Sorry, I just had to blurt that out. Totally couldn't control it. I mean, can you people blame me? :-)
Mom is up next. Truthfully, I'm pretty worried about her scan. We were told she had no spread during her surgery, but then the scan following her treatment showed some uptake (RAI cling-age) in the right side of her neck. So, I really don't know what this scan will say. Let's just hope this treatment does the trick. Unfortunately, she does have to go through the low-iodine diet in order to prep for the scan. Oh, yay. Looks like I'll be doing some baking/cooking for her when that time comes around. I know by experience that stuff sucks.
To top off this fun entry, I have my 6 month follow up with my endocrinologist mid-October. Woohoo. While I do love seeing my endo, I don't really like having the waiting game. All she does is ultrasound me (while making comments and pointing at things, all of which I despise), feel up my neck, and bloodwork me. So, yeah. It's just one of those times I dread. Who knows what all of those tests will say?
I've got a small get together to go to tonight, so I'll save my big long heartfelt sentimental post for tomorrow. Until then, my darlings!
As always, I wish you all love, happiness, and -- most importantly -- good health.
For My Friends at, and the Fans of "Dear Thyroid"
Oh, to be loved that much.
Below are the questions presented to and my responses. I'm so excited to be doing this for these wonderful ladies. I love them all. Please go check out their website. It's thylicious, thylightful, and thylovely!
What kind of thyroid cancer were you diagnosed with? How many years have you been a survivor?
I was diagnosed with Papillary Thyroid Cancer (PTC) in 2006. I've been a survivor for over four years. Woo!
September is thyroid cancer awareness month. What does that mean to you? Why do you think awareness is important? How do you spread awareness?
Wow. Loaded question. September being Thyroid Cancer Awareness Month means that I have an excuse to spam the world. It means I have the ability to say, "HEY, Listen up, people! This month is Thyroid Cancer Awareness Month, so you better keep in mind what I have to say!" As I've stated before, thyroid cancer is no joke, and it doesn't discriminate. It means that us TC survivors can finally have our voices heard, since the month is completely dedicated to our cancer. Sure, we may not be at the level of "awareness" that breast cancer has gotten to, but we sure as heck can raise enough voices to get there, as long as we all stick together.
Awareness is extremely important. Since I've answered a similar question like this before in my PFAM post, I'll make this more brief. Awareness makes all the difference. I used this example in my previous post, but it still has the same effect. I was diagnosed first with Hashimoto's Thyroiditis. To be honest, I still stumble over the words, and I never even understood what in the blazes they were! I had no idea what the thyroid was, let alone what its -itis meant, and who in the world is Hashimoto? Is that a town? I mean, to be completely frank, I never had an anatomy class besides, well, sex education in like 5th, 6th, and 11th grade. I mean, really. People need to be much more aware of what goes on inside their bodies! Half of the people in the world don't know about these organs, especially the thyroid. That's where this awareness comes in. If we don't know about an organ, then how in the world will we be able to tell if something's wrong with it?
I spread awareness simply by being a Nagging Nelly. I pester my friends, family, co-workers, acquaintances, etc. I post information on Facebook and Twitter. I talk about my story so much my head starts to hurt. I can spew it out probably in less than one minute, since I'm so practiced. I talk about my family. I make sure people know what is happening, and I put my business out there so people can see that this is REAL. I never thought, beyond my wildest dreams, that any of this would ever happen to us. And, it has. So I'm going to do everything I can to stop it from happening to another family. The question is, will you help me?
Many thyroid cancer patients have been told, “If you have to get cancer, thyroid cancer is the one to get.” What do you think of that statement? When you’re told this, how do you respond?
Oh, how I despise this comment. I've been told that goodness knows how many times in the last four years. Sure, thyroid cancer has a high 5-year survival rate, depending on the cancer, but honestly, if it isn't 100%, then why is it "the one to get?" PTC has a 93% 10-year survival rate, FTC (follicular thyroid cancer) has an 85% 10-year survival rate, MTC (medullary thyroid cancer) has 75% 10-year survival rate, and Anaplastic/variant TCs have a 14% 10-year survival rate. Do you want this cancer now? I think not. PTC has a good 10-year survival rate, but would you want to wonder if you'll end up being the 93% that survive ten years, or the 7% that don't? Go tell that to your doctors.
