Dear reader(s),
Still not a lot going on the cancer department. I have a Mayo appointment in June to see how the alcohol ablation went, and after my last blood test my endo said that my TG levels are looking good, which is a really good sign. But other than that, still just waiting. Went to Europe in February. Doin' other stuff and whatnot. You know, the usual.
In lieu of news I'm just going to rant about more cancer-patient issue type things, so if you're not into that feel free to tune out now. I'll understand.
No, seriously, it's fine. Go watch TV. The blog will be here when you come back.
SO. My rant:
Every now and then I see someone post a Facebook status that says something along the lines of "most people wish for things like cars and money and jobs, but a cancer patient has only one wish: to not beat cancer. 97% of people won't repost this." There's also a commercial on TV recently in which a woman basically says the same thing about a little girl who has cancer - the commercial is for a cancer foundation or something, I think. Not really sure.
I understand that the people who post these things mean well, and that they're genuinely concerned and looking out for cancer patients, probably for specific people they know. I'm totally in favor of cancer foundations raising money for cancer research and getting the word out on TV. That's awesome. It's just that this specific message is a little...well...misrepresenting.
I've personally received a lot of support and well-wishes from the cancer community at large and some specific ones, and I think most of what they do is super helpful and necessary for people like me. But the "community" isn't without its flaws, and sometimes I'm not sure how I feel about it overall. Sometimes some inaccurate and unhelpful generalities about cancer patients get circulated and create pressure on sick people to feel or act a certain way that isn't necessarily emotionally beneficial for everyone.
For example: I've come across a lot of cancer-related organizations that promote positive thinking to the point of demanding it - every cancer patient MUST look on the bright side, MUST see the silver lining, etc. I personally don't like people telling me how I HAVE to feel about my disease. It's my disease and my feelings, and I think I have the right to think whatever I want about it. Everyone has a different way of coping with challenges mentally and not everyone can be positive all the time. I'm not the only patient who feels this way, either; a well-known author named Barbara Ehrenreich wrote a book called Bright-Sided about the so-called "culture of positive thinking" in modern society based on her experiences as a cancer patient.
These "one wish" statuses are similarly problematic. Yes, I'm sure the top wish for everyone who has cancer is to not have cancer. But as medical research improves, more and more of us are, if I may quote from Rent here, "living with, not dying from disease". Living people have multi-faceted thoughts and feelings and, of course, wishes. I'd love to not have cancer. It's definitely on the top of my wish list. I'd love to see thyroid cancer cured. But I have other desires as well. I'd like to earn my master's degree. I'd like to get a full-time, salaried job. I'd like to win the friggin' lottery and buy a condo in a high-rise on the lake. And frankly (and unfortunately), those wishes might actually be more likely to come true.
I am not my disease, and it's not the only thing that defines my life. It's hard enough trying to live a normal life with cancer without being typified as a "patient" - whatever that means. Something like one in seven people will get cancer in their lifetime, that many people can't possibly be thinking and feeling the same things at the same time. Statistically, it's just not realistic. This is also why I get upset when strangers ask me about my scar. It makes me feel like I'm just a deformity to them, a person who can't ever just be a normal member of society because I have a weird mark on my neck that people who don't even know me are so disturbed and confused by that they have to break conventions of social politeness and, essentially, ruin my friggin' day.
I don't know. Maybe I'm too mean or overly sensitive or something. I just feel like that little girl in the commercial probably wanted a puppy or a dollhouse or a prom date or something at some point in her life. Cuz I'm pretty sure if a person thought about nothing but how sick they were all the time they'd lose their minds. I know I would. That's all I'm saying.
Plus if I won the lottery I could just use the money to cure cancer, and then all my problems would be solved!
Developing a gambling addiction,
RG
1/16/2011
Waiting Game
Dear reader(s),
Apologies for not posting after my second alcohol ablation as promised. My life is crazy. And also it wasn't that eventful, nor did it hurt very much more. But I did get juice afterwards. That was pretty sweet.
The questions I got when I got home were along the lines of, "So is it gone now?" "Do you still have cancer?" and "Are you in remission, or what?" Unfortunately I don't really have any answers. I'll go back to Mayo in 3-6 months for a followup, and even then I doubt they'll declare me in remission, especially if my TG levels are still...well, existent.
