Too Much on Our Plait

Special Entry: Good Housekeeping Article Response

2011-07-27T18:29:00.009-04:00

If you are an avid member of the thyroid disease/cancer community, then you most likely already know the controversy and outrage that surrounds this article, written by Susan Carlton and published by Good Housekeeping. If not, this article and all comments and concerns about it still apply to you. Why? It’s as simple as this: knowledge is power. Knowledge of the diseases and cancers that are out there, and knowledge about what information is accurate, and what information is dangerous. Below is my take on certain portions of the article. Admittedly, I am no expert. Some of the information that Ms. Carlton presents is without documented sources. Therefore, I can neither credit nor discredit her claims. However, since I currently (some formerly) endure four different types of thyroid diseases, I am able to use my 5 years of acquired experience and knowledge to refute several points made by Ms. Carlton and Good Housekeeping. Questions, comments, complaints, and commendations are not only requested but encouraged.

Introduction – Section 1

"My eyes lit up. Could the problems I'd assumed were inevitable be blamed on the tiny thyroid gland — and be reversed with a tinier pill? Maybe I didn't have to renew my gym membership after all."

What I feel Ms. Carlton is inferring here is that Synthroid and its brothers and sisters (Levothyroxine and such) will simply cure all of her symptoms – fatigue, weight gain, lack of energy, brainfog – and then she will happily carry on her life. That is a piece of information that should never be relayed to anyone. It isn’t as simple as that. While she does state that it isn’t simple in the next paragraph, I don’t think she should have used such a comment as a clever quip. It sends the wrong message to individuals who are not privy to the ins and outs of thyroid problems. I’ll explain further on this as the article progresses.

"At least 13 million Americans have some form of hypothyroidism, says Jeffrey Garber, M.D., who (literally) wrote the book on it — The Harvard Medical School Guide to Overcoming Thyroid Problems."

When I Google’d the general quote from Dr. Garber, I noticed that this statistic was in an online review of this book, but it was written very differently. You can view it here under “Editorial Reviews.” It clearly states the following in the review, “More than 13 million people in the United States suffer from some form of thyroid disease, and that number is expected to rise precipitously as the baby boomer generation approaches its sixties.” This changes the meaning of Ms. Carlton’s statement entirely. It isn’t solely hypothyroidism that over 13 million people in the US deal with on a daily basis – it’s every thyroid disease. That includes, but is not limited to: thyroid cancer, Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis, and Hyperthyroidism. Not only did she misquote, but she also did not even use this book to her advantage. She only uses one statement from the entire book in her three-page article, and even in that statement there is no evidence of how to “understand thyroid problems”, as her article claims to assist the reader to do. She does quote Dr. Garber later in the article, but I (nor anyone else) am not sure if that quote is from his book or if she spoke to him personally (The evidence that Ms. Carlton did not speak to any of the doctors she cited in her article and responses to her “advice” can be found here). Even with the secondary quote, it is obvious that Ms. Carlton did not put forth as much effort as she could have to include more information from this source.

Ms. Carlton then proceeds to give a statistic about how many people are affected by hypothyroidism, following it with this:

"(Hyperthyroidism, meaning thyroid hormone production is in overdrive, is a less-common condition.)"

Just so the readers know, this is the only statement she makes throughout her entire article on Hyperthyroidism. Word to the Not-So-Wise: If you are going to write an article about “understanding thyroid problems,” then you should probably write a little bit more than just one line about another thyroid problem that exists. If your focus was simply on Hypothyroidism and Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis, then state that in your title and description so it does not mislead the readers. This title is, in a word, insulting. You, my dear Ms. Carlton, claim to have all of the secrets we want to know about our thyroid problems, and yet, you only focus your attention on Hypothyroidism, with Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis being a close second. Where are the others? And how dare you make such light of Hyperthyroidism and only describe it in six words, then say in a single breath that it is a "less-common condition"! All that would tell a reader who is still learning about these conditions is that Hyperthyroidism is not a disease that should be worrisome since it obviously couldn’t possibly happen to that reader. It’s "less-common!" Let your mind be at ease, dear one! You are saved from Hyperthyroidism! Here’s a little factoid for you, Ms. Carlton: I have hyperthyroidism due to being diagnosed with papillary thyroid cancer when I was 17 years old. These are two thyroid diseases that you failed to mention and explain in your article. Hm. Fancy that.

