Dear reader(s):
Yesterday was the weirdest possible kind of day. The kind where your specialist's assistant calls you at 1 pm with good news, and then your specialist calls you four hours later with bad news. That's right, folks: the Cancer Rollercoaster is moving full speed ahead, with more twists and turns than you ever wanted or thought possible.
AND THE BLOG GETS INTERESTING ONCE AGAIN. WOOHOO!
Here's the deal. I explained TSH yesterday, but I did not explain TG. Thyroglobulin - TG - is basically an indicator of thyroid tissue in the body. In my case, thyroid tissue = cancer. So higher TG = more cancer. We want my TG level to be 0. I had, as you may remember, a blood test on Tuesday, and since Wednesday I had been asking my endo's assistants if they had my TG results in. Apparently they did not get them until late yesterday, when my endo herself finally called me to tell me that my TG is at 45.
Again, ideal level is 0. My TG before my last surgery was 18. This means that my cancer is still growing even AFTER that surgery, and since my surgeon pretty much cleared my neck out back in April it's likely at this point that there's thyroid cancer hanging out somewhere in my body. The bad news is my doctor has no idea where.
I would like to clarify for everyone - before you get too freaked out - that if thyroid cancer is found elsewhere in my body it is still thyroid cancer, not another kind. For example, if they find it near my lungs it is still metastatic (metastatic basically just means it moved) thyroid cancer, NOT lung cancer. This means that it could still respond to radioactive iodine. The bad side of this, as explained by my endo, is that it is possible for my papillary thyroid cancer to have re-differentiated into a different type of thyroid cancer. There are four types - papillary is the "best", the next two are meh, and one is really really scary and awful. But right now we're going to pretend that one doesn't exist, k?
What's happening now: I will go to the nuclear medicine place on Monday. They will give me a scan dose - as opposed to the previously scheduled treatment dose - of radioactive iodine. The difference between the two is that the treatment dose is intended to actually get rid of remaining cancer cells, whereas the scan dose is just so they can see where in my body the iodine is uptaking and can then have an idea where the high TG levels are coming from. It's a much smaller dose, and I only have to be in isolation for three or four days as opposed to seven. I think they might even use a different isotope - I-123 as opposed to I-131 - but I'm not quite sure about that.
So...yeah. This is all pretty bad news. I'm still kind of shocked. I've already been through about 75 different emotions this week so at this point I don't even know what to feel or say. Here are the two major things I have been thinking today:
1) I would very much like to find everyone who told me that I had "the best type of cancer" and that "if I could choose a type of cancer to get this would be the one to choose" (and bear in mind, reader(s), that this includes literally every doctor I've ever met since I was diagnosed) and punch them right in the face. Some of them possibly in the reproductive organs as well.
2) Let me preface this one with the disclaimer that it is a JOKE, and that I would not ever actually wish any type of cancer on any person for any reason because I have a soul. However. I was driving to Wal-mart this morning and heard a Kesha - excuse me, it's Ke$ha - song come on the radio, and I have decided that if I could give my cancer to anyone else I would transfer it to her. That way she could have something to sing (I use the term "sing" loosely here) about besides what a drunken whore she is and maybe spend her time doing something better than finding outrageously stupid things to wear onstage and trying to be a more vapid version of Lady Gaga. Since she seems to like drugs so much I'm sure the young adult cancer community and I could find some really fun ones to give her. After some of those I can assure you that whatever she feels like when she wakes up the next morning, it will certainly be nothing like P-Diddy. And also maybe she could find the S that she seems to have misplaced from her name! Plus, I just think she needs this cancer more than I do. I like to think that I was at least a decent person before I got cancer; maybe not great, certainly not perfect, but at least decent. So shouldn't all the strength and depth and character-building that everyone keeps saying I've gained from all my struggles go to someone who really needs them? I think so. And that is why I would like to donate my cancer to someone who can really use it. Someone like stupid annoying Ke$ha.
Okay, I think I'm done being offensive now. I should also probably apologize for not explaining all of this sooner, but I will admit that I spent most of yesterday drinking. Anyone who can honestly tell me they would have done something else is a saint and should immediately contact the Catholic Church to apply for an "St" in front of their name. Otherwise I hope you will understand and forgive me for the reporting delay. I hate to toy with your emotions like this, dear reader(s), but unfortunately this situation is not under my control. Angry letters can be directed to my cancer at the following address:
Papillary(?) Thyroid Cancer
00010 Cell Mutation Lane
Somewhere in RG's body, USA
As usual, solid facts will continue to enter this blog as I receive them. Enjoy your ride on the Cancer Rollercoaster ride, folks...unfortunately it looks like it may be a bumpy one.
Love,
RG
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