Probably the worst part about my situation is that I have to do a lot of waiting. And explaining. People tend to understand thyroid cancer better in terms of things they're used to associating with more common cancers...chemotherapy, remission, etc. But those things don't really apply to me, which in some cases is good (yay for no chemo!) and in others is bad (i.e. I don't know if I'll ever get a formal declaration from a doctor that I am in "remission"). Since my cancer is weird and slow-growing I just get to sit here and wait and see what it does. Fun, right?
Really all I can do is try not to think about it and keep living my life. This is considerably harder to do with a weird visible scar that strangers always feel the need to stare at and ask about (see my months-old post regarding scar etiquette), but I soldier on nonetheless.
In keeping with that spirit, I've been mostly focusing on my upcoming trip to Europe. I will probably start up a new blog about that soon; stay posted for links (and maybe some German lessons?) in the next week or so.
Wishing there were better magazines in this waiting room,
RG
P.S... I just realized that the words on the paper in the background of this blog are in German. WEIRD.
Apologies for not posting after my second alcohol ablation as promised. My life is crazy. And also it wasn't that eventful, nor did it hurt very much more. But I did get juice afterwards. That was pretty sweet.
The questions I got when I got home were along the lines of, "So is it gone now?" "Do you still have cancer?" and "Are you in remission, or what?" Unfortunately I don't really have any answers. I'll go back to Mayo in 3-6 months for a followup, and even then I doubt they'll declare me in remission, especially if my TG levels are still...well, existent.
Probably the worst part about my situation is that I have to do a lot of waiting. And explaining. People tend to understand thyroid cancer better in terms of things they're used to associating with more common cancers...chemotherapy, remission, etc. But those things don't really apply to me, which in some cases is good (yay for no chemo!) and in others is bad (i.e. I don't know if I'll ever get a formal declaration from a doctor that I am in "remission"). Since my cancer is weird and slow-growing I just get to sit here and wait and see what it does. Fun, right?
Really all I can do is try not to think about it and keep living my life. This is considerably harder to do with a weird visible scar that strangers always feel the need to stare at and ask about (see my months-old post regarding scar etiquette), but I soldier on nonetheless.
In keeping with that spirit, I've been mostly focusing on my upcoming trip to Europe. I will probably start up a new blog about that soon; stay posted for links (and maybe some German lessons?) in the next week or so.
Wishing there were better magazines in this waiting room,
RG
P.S... I just realized that the words on the paper in the background of this blog are in German. WEIRD.
12/29/2010
Alcoholic Vampire Bite
Dear reader(s),
I'm sure not many people are still checking this, since I haven't posted in awhile. There really hasn't been anything to report medically for the past few months, and I'd rather stay on-topic than use this blog to discuss my personal life. But, fortunately (?), I'm back at Mayo Clinic now doing more interesting things for y'all to read about.
My family and I drove up to Rochester on the 27th and have been staying here for the past few days. We checked out the Mall of America, did a lot of shopping, saw a cool aquarium. Yesterday I met with my Mayo Endo, and today I had my first of two rounds of alcohol ablation. My coworker referred to it a couple weeks ago as an Alcoholic Vampire bite, which makes me wonder what an Alcohol Vampire would be like. Would it be like a normal vampire, but really drunk? Since vampires are technically dead and don't have blood, how would you gauge its BAC? Or would their blood simply be replaced by alcohol? Maybe they just turn all the water in your body to wine, like Jesus. Or... was Jesus an Alcohol Vampire himself? 0.0
Maybe I should stop thinking about this before I'm struck down for Blasphemy.
Okay, so, the actual event. Essentially, the procedure was pretty similar to what they do when I have a needle biopsy. I went up to Radiology, they put me in an ultrasound room and took an ultrasound of my neck, then the radiologist numbed me up and stuck a needle in my neck. With the biopsy, they do usually 6-10 stabs to collect tissue - they always say they're gonna do 4-6 but it's usually 8-10. This time it was just one poke, but the needle was in there a lot longer, and the radiologist was injecting alcohol into one of my lymph nodes the whole time. I was told the alcohol would probably burn, and it did, but it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I've had worse migraines. My neck is pretty sore right now, but not much more than it usually is after a biopsy.
This is definitely vastly preferable to surgery or I-131 therapy. No incisions and I get to eat whatever I want. :) And speaking of radioactive iodine, I've found some info I think is interesting - and a bit confusing.
