about in the right company. The other one, the one that really fucking sucks. Cancer.

I'm not going to apologize for not talking about this sooner. It's not that I've really cared who knows. But it's taken a lot of energy...understatement of the year. And I've been waiting to be in a place where I'm feeling well enough both physically and emotionally to write it all out. Sympathy and outreach, while well intended, can often serve to soothe the one expressing it more than the one receiving it. Especially when they are feeling overwhelmed.

So...here goes.


October 22nd

I had my first Well Woman exam since Milo was born. I knew it was overdue. I was seeing a doctor that I don't normally go to. I'm not terribly old fashioned, but I still don't want to go to my primary, toss my feet up in the stirrups, and then have to look at him like he didn't just see that at my next appointment.

Everything was pretty normal, but she noticed a lump in my neck. I told her I was just getting over a bad cold, maybe it was just my lymph nodes. Honestly, I had noticed my neck looked a little thicker, but attributed it to not being very observant. Others probably failed to noticed because I'm a big gal, so why would some extra weight there be out of place? Anyway, she suggested I follow up with my primary physician.


November 2nd

My primary physician saw me fairly quickly and felt up my neck. He said it could be several things of no concern, but it could be something...so it was better to rule them out. I left with referrals for a CT Scan, Ultrasound and ENT.


November 30th

I had an ultrasound of the lump. I had a CT scan prior to this, but failed to mark the day on the calendar. It was all starting to run together. Going into the ultrasound I was told if it looked conclusive, I wouldn't have to do a biopsy after...sadly it wasn't clear enough and I had to start planning for that as well.


December 5th

I met my ENT for the first time. After a long wait in the office he wheeled in on a rolly chair and pronounced, "Welp! It's gotta come out!" Referring to my thyroid. I was fairly in shock, didn't they need to find out more first? Nope. On the left side it was almost five inches, a third of my windpipe was obstructed. Regardless of what was going on, it wasn't gonna shrink back down, so...it had to go.

He looked at me like I had grown a third eye when I asked him, "How soon can I drive after?"

"Ma'am you're having surgery and will be in the hospital 1-3 days after. There will be no driving."

All I could think was, I'm a single mom, I don't have time for this! I had to call my own mother, at a loss for how the hell I was going to manage surgery, my son, recovery, etc. Luckily, and many of you know this, my mom is amazing. Not only did she and my dad plan to come down for the surgery, but they also got me a ticket to come home for the holidays, since my son would be spending it with his father. They didn't want me to be alone.

Surgery was scheduled out for January 29th.


December 14th

I was insanely nervous about the biopsy. Like an idiot I had googled a bit and seen just how big the needle going into my neck would be. Bad idea.

I was fortunate to have my wonderful Auntie Barb (or Tiny Auntie, as my son has dubbed her), to chauffeur me and sit with me during the process. I didn't want to try driving with my nerves so raw and if it happened to be sore after.


December 20th (ish) 

I honestly don't recall the exact date...I think this was it. Every day waiting after the biopsy made me more and more anxious. Waiting for the phone to ring, praying for the best possible outcome. After the predicted result day I left messages with my doctor's nurses, and called frequently to check if the results were in. Bless them for not getting annoyed by me.

Finally my doctor called...Papillary Cancer, a form of Thyroid Cancer.

He told me that, of course no one wants cancer. But if you wind up getting it, this was the kind to have. At my age, my prognosis was 85% - 93% positive. Still, and of course, I had been hoping for another outcome. It was overwhelming.

I've put the dates in here to show just how quickly everything happened leading up to the diagnosis. I was incredibly grateful that they were able to schedule everything quickly of course, but it felt...surreal.

I didn't want to share the news...not with Christmas so close. I didn't want to bring anyone else down, or be a "charity case" for lack of better terms.


January 29th

I went home for Christmas the weekend after my diagnosis and was there for New Year. Came back as my son's winter break was ending and went back to life as usual as possible, beginning to plan for surgery.

