Dear reader(s):
It has just now come to my attention that yesterday was Friday the 13th.
...O.O
Coincidence?
Love,
RG.
8/14/2010
Um...well, this is awkward.
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
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
8/13/2010
Phew.
Dear reader(s):
Good news! Biopsy came back clean. Now the blog gets boring again.
Still basically just...hanging around, waiting. While I am, of course, glad that everything turned out okay, I admit that I'm a bit annoyed that this all happened for no reason. But...oh well.
My doctor's assistant (who has become my BFF of all things thyroid-related) said they'd call me on Monday to tell me when the imaging place can reschedule my RAI. Because god forbid anyone would throw a cancer patient a freakin' bone and actually do some work on a weekend. *LE SIGH* Until then, I'll still be here in limbo, dreaming dreams of milk and cheese and chocolate as I get hypo-er and hypo-er.
This would probably be a good time to explain what exactly I mean when I say that I'm "hypo", especially since I've been getting asked a lot lately. "Hypo" is just the fun thyca patient slang term for "hypothyroid". And of course, "thyca" is our fun slang term for "thyroid cancer". Cancer patients like abbreviations. Try to keep up. Anyway, hypothyroid is what they call it when your thyroid (or in my case, large empty wasteland where my thyroid used to be) isn't producing enough thyroid hormone and is causing all sorts of fun side effects for you, the thyroid-challenged.
Web-MD lists some of these side effects as follows:
My mom asked me the other day what it actually felt like to be hypo. I told her it's kind of like that feeling you have when you have a really bad cold, where your whole body feels wrecked and exhausted all the time and you sort of generally feel like you've been hit by a truck. That, mixed with the mood swings, depression, being cold all the time, and having a sort of mental hazy-ness should give you a general idea of how I feel.
No, it's probably not nearly as bad as the side effects of chemo. But it's also not a cake walk, either. For a point of reference, I will explain TSH levels. Thyroid Stimulating Hormone (TSH) is produced by the pituitary gland and it, in turn, causes the thyroid to release T3 and T4, which, in my understanding, are the hormones that do all the work, such as regulating metabolism and all that fun stuff. So TSH levels are used to measure how overactive or underactive a person's thyroid is. If your TSH is low, you're hyPERthryoid and are overproducing hormone, if it's high you're hyPOthyroid, like me, and are underproducing. Yes, this does seem backward, and no, despite having asked my endocrinologist multiple times I still don't really understand why. Just...low TSH means hyper, high TSH means hypo. Anyway, my point is that the "normal" TSH range for adults is about 0.4-4.5. Mine, as of Tuesday's blood test, was 141. That, dear reader(s), is very, very, hypo.
I also found out from the doctor who met with me before my very first RAI that were I to stop taking my thyroid meds for a very very long time, say 3-4 months, I would eventually die. This is why I am constantly annoyed at the fact that my insurance company only covers a dollar - ONE dollar - of my thirty dollar hormone replacement meds every month, as I need to take them for the rest of my life and quite literally need them to live. I don't know exactly which medications these companies have decided are necessary enough for them to pay for, but apparently my life-giving synthroid does not qualify. *LE SIGH*
So, hopefully that explains the hypo-ness. I can, of course, answer any other questions about it in the comments (which, btw, are easier for me to receive here on the actual blog than on Facebook), or both thyca.org and webMD are pretty good ways to find info.
Also thanks for everyone's concern and for trudging through my long-winded writings.
Hypothyroidcally yours,
RG
Good news! Biopsy came back clean. Now the blog gets boring again.
Still basically just...hanging around, waiting. While I am, of course, glad that everything turned out okay, I admit that I'm a bit annoyed that this all happened for no reason. But...oh well.
My doctor's assistant (who has become my BFF of all things thyroid-related) said they'd call me on Monday to tell me when the imaging place can reschedule my RAI. Because god forbid anyone would throw a cancer patient a freakin' bone and actually do some work on a weekend. *LE SIGH* Until then, I'll still be here in limbo, dreaming dreams of milk and cheese and chocolate as I get hypo-er and hypo-er.