In the main Mayo building they have a Cancer Education Center, which is kinda like a little library with books and pamphlets and things about cancer (my brother even found a book called "My Brother or Sister Has Cancer - A Book For Teens", which I told him to check out but he said he can't read...). They let me take a book out last night about thyroid disease, and I read the chapter about thyroid cancer specifically. It was written by one of the Mayo Endos (not mine) and an endo from Edinborough (which seems to be a center of a lot of thyroid research).
In the section on radioactive iodine treatment they said - rather emphatically - that radioactive iodine should be considered as an option following surgery but should really only be used in a select number of cases, and also mentioned that it can potentially lead to other cancers later in life. That last part I already knew, but I was surprised to hear (see?) a doctor recommend using radioactive iodine sparingly.
Literally every thyroid cancer patient I have ever met or spoken to has had RAI after their initial surgery. When I was diagnosed my doctors called it a "silver bullet" and praised it as a wonderful magic cure that would wipe out my cancer and end poverty and bring world peace. Obviously it hasn't actually done any of those things (yet). The book also said what my Mayo Endo told me, which is that radioiodine is often ineffective against lymph nodes with papillary cancer in them - like mine.
So it would seem that opinions about this "silver bullet" range pretty widely among endocrinologists, which made me wonder why I was led to believe, two years ago, that it was the answer to all my prayers. Curious, no? As much as I like my regular endo, this discovery makes me really glad I decided to get two opinions - obviously if there are two sides to this story I want to hear them both.
And I'm definitely doing more research from now on before I swallow radioactive materials.
Tomorrow is round 2 of Alcoholic Vampire Bite. I hear it's supposed to hurt even more since my neck is already sore from the first one. I'll update you, dear reader(s), with detailed descriptions of my pain, since I know that's what you all want to hear.
And if I turn into an Alcohol Vampire, lock your doors.
Not-so-drunkenly yours,
RG
I'm sure not many people are still checking this, since I haven't posted in awhile. There really hasn't been anything to report medically for the past few months, and I'd rather stay on-topic than use this blog to discuss my personal life. But, fortunately (?), I'm back at Mayo Clinic now doing more interesting things for y'all to read about.
My family and I drove up to Rochester on the 27th and have been staying here for the past few days. We checked out the Mall of America, did a lot of shopping, saw a cool aquarium. Yesterday I met with my Mayo Endo, and today I had my first of two rounds of alcohol ablation. My coworker referred to it a couple weeks ago as an Alcoholic Vampire bite, which makes me wonder what an Alcohol Vampire would be like. Would it be like a normal vampire, but really drunk? Since vampires are technically dead and don't have blood, how would you gauge its BAC? Or would their blood simply be replaced by alcohol? Maybe they just turn all the water in your body to wine, like Jesus. Or... was Jesus an Alcohol Vampire himself? 0.0
Maybe I should stop thinking about this before I'm struck down for Blasphemy.
Okay, so, the actual event. Essentially, the procedure was pretty similar to what they do when I have a needle biopsy. I went up to Radiology, they put me in an ultrasound room and took an ultrasound of my neck, then the radiologist numbed me up and stuck a needle in my neck. With the biopsy, they do usually 6-10 stabs to collect tissue - they always say they're gonna do 4-6 but it's usually 8-10. This time it was just one poke, but the needle was in there a lot longer, and the radiologist was injecting alcohol into one of my lymph nodes the whole time. I was told the alcohol would probably burn, and it did, but it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I've had worse migraines. My neck is pretty sore right now, but not much more than it usually is after a biopsy.
This is definitely vastly preferable to surgery or I-131 therapy. No incisions and I get to eat whatever I want. :) And speaking of radioactive iodine, I've found some info I think is interesting - and a bit confusing.
In the main Mayo building they have a Cancer Education Center, which is kinda like a little library with books and pamphlets and things about cancer (my brother even found a book called "My Brother or Sister Has Cancer - A Book For Teens", which I told him to check out but he said he can't read...). They let me take a book out last night about thyroid disease, and I read the chapter about thyroid cancer specifically. It was written by one of the Mayo Endos (not mine) and an endo from Edinborough (which seems to be a center of a lot of thyroid research).
In the section on radioactive iodine treatment they said - rather emphatically - that radioactive iodine should be considered as an option following surgery but should really only be used in a select number of cases, and also mentioned that it can potentially lead to other cancers later in life. That last part I already knew, but I was surprised to hear (see?) a doctor recommend using radioactive iodine sparingly.