When I was told that before, I accepted it, and it comforted me. But then again, I was young and vulnerable, and would take any good news I could find. I scraped at the bit for any sign of something positive, because I felt anything but.
Now that I've lived through this and reflected back on it, I loathe that statement. It's a fallacy! Cancer is cancer, no matter which way you roll the dice. The option I would have picked, if I had the choice, would have been, "None of the above."
Dear Thyroid is constantly working to dispel the myth that thyroid cancer is the good cancer or the easy cancer. What other myth would you like to dispel regarding thyroid cancer?
The big myth I keep encountering is that it's easy to treat. Yeeeah, OK. After two extensive surgeries and two big treatments of radioactive iodine (RAI), my cancer is still not gone. It's dormant. It's biding its time. Who knows what it'll do. But, it's still there. Try telling me it's good and easy when I'm still battling it every day of my life. I've never been on a yearly basis with my doctors (which means I'm pretty much in pristine condition). I'm still on a six-month track, which means I'm still under the ever-watchful eye of my lovely and fabulous doctors. They know something's there, it's just a matter of annihilating it. Four years later, and I'm still dealing with this on a regular basis. Put that in your "good cancer" book.
What one thing would you tell the world about thyroid cancer?
I say this as often as I breathe: Thyroid Cancer is no joke. There's nothing good or easy about it. "You have cancer" still makes you want to pinch yourself, make sure it's not a nightmare. Thyroid cancer is just like any other cancer in the sense that it attacks the body, alters the mind and completely changes the way a person feels and acts in their everyday life. I don't know who I'd be if I didn't have thyroid cancer, but I sure as Dickens know I wouldn't be this Dori. I do not, however, regret who I am today. I embrace who I am now, and I use thyroid cancer as a tool to keep myself grounded, focused, determined, and just plain stubborn.
What advice would you give to a newly diagnosed thyroid cancer patient?
Talk about it. Give yourself the opportunities to share your story. It's not a blessing, but it isn't a curse either. Let others in. Let them help you through it. You can't go through it alone. You need at least one other person to help you. Find someone you trust and make sure they are ready to take this on with you.
Smile. Every day. Laugh and joke with others. Let yourself be happy. It's OK to be upset, but it isn't OK to keep sulking and moping. Go out with family and friends, go wild if you want to! Don't ever lose those qualities and memories pre-cancer that made you happy. Hold onto them.
Find a community like Dear Thyroid or I'm Too Young For This! Cancer Foundation. Find others just like you to help you, give you tips, and direct you to resources that can make your journey a lot less hectic. Make sure you know that you are NOT alone.
Do you have a funny thyroid cancer-related story you are willing to share?
Well, yes, I am young. I was young at diagnosis. 17 isn't exactly an old age to get cancer. In fact, in my mind, I was probably younger than 17. I did, however, have to grow up pretty quickly, so it was a little stressful in that respect.
How I dealt with it was another story. When I received the news, I did cry. A lot. I cried quite a bit after the fact, when I was alone in my room. I was petrified of everything that was awaiting me, whatever that could have been. When I left the doctor's office, though, I had stopped crying and made all the phone calls I needed/wanted to make. I called my then-boyfriend, family, friends, church, etc. Everyone I trusted. I didn't, however, contact many people from school. I maybe told my closest friends, which consisted of maybe three or four people. My diagnosis was three days before graduation, so I kept it quiet. I didn't Facebook it until later on in the year, and even then, people were commenting saying, U HAVE CANCER?! OMG DORI R U OK!? Yeah. So, I didn't really spread it to the world until later.
If you're asking why, well, I'll tell you. Graduation was a big day, not just for me, but for everyone else in my class. I didn't want to ruin the day, nor did I want any pity hugs and false smiles. I just wanted to feel normal for a day without any drama. I didn't really even talk much about it at my graduation party. I only discussed it with people who asked me questions. These were big days for me, and I didn't want to feel like some alien, which is exactly what I felt like. Being with my friends and family and celebrating my success was normal to me, and I wanted as much normal as I could get until my surgery.