This would probably be a good time to explain what exactly I mean when I say that I'm "hypo", especially since I've been getting asked a lot lately. "Hypo" is just the fun thyca patient slang term for "hypothyroid". And of course, "thyca" is our fun slang term for "thyroid cancer". Cancer patients like abbreviations. Try to keep up. Anyway, hypothyroid is what they call it when your thyroid (or in my case, large empty wasteland where my thyroid used to be) isn't producing enough thyroid hormone and is causing all sorts of fun side effects for you, the thyroid-challenged.
Web-MD lists some of these side effects as follows:
- Feeling tired, weak, or depressed.
- Dry skin and brittle nails.
- Not being able to stand the cold.
- Constipation.
- Memory problems or having trouble thinking clearly.
- Heavy or irregular menstrual periods.
My mom asked me the other day what it actually felt like to be hypo. I told her it's kind of like that feeling you have when you have a really bad cold, where your whole body feels wrecked and exhausted all the time and you sort of generally feel like you've been hit by a truck. That, mixed with the mood swings, depression, being cold all the time, and having a sort of mental hazy-ness should give you a general idea of how I feel.
No, it's probably not nearly as bad as the side effects of chemo. But it's also not a cake walk, either. For a point of reference, I will explain TSH levels. Thyroid Stimulating Hormone (TSH) is produced by the pituitary gland and it, in turn, causes the thyroid to release T3 and T4, which, in my understanding, are the hormones that do all the work, such as regulating metabolism and all that fun stuff. So TSH levels are used to measure how overactive or underactive a person's thyroid is. If your TSH is low, you're hyPERthryoid and are overproducing hormone, if it's high you're hyPOthyroid, like me, and are underproducing. Yes, this does seem backward, and no, despite having asked my endocrinologist multiple times I still don't really understand why. Just...low TSH means hyper, high TSH means hypo. Anyway, my point is that the "normal" TSH range for adults is about 0.4-4.5. Mine, as of Tuesday's blood test, was 141. That, dear reader(s), is very, very, hypo.
I also found out from the doctor who met with me before my very first RAI that were I to stop taking my thyroid meds for a very very long time, say 3-4 months, I would eventually die. This is why I am constantly annoyed at the fact that my insurance company only covers a dollar - ONE dollar - of my thirty dollar hormone replacement meds every month, as I need to take them for the rest of my life and quite literally need them to live. I don't know exactly which medications these companies have decided are necessary enough for them to pay for, but apparently my life-giving synthroid does not qualify. *LE SIGH*
So, hopefully that explains the hypo-ness. I can, of course, answer any other questions about it in the comments (which, btw, are easier for me to receive here on the actual blog than on Facebook), or both thyca.org and webMD are pretty good ways to find info.
Also thanks for everyone's concern and for trudging through my long-winded writings.
Hypothyroidcally yours,
RG
8/12/2010
Cancer Limbo
Dear reader(s):
Well, I promised you updates, so here goes:
Biopsy was today. It went fine. This was my third so I'm pretty much used to them at this point. I was, in fact, filling out paperwork beforehand and had some trouble fitting in my answer to the question "List any other biopsies/surgeries in the affected area along with dates and hospital names". If I were Jeff Foxworthy the joke here would be, "You know you're a cancer patient when...your list of past procedures looks more like a novel than a list".
Or perhaps more cleverly worded than that. But you get the idea.
Anyway, the whole thing was pretty routine. They found the lymph node they were looking for (sort of behind my right lower jaw area), stuck me nine times with a needle, sent me home. The radiologist told me before she left that she'd gotten a quick look at about half of the samples and hadn't seen anything yet that looked cancerous. So...so far so good I guess. Official results probably won't be in until tomorrow afternoon, but we explained my situation and the doctor said she'd try to get them done as soon as possible.
Until then, we remain in Cancer Limbo. My absolute favorite place to be, where birds sing and flowers blossom, and candy gumdrops rain from the sky. Ah, Cancer Limbo. Just one of the many scenic Sick World destinations for you to choose from. Or, actually, not choose, because you're stuck in Sick World whether you like it or not. It's like the Hotel California, but less fun and without an awesome song.
So, dear reader(s), that is all I have to tell you until tomorrow. I would send you a "Wish You Were Here" postcard, but that would be cruel.
Love,
RG.
Well, I promised you updates, so here goes:
Biopsy was today. It went fine. This was my third so I'm pretty much used to them at this point. I was, in fact, filling out paperwork beforehand and had some trouble fitting in my answer to the question "List any other biopsies/surgeries in the affected area along with dates and hospital names". If I were Jeff Foxworthy the joke here would be, "You know you're a cancer patient when...your list of past procedures looks more like a novel than a list".