Literally every thyroid cancer patient I have ever met or spoken to has had RAI after their initial surgery. When I was diagnosed my doctors called it a "silver bullet" and praised it as a wonderful magic cure that would wipe out my cancer and end poverty and bring world peace. Obviously it hasn't actually done any of those things (yet). The book also said what my Mayo Endo told me, which is that radioiodine is often ineffective against lymph nodes with papillary cancer in them - like mine.
So it would seem that opinions about this "silver bullet" range pretty widely among endocrinologists, which made me wonder why I was led to believe, two years ago, that it was the answer to all my prayers. Curious, no? As much as I like my regular endo, this discovery makes me really glad I decided to get two opinions - obviously if there are two sides to this story I want to hear them both.
And I'm definitely doing more research from now on before I swallow radioactive materials.
Tomorrow is round 2 of Alcoholic Vampire Bite. I hear it's supposed to hurt even more since my neck is already sore from the first one. I'll update you, dear reader(s), with detailed descriptions of my pain, since I know that's what you all want to hear.
And if I turn into an Alcohol Vampire, lock your doors.
Not-so-drunkenly yours,
RG
10/15/2010
Synthroid Saves The Day
Dear reader(s):
First off, I should apologize for ignoring y'all for so long. My life here in Chicago is pretty hectic, and as a graduate student in a writing program I don't have much time to sit and write things that aren't academic.
So that's my big excuse. In medical news, the docs at Mayo seem to think I'm a good candidate for the alcohol ablation procedure, and I'm probably going to have it done in December, maybe between Christmas and New Year's.
Also, I'm back on my Synthroid. It feels AMAZING. When I started taking it, I felt better almost right away. Which doesn't even make sense, because it's supposed to take weeks. But I swear, within a few days I had tons more energy and felt like a human instead of a walking zombie. I guess my point, in summary, is that I <3 Synthroid.
Still tired a lot, but that's to be expected when you live a life of stress and insanity. Oh well. Gotta go back to the grind, but I will keep my reader(s) updated.
Energetically yours,
RG
First off, I should apologize for ignoring y'all for so long. My life here in Chicago is pretty hectic, and as a graduate student in a writing program I don't have much time to sit and write things that aren't academic.
So that's my big excuse. In medical news, the docs at Mayo seem to think I'm a good candidate for the alcohol ablation procedure, and I'm probably going to have it done in December, maybe between Christmas and New Year's.
Also, I'm back on my Synthroid. It feels AMAZING. When I started taking it, I felt better almost right away. Which doesn't even make sense, because it's supposed to take weeks. But I swear, within a few days I had tons more energy and felt like a human instead of a walking zombie. I guess my point, in summary, is that I <3 Synthroid.
Still tired a lot, but that's to be expected when you live a life of stress and insanity. Oh well. Gotta go back to the grind, but I will keep my reader(s) updated.
Energetically yours,
RG
9/24/2010
BE AWARE.
Reader(s):
Also, I forgot to tell you that I realized yesterday that September is Thyroid Cancer Awareness month. Apparently we share September with several other cancers also. And yes, I know September is almost over, but that just means we have to pack extra awareness into the next few days! You can do it, faithful reader(s)!
Click here for more info. And don't forget to GET YOUR NECK CHECKED for nodules. And if you have any symptoms of hypothyroidism (which my reader(s) should know by now after I've complained about them so much), go to your doctor and ask them to do a blood test. Thyroid problems are very common, especially in women, and some doctors think that certain thyroid diseases can lead to thyroid cancer.
So be aware, good people! And love your little butterfly-shaped friend, if only because I can no longer love mine.
Painfully aware,
RG
Also, I forgot to tell you that I realized yesterday that September is Thyroid Cancer Awareness month. Apparently we share September with several other cancers also. And yes, I know September is almost over, but that just means we have to pack extra awareness into the next few days! You can do it, faithful reader(s)!
Click here for more info. And don't forget to GET YOUR NECK CHECKED for nodules. And if you have any symptoms of hypothyroidism (which my reader(s) should know by now after I've complained about them so much), go to your doctor and ask them to do a blood test. Thyroid problems are very common, especially in women, and some doctors think that certain thyroid diseases can lead to thyroid cancer.
So be aware, good people! And love your little butterfly-shaped friend, if only because I can no longer love mine.