A lot of people were shocked I didn't tell them, like friends and acquaintances. But, really, understand this: cancer patients may not really want their business out there right away. It may take some time for them to grasp it and accept it. Sometimes people never do. Even now, I sometimes wonder if it really did happen to me, if I really did go through all of this. It's a lot to take in, and it changes your life forever. If I didn't get cancer, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be the person I am today. I don't really even want to think of who I would be; it's not worth it. I wouldn't have been me, and that's what matters.
Telling the people I told right away helped me accept it a lot quicker. It gave me more of a reality check, and it kept me grounded. I wasn't in the clouds, thinking and wishing I was somewhere else or someone else. I kept myself in check, and told myself everything would be fine, even though it was so difficult to even think that at the time. "Fine" was simply my way of evading any "How are yous" and "How is everything goings." Each day, I just did my best to go about life as normal, and kept myself very busy. As things started happening, I just kept going. Sulking and sobbing was never an option for me; I never let it become one. Why bother? It does no good.
When I was student teaching my 6th graders, I came across a part in the novel Hatchet that really struck me. Brian (the main character), is crying "self-pity tears, wasted tears." What is the point in feeling sorry for myself when it would have done nothing for me?
As always, I wish you all love, happiness, and -- most importantly -- good health.
I apologize for not blogging as often as I promised. I spent the weekend helping one of my cousins and her family pack and get ready to move. This is my cousin that came out clear of thyroid cancer. She had three nodules, but all of them were very small and the doctor was not concerned. So, she is being followed on a yearly basis.
Now, onto the fun stuff.
The 'Stupid Cancer' Show, an online radio show hosted by the 'I'm Too Young For This!' Cancer Foundation, came back on the air tonight after their month hiatus/vacation. The show's theme tonight was StandUp2Cancer, in celebration of their second annual TV concert broadcast this Friday, September 10th at 8pm EST/7pm CT on ABC, NBC, CBS and FOX (You should check your local listings and watch it). Laura Ziskin, Co-Founder of SU2C, was on the show tonight, along with Ethan Zohn, Survivor: Africa winner, and Leonard Sender, M.D., Clinical Professor of Medicine and Director of Clinical Oncology Services. Several topics were discussed, but one thing that hit me in particular was something Laura said. Below is her quote:
"My daughter is 27...we were actually having a conversation with one of her friends, a young man, who said, 'I'm so blown away by the statistics...I have a brother, and I think one of us is going to get cancer, statistically, and I'm just so blown away by that...'"
Right when that was spoken, shivers went through my spine. Watch the SU2C PSA located here, and you'll see why. It's frightening, really. 1 in 2 men? 1 in 3 women? Oy, vey! But, if you look at those odds, and you look at my family, well...we don't exactly follow the rules, do we? If you look at my direct line, it's my mother, my sister, and me. All three of us have had cancer. My sister, however, has had three different cancers. Three. If you look at my aunt's line, it's my aunt Rea, then her daughters Diana, Jeanne, and Melissa. Melissa was the 1 in 3. But, who knows what could happen. Since it runs in our family, our odds spike.
That really leaves that statistic out in the dust. The odds for our loved ones in my family are 50%. It frightens me beyond comprehension that in my younger cousins' lifetimes, they could all get this disease. Our doctors have recommended them all to be given ultrasounds regularly as soon as they hit puberty. Evan and Adrianna, the oldest of the cousins after me and my brother, have hit puberty. Soon enough, they will be getting their ultrasounds. And, then and only then, will time begin to tell.
This is why I do this. This is what I think about every single day of my life. Cancer has changed me, changed my entire outlook on my life and every other life directly affected by my own. Sure, this isn't my fault, but I did begin this cycle, and I want it to stop. I don't post because I want to spread my feelings and make people feel sorry for me and my family. I post because I want you (yes, you, dear) to be aware of your body and aware of what's around you. Cancer is no joke, and it certainly does not discriminate.
As always, I wish you love, happiness, and -- most importantly -- good health.
I don't think I ever blogged about how I was diagnosed. Not a lot of people know the entire story, so I'll attempt to make this brief yet detailed.