Or perhaps more cleverly worded than that. But you get the idea.
Anyway, the whole thing was pretty routine. They found the lymph node they were looking for (sort of behind my right lower jaw area), stuck me nine times with a needle, sent me home. The radiologist told me before she left that she'd gotten a quick look at about half of the samples and hadn't seen anything yet that looked cancerous. So...so far so good I guess. Official results probably won't be in until tomorrow afternoon, but we explained my situation and the doctor said she'd try to get them done as soon as possible.
Until then, we remain in Cancer Limbo. My absolute favorite place to be, where birds sing and flowers blossom, and candy gumdrops rain from the sky. Ah, Cancer Limbo. Just one of the many scenic Sick World destinations for you to choose from. Or, actually, not choose, because you're stuck in Sick World whether you like it or not. It's like the Hotel California, but less fun and without an awesome song.
So, dear reader(s), that is all I have to tell you until tomorrow. I would send you a "Wish You Were Here" postcard, but that would be cruel.
Love,
RG.
8/11/2010
In short, FML.
Dear Reader(s),
Well, despite my valiant superheroic efforts on my diet, the evil thyroid cancer has one-upped me yet again. The good news is that this blog just got more interesting. The bad news is that this blog just got more interesting.
I arrived in my hometown on Monday for an ultrasound, followed by a blood test yesterday, and was scheduled to take my radioactive iodine tomorrow morning. I had expected these tests to simply be routine and to go ahead with my RAI as planned.
No cancer-fighting superhero should ever make this assumption. Let that be noted.
I received a phone call from my endocrinologist at about noon today saying that she had canceled my RAI appointment for tomorrow. Apparently my ultrasound showed an irregular lymph node on the right hand side of my neck that my endo wants to have biopsied before we continue with treatment. If it is benign, we can go ahead and reschedule my RAI, if not then I get to have more surgery! Yay!! Just the thing I very most wanted!!
You, dear reader, will not be surprised to hear that I am pissed. Not at my doctor, who is just doing her job, or really at anyone in particular, but simply pissed off in general. Mostly due to the fact that my boyfriend's and my one-year anniversary is in a few days, and we had planned on him taking the 18th-20th off from work and coming down to my hometown to spend what would have been the last day of my isolation with my family and then go out for a nice dinner and spend a night in a hotel once I was released from lockdown. Now, of course, this is completely ruined. We had a room reservation and everything. The worst part is that said boyfriend recently took a full-time position at work, which makes it now infinitely harder - and it was hard before - for him to get time off at all. He took said position for the benefits, but doesn't receive any of them for another three months while he is on a "probationary period". So basically he gets zero vacation or sick days until October. Which means the whole anniversary thing is totally fucked. Plus if I do need surgery there's probably no way he can come and be with me for any of it. Awesome.
Not only that, of course, but I now have to inform both of my workplaces that I will not be returning when I said I would be, and in fact do not know when I will be back at all. And of course I have to be on the Diet From Hell AND off of my medication for even longer - and lemme tell you, I've been feeling super great without my little happy pills lately.
Thyroid cancer, you are a bitch.
You see, dear reader(s), this is ultimately the worst part of having cancer, at least in my opinion. All I want is to live my life and make my plans like every other person on the planet, and I feel like every time I try or make any sort of headway I just get knocked flat on my ass again. Over and over and over.
People don't seem to understand why it bothers me when they say that my cancer has a "cure" rather than a "highly effective treatment". "Not a cure- well, what's the difference?" they might ask. This is the difference. This right here. When you cure something, you give someone a pill and it does not come back. They don't revolve their lives, their careers, and their relationships around something that could literally do whatever the fuck it wants at any given time regardless of what plans you make or what you want to do. A highly effective treatment is great, and I am immensely grateful that radioactive iodine works so well, because it means I don't really have to worry that I'll be dead five years from now. At least, not from this. But calling it a cure denies the instability of my disease and denies all the time that my family and friends and I have spent in exactly this situation, hearing "I don't know" and "we can tell you when we get the test results back" and all the rearranging we've had to do to structure our entire lives around a disease that, no, does NOT. HAVE. A CURE.