Painfully aware,
RG
Mayo Magic
Reader(s):
Well, thanks to the doctor/detectives at the Mayo Clinic, we have now solved the mystery of the High-TG levels.
Before I reveal the culprit, I would like to describe my Mayo experience from the beginning. Also, like any good mystery writer, I just want to build up some suspense.
First of all, this place is freakin' ginormous. And swanky. Mayo Clinic pretty much takes up all of downtown Rochester, and its various buildings are all connected to each other and to nearby buildings and hotels via an extremely impressive network of underground tunnels (although it's all foot traffic they call it the subway) and above-ground skyways. There are all kinds of cool things interspersed around the first floor and the subway such as a Mayo history display, tons of artwork, a Cancer Education Center that has Yoga and Tai-Chi classes almost every day, and lots of various shops and food stores.
The main building is nineteen stories high. The endocrinology department, where I spent most of my time, is on the eighteenth floor. Despite the huge number of doctors and patients and facilities, everything at Mayo is super-efficient. Yesterday I had one of the fastest blood tests of my life, despite the fact that there were at least 20-30 people in the waiting room with me. My procedures today were very efficient also. Overall my mom and I were extremely impressed about how well everything was done. It's pretty clear why this place has such a great reputation.
So now that we have the setting down, I'll explain what actually happened.
When I first met with the doctor yesterday morning, he basically told me that he didn't think having an RAI treatment at this stage is a good idea. Since we would be essentially just treating a number (my TG level) without any other evidence of cancer, and since I'm young and my type of cancer is very slow-growing, he told us that he would prefer to wait and see what develops rather than give me a high dose of RAI without knowing if it would even be effective, especially since high RAI doses can have negative side effects in the long term.
He ordered a blood test and an ultrasound, and told us that their radiology department often finds things when previous scans haven't. So I had a blood test yesterday and an ultrasound this morning. The ultrasound did show two suspicious lymph nodes, and I had one of them biopsied right away. When I met with the doctor again this afternoon he told us that the biopsy was positive. Which means we have now found our culprit. It's a sneaky little node on the left side of my neck near my collarbone, right near my scar. Tricky little bastard.
One of the things the doctor explained was that because papillary thyroid cancer is so slow-growing, cancerous lymph nodes can take a long time to develop to a size that can be seen and/or treated. Yesterday he told us we should start thinking of my cancer as a chronic disease, rather than something that needs to be gotten rid of urgently like other cancers. I still don't know how I feel about the idea of having to go through this again and again for the rest of my life. I suppose it's better than having a bad long-term prognosis, but it also means I have to keep waiting around and that's pretty much my least favorite thing ever. Patience has never been a virtue that I have possessed.
Nevertheless, we have decided to wait for another few months or so before we take care of the aforementioned lymph node. Normally I would have it removed surgically, but since I just had surgery in April the doctor said he would prefer to wait at least a year before having another one. And I'm certainly not thrilled about going under the knife again so soon.
Also, Mayo has recently pioneered a procedure called alcohol ablation that they've been using to get rid of metastatic thyroid cancer lymph nodes in the neck. From what I understand, it involves using alcohol to blow up the cancerous lymph nodes rather than removing them surgically. Mayo is one of the only places in the country that does this procedure, and the doctor said he would talk to the radiology department about whether this is a possibility for me. If so, I'll probably come back to Mayo within the next six months or so and have that done.
No matter what, I probably won't have RAI again. At least not for a long time. The doctor said that lymph nodes usually don't respond well to radioactive iodine, and since mine didn't show up on the RAI scan last month it doesn't seem likely that they would be affected by an RAI treatment anyway. I'm pretty happy that I don't have to go through it again. All my other doctors have talked about how it's a magic bullet and it's super effective for thyroid cancer and blah blah blah, but I kind of think it sucks. At least when I'm going through it. So good riddance, RAI, LID, and all you other stupid un-fun acronyms.
Unfortunately that does mean I won't be radioactive again for some time. I might have to change my pen name. Any ideas? Thyroid Diva, maybe? Papillary Princess? Given that I've now had three biopsies in the past year I've been considering calling myself the Biopsy Queen. But maybe that one's not so good.
For now, I'm going to go back to my life, but I'll probably be back here in Rochester soon. And I will try to keep updating about cancer-related issues when they arise and/or whenever I actually have time to sit at my computer and write things.