May 2006. I'm finishing my finals and about to leave high school forever. While taking my AP Psychology final, I felt pain and swelling at the base of my neck. It was so uncomfortable taking the test. The odd thing was, I felt fine otherwise. I talked to my mom that night, and she thought it was just a swollen lymph node or something. She didn't seem concerned, so I felt okay about it. My sister took me to my pediatrician, and he knew what the problem was right away. "Oh, she has Hashimoto's Thyroiditis." I said, "I have what?" I was so confused; I didn't even know what that meant, let alone how to spell either word. He explained what it was to me, and reassured me that all I would need was antibiotics to help the swelling and the pain. As he was writing the prescription, my sister suddenly asked him if he would write a script for me to get a neck ultrasound, just to check my thyroid out. He nodded and wrote the script for us.
Skip to that weekend. I had the ultrasound done, and the technician was a sweet woman. She reassured me that everything would be fine, and I really wasn't worried. So, I laid down and she began the ultrasound. When she stopped at the left side of my neck, I didn't think much of it. However, when she talked to my family and told us she found something, I was a little nervous, but really didn't know what it could possibly be.
The following week, I was taken to a surgeon at a local hospital. He told me that he would do a fine needle biopsy on the singular nodule in my thyroid. He really was a nice man; he reassured me that it was probably nothing, and not to worry. He only needed to do one biopsy, thank goodness. The next step was the fun part: waiting.
That week felt so long yet so short all at the same time. It was excruciating. The day of my result was the absolute worst. My sister took me to work with her to help take my mind off of it. She gave me work to do and just kept me busy. At one point she and I had a small talk about it as the clock crept closer to my appointment. She said, "Dori, whatever the results are, we will deal with them. Everything will turn out fine. Don't worry." To be honest, it was really hard to listen to her with my stomach doing all sorts of flips and flops. I really didn't know what was in store for me, good results or not.
Truthfully, I don't remember the drive back home, but I am pretty sure Janina and I were just having some small talk and now and then we would discuss how I was feeling and all that jazz. When we were in the elevator, Janina asked me, "Do you want to know the three signs that tell you a doctor has bad news?" I shrugged and said, "Sure." She told me that the doctor would a) avoid looking you in the eye, b) have a solemn look on his face, and c) the first word out of his mouth will be, "Well..." I shrugged and said, "OK," and wished to God that he wouldn't do any of those things.
I sat with my mom, dad, sister, brother, and nephews in the waiting room. I was so relieved that my two nephews and brother couldn't come in; I didn't want them to see me when I got the news. We piled into the patient room and I just kept busying myself with my SuDoku book, as usual. I used it as a crutch and as a shield the entire day. Weakness was an emotion I did not openly reveal.
My heart skipped five beats when a knock sounded at the door. The doctor walked in, spotted me, and immediately looked away from me at every other person in the room. Strike one. I then noticed that he had no lines on his face; it just looked so solemn and serious. Strike two. Tears started to trickle down my cheeks as my dad, jokingly, said, "So, what's the word, Doc?" He looked at my dad with a small smile and said, "Well..." Right then, I lost it. I looked down at my SuDoku book, and just let the tears fall.
As always, my friends, I wish you all love, happiness, and -- most importantly -- good health.
Like Daughter, Like Mother: Our Thyroid Cancer Journey
Behind the Blog
Adelina is a full-time wife, mother, practice manager, and medical transcriptionist. After receiving an ultrasound and countless biopsies, she was diagnosed with papillary thyroid cancer on December 11, 2009. She successfully underwent surgery on December 29, 2009, and had her first radioactive iodine treatment in February 2010. Following treatment, Adelina now sees her doctor once a year for follow-up. She has been doing well, and refuses to let cancer slow her down.
Dori is 26 years old. She was diagnosed with papillary thyroid cancer at the age of 17 on June 1, 2006, just three days prior to her high school graduation. Dori endured two radioactive iodine treatments and two surgeries to remove her complete thyroid and 39 total lymph nodes from her neck. She is now under close watch by her doctors, and only time will tell if the cancer stays at bay.
Must-See Sites!
- Dear Thyroid
- Everything Changes: The Insider's Guide to Cancer in Your 20s and 30s
- I'm Too Young For This! Cancer Foundation
- Imerman Angels: One-on-One Cancer Support
- LiveSTRONG: Dare to Change Your Life
- Protect Your Pair
- Purus Cosmetics - Freshen Your Expression
- Redheaded Bald Chic
- Zig Zagging: Loving Madly, Losing Badly...How Ziggy Saved My Life
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