So there's my little cancer patient rant for today. I'm sure there will be many more to come. Stay tuned for updates - I'm going to try and keep information posted when I get it.
All I know is if I have to have another goddamn surgery I'm gonna freakin' scream.
Love,
RG.
Well, despite my valiant superheroic efforts on my diet, the evil thyroid cancer has one-upped me yet again. The good news is that this blog just got more interesting. The bad news is that this blog just got more interesting.
I arrived in my hometown on Monday for an ultrasound, followed by a blood test yesterday, and was scheduled to take my radioactive iodine tomorrow morning. I had expected these tests to simply be routine and to go ahead with my RAI as planned.
No cancer-fighting superhero should ever make this assumption. Let that be noted.
I received a phone call from my endocrinologist at about noon today saying that she had canceled my RAI appointment for tomorrow. Apparently my ultrasound showed an irregular lymph node on the right hand side of my neck that my endo wants to have biopsied before we continue with treatment. If it is benign, we can go ahead and reschedule my RAI, if not then I get to have more surgery! Yay!! Just the thing I very most wanted!!
You, dear reader, will not be surprised to hear that I am pissed. Not at my doctor, who is just doing her job, or really at anyone in particular, but simply pissed off in general. Mostly due to the fact that my boyfriend's and my one-year anniversary is in a few days, and we had planned on him taking the 18th-20th off from work and coming down to my hometown to spend what would have been the last day of my isolation with my family and then go out for a nice dinner and spend a night in a hotel once I was released from lockdown. Now, of course, this is completely ruined. We had a room reservation and everything. The worst part is that said boyfriend recently took a full-time position at work, which makes it now infinitely harder - and it was hard before - for him to get time off at all. He took said position for the benefits, but doesn't receive any of them for another three months while he is on a "probationary period". So basically he gets zero vacation or sick days until October. Which means the whole anniversary thing is totally fucked. Plus if I do need surgery there's probably no way he can come and be with me for any of it. Awesome.
Not only that, of course, but I now have to inform both of my workplaces that I will not be returning when I said I would be, and in fact do not know when I will be back at all. And of course I have to be on the Diet From Hell AND off of my medication for even longer - and lemme tell you, I've been feeling super great without my little happy pills lately.
Thyroid cancer, you are a bitch.
You see, dear reader(s), this is ultimately the worst part of having cancer, at least in my opinion. All I want is to live my life and make my plans like every other person on the planet, and I feel like every time I try or make any sort of headway I just get knocked flat on my ass again. Over and over and over.
People don't seem to understand why it bothers me when they say that my cancer has a "cure" rather than a "highly effective treatment". "Not a cure- well, what's the difference?" they might ask. This is the difference. This right here. When you cure something, you give someone a pill and it does not come back. They don't revolve their lives, their careers, and their relationships around something that could literally do whatever the fuck it wants at any given time regardless of what plans you make or what you want to do. A highly effective treatment is great, and I am immensely grateful that radioactive iodine works so well, because it means I don't really have to worry that I'll be dead five years from now. At least, not from this. But calling it a cure denies the instability of my disease and denies all the time that my family and friends and I have spent in exactly this situation, hearing "I don't know" and "we can tell you when we get the test results back" and all the rearranging we've had to do to structure our entire lives around a disease that, no, does NOT. HAVE. A CURE.
So there's my little cancer patient rant for today. I'm sure there will be many more to come. Stay tuned for updates - I'm going to try and keep information posted when I get it.
All I know is if I have to have another goddamn surgery I'm gonna freakin' scream.
Love,
RG.
8/06/2010
Short but sweet
Dear reader(s):
I've been meaning to write more about my low-iodine diet, and I will, but I only have about five minutes as I shuttle between minimum-wage jobs, so for now you will merely receive a hastily composed haiku:
Oh, dieting sucks.
So many foods that tempt - yet,
I am a rockstar.
(copyright 2010)
- RG
I've been meaning to write more about my low-iodine diet, and I will, but I only have about five minutes as I shuttle between minimum-wage jobs, so for now you will merely receive a hastily composed haiku:
Oh, dieting sucks.
So many foods that tempt - yet,
I am a rockstar.