Homeward Bound,
RG
Well, thanks to the doctor/detectives at the Mayo Clinic, we have now solved the mystery of the High-TG levels.
Before I reveal the culprit, I would like to describe my Mayo experience from the beginning. Also, like any good mystery writer, I just want to build up some suspense.
First of all, this place is freakin' ginormous. And swanky. Mayo Clinic pretty much takes up all of downtown Rochester, and its various buildings are all connected to each other and to nearby buildings and hotels via an extremely impressive network of underground tunnels (although it's all foot traffic they call it the subway) and above-ground skyways. There are all kinds of cool things interspersed around the first floor and the subway such as a Mayo history display, tons of artwork, a Cancer Education Center that has Yoga and Tai-Chi classes almost every day, and lots of various shops and food stores.
The main building is nineteen stories high. The endocrinology department, where I spent most of my time, is on the eighteenth floor. Despite the huge number of doctors and patients and facilities, everything at Mayo is super-efficient. Yesterday I had one of the fastest blood tests of my life, despite the fact that there were at least 20-30 people in the waiting room with me. My procedures today were very efficient also. Overall my mom and I were extremely impressed about how well everything was done. It's pretty clear why this place has such a great reputation.
So now that we have the setting down, I'll explain what actually happened.
When I first met with the doctor yesterday morning, he basically told me that he didn't think having an RAI treatment at this stage is a good idea. Since we would be essentially just treating a number (my TG level) without any other evidence of cancer, and since I'm young and my type of cancer is very slow-growing, he told us that he would prefer to wait and see what develops rather than give me a high dose of RAI without knowing if it would even be effective, especially since high RAI doses can have negative side effects in the long term.
He ordered a blood test and an ultrasound, and told us that their radiology department often finds things when previous scans haven't. So I had a blood test yesterday and an ultrasound this morning. The ultrasound did show two suspicious lymph nodes, and I had one of them biopsied right away. When I met with the doctor again this afternoon he told us that the biopsy was positive. Which means we have now found our culprit. It's a sneaky little node on the left side of my neck near my collarbone, right near my scar. Tricky little bastard.
One of the things the doctor explained was that because papillary thyroid cancer is so slow-growing, cancerous lymph nodes can take a long time to develop to a size that can be seen and/or treated. Yesterday he told us we should start thinking of my cancer as a chronic disease, rather than something that needs to be gotten rid of urgently like other cancers. I still don't know how I feel about the idea of having to go through this again and again for the rest of my life. I suppose it's better than having a bad long-term prognosis, but it also means I have to keep waiting around and that's pretty much my least favorite thing ever. Patience has never been a virtue that I have possessed.
Nevertheless, we have decided to wait for another few months or so before we take care of the aforementioned lymph node. Normally I would have it removed surgically, but since I just had surgery in April the doctor said he would prefer to wait at least a year before having another one. And I'm certainly not thrilled about going under the knife again so soon.
Also, Mayo has recently pioneered a procedure called alcohol ablation that they've been using to get rid of metastatic thyroid cancer lymph nodes in the neck. From what I understand, it involves using alcohol to blow up the cancerous lymph nodes rather than removing them surgically. Mayo is one of the only places in the country that does this procedure, and the doctor said he would talk to the radiology department about whether this is a possibility for me. If so, I'll probably come back to Mayo within the next six months or so and have that done.
No matter what, I probably won't have RAI again. At least not for a long time. The doctor said that lymph nodes usually don't respond well to radioactive iodine, and since mine didn't show up on the RAI scan last month it doesn't seem likely that they would be affected by an RAI treatment anyway. I'm pretty happy that I don't have to go through it again. All my other doctors have talked about how it's a magic bullet and it's super effective for thyroid cancer and blah blah blah, but I kind of think it sucks. At least when I'm going through it. So good riddance, RAI, LID, and all you other stupid un-fun acronyms.
Unfortunately that does mean I won't be radioactive again for some time. I might have to change my pen name. Any ideas? Thyroid Diva, maybe? Papillary Princess? Given that I've now had three biopsies in the past year I've been considering calling myself the Biopsy Queen. But maybe that one's not so good.
For now, I'm going to go back to my life, but I'll probably be back here in Rochester soon. And I will try to keep updating about cancer-related issues when they arise and/or whenever I actually have time to sit at my computer and write things.