I had my pre-op, my parents arrived. An Aunt and Uncle even drove over from Oregon to be with my folks and support us. It was all a nice reminder that I am indeed loved.

As a small side story that was touching during this time...my mother had requested a pastor to pray with her before surgery. My dad's cousin Doug lined someone up, and the name felt very familiar. When we met him before surgery he mentioned that he had once pastored in Southern Oregon and had members of his church that were related to some Gildersleeves in Alaska. Did we know a Milo and Vernadell Mann? I immediately started crying. He had been my mom's parent's pastor. No wonder he sounded familiar. I'm not the most religious individual these days, but it was very appreciated and he was such a blessing. Mom and I have kept in touch with him since.

A few other nearby family members were there to support as well. Tiny Auntie even brought me beautiful tulips.

I was anxious. Various members of my family don't react well to being put under and I wasn't looking forward to finding out if I was one of them. Turns out, anesthesia and I aren't buddies. I woke up after surgery sobbing, puking, having an anxiety attack and begging them to tell my mom I woke up so that she wouldn't worry.

I was in the hospital for two and a half or three days. A lot of pain, and out of it a bit.

Unfortunately the day of surgery, I also contracted this horrible upper respiratory crap that was going around. Needless to say, coughing with a throat incision...not so fun. It developed into walking pneumonia as well once I was home.

It took me three weeks to start feeling like myself again. When I could finally drive and be able to turn my head a bit. I spent a lot of those weeks on the couch, icing my incision. Grumpy over not being able to do much, not being allowed to lift over ten pounds, and feeling rather useless in general.

Sadly Dad had to leave shortly after surgery, back to work. But I was so glad he was able to be there. And there are no words for how thankful I was to have my mom during everything. I couldn't have done this alone...most literally.

During surgical recovery I had post-op appointments with my ENT, met my endocrinologist, and had blood tests. They told me that the cancer had spread to my lymph  nodes and they removed twelve nodes during surgery. The good news, was that they didn't think it had spread past that. After that I started planning for the next phase...radioactive iodine treatment.

Incision after being released from hospital. Yay, skin paste!

A week ago, look at me heal like a pro.

I love Beauty and the Beast for a great many things. A classic fairytale where the femme lead isn't being rescued, hot damn! Not that I'm oh so against the old tried and true. I simply like variety and the acknowledgement that a woman not only doesn't always need rescuing, but can save a man. And let's be honest, that's what Belle does. She saves the beast from himself. From self loathing, anger, solitude. 

Despite all my love for this story and it's many forms, one aspect always sat wrong with me. 

I don't want a prince. 

I mean, how could it not be disconcerting? You fall in love with someone for who and what they are. And then they change quite dramatically. We all know how easy change is. I wouldn't want to be rewarded with a handsome stranger.

I've heard the points against my little ramble.  Such as: well his true self was the prince. Was it? It had supposedly been ages and the curse was to bring out the beast he behaved as, in a way more himself than he was before. Alright maybe some merit there in reclaiming the man, but after living as the beast and being accepted for it which would be the more accurate self? An entirely different argument. 

I may just have too large a soft spot for beasts. I find them much more lovable and comforting than princes. A beast doesn't win you over with his face. He has no charm to rely on. He's rough around the edges, but there's often a lot more beneath the feisty exterior. To quote a movie my son is watching entirely too often lately, "His isolation is confirmation of his desperation for healing hugs!" He might roar and growl and carry on, but far more often than you realize it'll be because he doesn't know how else to show his concern. More women really should give them a chance.

In the meantime, look up a book by Robin McKinley called Rose Daughter. Possibly my favorite version of the tale. 

You know you've been watching copious amounts of children's television when you can name every one of the trains on Thomas and you know more theme songs than anything off the Top 40. It can easily be argued that it's better than sinking into the show hole of daytime television. But still, you might be slipping when you start thinking things like "that Victor train is kind of distinguished, rawr." (It's totally the Spaniard bit.)