(copyright 2010)
- RG
7/23/2010
Public Displays of Rudeness
Dear reader(s):
First, an announcement: the dates have been set! My isolation is to take place between August 12th and 19th. Stupid LID diet starts next Thursday, the 29th, and I am currently in the process of eating every delicious iodine-filled thing I can find in preparation for food hell. I will be blogging extensively during my period of solitary confinement - possibly video blogging as well now that I have an awesome new laptop with a built-in webcam - so tune in in August for my super-thrilling words of boredom and woe.
And now, on to the topic I will be ranting about today: public reactions to my thyroidectomy scar.
Lots of cancer patients have to deal with looking different after treatment - usually the main changes are hair loss from chemo and/or chest alterations from a mastectomy. Luckily for me, my type of cancer (thyroid) involves a treatment that doesn't usually cause hair loss; plus I got to keep my awesome boobs. Unluckily, the thyroid surgery left a pretty visible scar on my neck, and mine hasn't been healing well so it's particularly noticeable. Normally that doesn't bother me - I've had it for a long time and I've accepted the way I look now - but every so often I get asked about it by a total stranger. Usually the stranger is a child, and so usually I don't mind. I know kids don't have much of a verbal filter. But today I was taking the subway (to a job interview) and had a total stranger - an adult stranger - ask me: "What happened to your neck?".
I didn't know this person, and it was none of his business what happened to my neck or any other part of me. Occasionally I will get this question at a party too, after a couple of drinks have been had, or at a bar. What I really don't understand is why I anyone thinks it's acceptable to ask me this question at all. For all they know I could've been attacked by an ex-husband with a knife, or mugged, or had some equally horrible emotional trauma. In fact, having cancer WAS a pretty emotionally traumatizing experience, and the last place I want to rehash it is somewhere crowded or public. Basic common sense would suggest to anyone who meets me that having my neck cut open is likely to have been unpleasant, so why would anyone in their right mind think that I would enjoy discussing it again - especially if I'm just trying to have a drink with my girlfriends at a bar or minding my own business on the stupid train? Would these people ask someone with a scarf around their head how they lost their hair? Or say to a woman whose shirt didn't quite fit right: "Hey, where's your other boob?". Possibly yes - I'm sure that level of social ineptitude exists - but I doubt it.
So what is it, reader(s), about a roughly three-inch long, slightly hypertrophic scar that causes people to, as my roommate would say, "spontaneously combust into douchebaggery"? (That phrase is pending copyright, by the way.) I understand that it is located right between my perfect face and rockin' tits, and given that most of these aforementioned douchebags are male it would follow that its location tends to draw the eye. But if it is really so distracting that one feels the need to completely discard manners (not to mention my feelings) and verbally acknowledge it, then why not simply look either up or down instead? Honestly, I'd rather a creepy jerk stare at my chest than pry into my personal life. Either way you're a creepy jerk and have no chance of any further interaction with me, but at least the first choice means I don't have to talk to you.
Before I met my boyfriend, nearly every boy I met at a party who showed any interest in me eventually worked up a high enough blood alcohol content to ask about my scar. My boyfriend was the only one who didn't. That's probably why he won out, and why he's been the only man who has the gonads to stick it out through all the cancer crap. I think I deserve to be seen as a person, not a disease - or a scar - and it has been shockingly disheartening to discover how many people lack the emotional and/or intellectual capacity to do so.
So in preparation for future encounters with such people, I think I need to come up with a better answer to the "What happened to your neck?" question. Normally I just mumble something about a surgery, but maybe it's best just to fight rudeness with rudeness. Which response, dear reader(s), do you think would be most uncomfortable for the asker:
1) Look them straight in the eye and say, "I have cancer." Maintain eye contact. Look very serious and/or sad. Possibly learn how to fake crying.
2) Make up a long and obviously untrue story, possibly involving ninjas, and then walk away.
3) Same as above, but with a story that seems like it could be true and suggests that I am or was a prostitute or gang member.
4) Ask them what happened to their face/brain/manners.
5) Burst into tears. This would also require learning how to cry at will.
6) Play dead.
7) All of the above. One after the other. Very quickly.
If no one comments on this I'm choosing number 7. You have been warned. Also I'd love to hear stories from people who have had similar problems with scars, post-chemo baldness, or any other physical abnormality. Remember: only YOU can prevent spontaneous douchebaggery (COPYRIGHT PENDING).