Homeward Bound,
RG
9/23/2010
Minnesota Misadventures
Reader(s),
Radioactive Girl has arrived in Rochester. Unfortunately, I almost did not arrive at all. Last night's travels got pretty crazy. I'll explain:
My mother and I had tickets on a flight from O'Hare to Rochester that was supposed to leave at 7:30 pm last night. We were waiting at the gate, and at 7 pm, when we were supposed to start boarding, they told us we were going to be delayed another half hour. Okay, fine. Unfortunately, this kept happening every half hour until 9:30. Mom was checking the weather in Rochester and we knew there were some intense storms going on, so we assumed our flight would be delayed for a few hours. However, at 9:30 they told us that it was canceled.
The airport folks were telling everyone that they could switch to the flight leaving for Rochester at 7:40 this morning. My appointment with the Mayo endocrinologist was at 6:45. Via basic subtraction we can see how this is a problem. After berating and begging various O'Hare employees, my mother and I finally managed to get on a 10:30 pm flight to Minneapolis, which is only about an hour and a half north of Rochester.
At the Minneapolis airport we had to rent a car. It was around midnight by then, and there were several people in line ahead of us due to the canceled Rochester flight. My mom decided we should ask the man in front of us if he was going to Rochester and if we could ride with him and pay for half of the rental car. He agreed, so we set off for Rochester with our new friend Kyle. After an hour and a half trip in a monsoon-like rainstorm, we finally arrived at the hotel at 2 am.
Keep in mind, reader(s), that I had been asked to fast before my Mayo appointment, so I hadn't been able to eat anything since 7 pm. Needless to say, I was not in an awesome mood.
I got about three hours of sleep and then we headed to Mayo Clinic. Oh my golly, it is huge. And fancy. And full of people. Everything was very well organized, even though we did have to wait a long time to see my doctor. We didn't get back to the hotel until about noon, and then my mom and I finally got to sleep for awhile.
I'll discuss more details about my Mayo visit in another post tomorrow. I'm scheduled for an ultrasound and afterwards I'll know more about the direction I need to go as far as treatment is concerned. Stay tuned for more Mayo Mishaps and Minnesotan Misadventures, as well as more pointless alliterations.
Hearts, stars, and horseshoes,
RG
Radioactive Girl has arrived in Rochester. Unfortunately, I almost did not arrive at all. Last night's travels got pretty crazy. I'll explain:
My mother and I had tickets on a flight from O'Hare to Rochester that was supposed to leave at 7:30 pm last night. We were waiting at the gate, and at 7 pm, when we were supposed to start boarding, they told us we were going to be delayed another half hour. Okay, fine. Unfortunately, this kept happening every half hour until 9:30. Mom was checking the weather in Rochester and we knew there were some intense storms going on, so we assumed our flight would be delayed for a few hours. However, at 9:30 they told us that it was canceled.
The airport folks were telling everyone that they could switch to the flight leaving for Rochester at 7:40 this morning. My appointment with the Mayo endocrinologist was at 6:45. Via basic subtraction we can see how this is a problem. After berating and begging various O'Hare employees, my mother and I finally managed to get on a 10:30 pm flight to Minneapolis, which is only about an hour and a half north of Rochester.
At the Minneapolis airport we had to rent a car. It was around midnight by then, and there were several people in line ahead of us due to the canceled Rochester flight. My mom decided we should ask the man in front of us if he was going to Rochester and if we could ride with him and pay for half of the rental car. He agreed, so we set off for Rochester with our new friend Kyle. After an hour and a half trip in a monsoon-like rainstorm, we finally arrived at the hotel at 2 am.
Keep in mind, reader(s), that I had been asked to fast before my Mayo appointment, so I hadn't been able to eat anything since 7 pm. Needless to say, I was not in an awesome mood.
I got about three hours of sleep and then we headed to Mayo Clinic. Oh my golly, it is huge. And fancy. And full of people. Everything was very well organized, even though we did have to wait a long time to see my doctor. We didn't get back to the hotel until about noon, and then my mom and I finally got to sleep for awhile.
I'll discuss more details about my Mayo visit in another post tomorrow. I'm scheduled for an ultrasound and afterwards I'll know more about the direction I need to go as far as treatment is concerned. Stay tuned for more Mayo Mishaps and Minnesotan Misadventures, as well as more pointless alliterations.
Hearts, stars, and horseshoes,
RG
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