Yours,
RG
First, an announcement: the dates have been set! My isolation is to take place between August 12th and 19th. Stupid LID diet starts next Thursday, the 29th, and I am currently in the process of eating every delicious iodine-filled thing I can find in preparation for food hell. I will be blogging extensively during my period of solitary confinement - possibly video blogging as well now that I have an awesome new laptop with a built-in webcam - so tune in in August for my super-thrilling words of boredom and woe.
And now, on to the topic I will be ranting about today: public reactions to my thyroidectomy scar.
Lots of cancer patients have to deal with looking different after treatment - usually the main changes are hair loss from chemo and/or chest alterations from a mastectomy. Luckily for me, my type of cancer (thyroid) involves a treatment that doesn't usually cause hair loss; plus I got to keep my awesome boobs. Unluckily, the thyroid surgery left a pretty visible scar on my neck, and mine hasn't been healing well so it's particularly noticeable. Normally that doesn't bother me - I've had it for a long time and I've accepted the way I look now - but every so often I get asked about it by a total stranger. Usually the stranger is a child, and so usually I don't mind. I know kids don't have much of a verbal filter. But today I was taking the subway (to a job interview) and had a total stranger - an adult stranger - ask me: "What happened to your neck?".
I didn't know this person, and it was none of his business what happened to my neck or any other part of me. Occasionally I will get this question at a party too, after a couple of drinks have been had, or at a bar. What I really don't understand is why I anyone thinks it's acceptable to ask me this question at all. For all they know I could've been attacked by an ex-husband with a knife, or mugged, or had some equally horrible emotional trauma. In fact, having cancer WAS a pretty emotionally traumatizing experience, and the last place I want to rehash it is somewhere crowded or public. Basic common sense would suggest to anyone who meets me that having my neck cut open is likely to have been unpleasant, so why would anyone in their right mind think that I would enjoy discussing it again - especially if I'm just trying to have a drink with my girlfriends at a bar or minding my own business on the stupid train? Would these people ask someone with a scarf around their head how they lost their hair? Or say to a woman whose shirt didn't quite fit right: "Hey, where's your other boob?". Possibly yes - I'm sure that level of social ineptitude exists - but I doubt it.
So what is it, reader(s), about a roughly three-inch long, slightly hypertrophic scar that causes people to, as my roommate would say, "spontaneously combust into douchebaggery"? (That phrase is pending copyright, by the way.) I understand that it is located right between my perfect face and rockin' tits, and given that most of these aforementioned douchebags are male it would follow that its location tends to draw the eye. But if it is really so distracting that one feels the need to completely discard manners (not to mention my feelings) and verbally acknowledge it, then why not simply look either up or down instead? Honestly, I'd rather a creepy jerk stare at my chest than pry into my personal life. Either way you're a creepy jerk and have no chance of any further interaction with me, but at least the first choice means I don't have to talk to you.
Before I met my boyfriend, nearly every boy I met at a party who showed any interest in me eventually worked up a high enough blood alcohol content to ask about my scar. My boyfriend was the only one who didn't. That's probably why he won out, and why he's been the only man who has the gonads to stick it out through all the cancer crap. I think I deserve to be seen as a person, not a disease - or a scar - and it has been shockingly disheartening to discover how many people lack the emotional and/or intellectual capacity to do so.
So in preparation for future encounters with such people, I think I need to come up with a better answer to the "What happened to your neck?" question. Normally I just mumble something about a surgery, but maybe it's best just to fight rudeness with rudeness. Which response, dear reader(s), do you think would be most uncomfortable for the asker:
1) Look them straight in the eye and say, "I have cancer." Maintain eye contact. Look very serious and/or sad. Possibly learn how to fake crying.
2) Make up a long and obviously untrue story, possibly involving ninjas, and then walk away.
3) Same as above, but with a story that seems like it could be true and suggests that I am or was a prostitute or gang member.
4) Ask them what happened to their face/brain/manners.
5) Burst into tears. This would also require learning how to cry at will.
6) Play dead.
7) All of the above. One after the other. Very quickly.
If no one comments on this I'm choosing number 7. You have been warned. Also I'd love to hear stories from people who have had similar problems with scars, post-chemo baldness, or any other physical abnormality. Remember: only YOU can prevent spontaneous douchebaggery (COPYRIGHT PENDING).
Yours,
RG
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