It gets so much better (oops, I mean worse):

"Hypothyroidism has been recognized since at least the 17th century, yet it's become a disease du jour…"

Excuse me? Okay, Ms. Carlton. Here is another factoid about my thyroid cancer battle for you: In order to receive radioactive iodine treatment (RAI) to treat my thyroid cancer, I was forced into hypothyroidism. When hypothyroid, iodine-suppressed, and then given iodine, the thyroid immediately takes it in and uses it. There is also a low-iodine diet that contributes to the thyroid being so deprived that it will suck up all of the iodine given to it during treatment. Believe me, my dear, being so hypothyroid was not a walk in the park. It is certainly not a “disease du jour,” as you so flippantly called it. Who says we wanted this for ourselves? Who says I wanted to become so tired and exhausted that I couldn’t even enjoy my summer with my friends and family like I wanted to at 17 years of age? Who says I liked being so cold in the middle of July that I was wearing sweatshirts, sweatpants, gloves, thick socks, and a blanket in 70-degree weather? Who says I enjoyed my weight gain when I was already overweight (and struggling with it) to begin with? Ma’am, you have some serious rethinking to do. None of us asked for this, and none of us want to be a part of this club. When your hypothyroidism starts to affect you more than it has (because it will), I hope you begin to feel the same way.

"'…people have lots of questions.' There's no shortage of answers for them. Hundreds of websites, a virtual cottage industry, profess to educate women about hypothyroidism."

It is certainly one thing to have hundreds of websites dedicated to providing information on hypothyroidism to the public, but how do we know that these websites are giving accurate facts? It is easy to find information, sure, but how are we sure as to which websites are legit and which are a farce? Ms. Carlton does respond to this later in the article, and really gives some valuable website information, but the list definitely does not start and end with the sites that she listed. I also firmly believe that she could have listed websites for the rest of the thyroid diseases and conditions that she did not discuss in the article. (I list my own list to add to hers later.)

Testing Roulette – Section 3

"To confirm a hypothyroid diagnosis, many doctors suggest two additional blood tests: one to check the levels of T4 hormones (low levels confirm hypothyroid) and another to check for antithyroid antibodies (to see whether you have Hashimoto's)."

Whatever happened to T3 hormones? Sure, T3 tests are important for diagnosing hyperthyroidism and Graves’ disease (again, another disease not mentioned in Ms. Carlton’s article), but the T3 triiodothyronine brand medication called Cytomel, can be (and sometimes is) used alongside Synthroid (Levothyroxine) to relieve symptoms of hypothyroidism and speed the buildup of Synthroid in the body. Personal anecdote: While I was undergoing treatment, my endocrinologist (God bless her) prescribed me Cytomel for the first two out of the six weeks I spent in prep time for treatment. During those six weeks, I had to become hypothyroid, and the Cytomel helped relieve my symptoms of hypothyroidism for the first two weeks. If I had not taken that medicine, I would probably have been in an even worse state than I was after the six weeks had passed. Once treatment was completed, I was able to resume my Synthroid, along with two weeks of Cytomel. The Cytomel was a lifesaver for me while I was in college. If that medicine had not been given to me, I would have struggled greatly through my first two semesters of college. I would probably not have passed most of my classes. To learn more about a study that proved T3 triiodothyronine medications to be helpful alongside Levothyroxine, see Mary Shomon’s article here.

To Treat or Not to Treat – Section 4

“The goal isn't just to ease symptoms — it's also to preempt new ones.”

I think she meant “prevent.” Hey, typos happen.

“A recent Danish analysis of a small group of newly diagnosed hypothyroid patients found little or no change in patients' fat mass after one year of thyroid treatment.”

Where is all of the information for this study? Where can we find it? Dori to the rescue! The brief overview and results of this study is located here. Does it really take that much effort to keep track of your resources and then cite them?

Treatment: Old-School Versus New-Age School – Section 5

Explain, explain, explain. When writing an article that people will read for information, you need to explain as much as you possibly can. The “why’s” will always jump off the page for readers, especially when information that is deemed crucial is stated in one sentence or quote. Here’s why:

"'The goal is to take the lowest dose possible to get the TSH in the 1 to 2 range,' says Daniel Duick, M.D., an endocrinologist in Phoenix and president of the American College of Endocrinology."

Why do we want our TSH in the 1 to 2 range when hypothyroid? I’m sure most if not all of the readers of this article were asking, “Why 1 to 2?” Well, our beloved Mary Shomon, About.com Guide for all things Thyroid, explains that in this article.

Online...And On Guard – Section 6

While I do believe that she posted some informational websites, I believe that she could have listed so many more, if only she had discussed the several other thyroid diseases that exist. Below are several websites that I adore and want to add to Ms. Carlton’s collection:

http://www.thyca.org/

http://www.endocrineweb.com/

http://www.stupidcancer.com/

http://www.thyroid.org/

http://www.cancer.gov/cancertopics/types/thyroid

http://www.medicinenet.com/thyroid_disease/article.htm

This is just too good of a conclusion to skip without commenting:

"So here it is: Six months later and after a retest, I find my TSH is...exactly the same. Given my family history, my doctor recommends I check again next year. With all I'd learned about hypothyroidism, I had already decided that even if my levels had nudged up a bit, I would opt out of treatment. In the meantime, I'm drinking more java (for energy) and honing my crossword skills (for focus). As for the unwanted pounds, there's a spinning class on Saturday with my name on it."

While I am no expert, I do know that coffee, crossword practice, and [insert workout class title here] will not eradicate symptoms of hypothyroidism, nor will it even lessen them. While hypothyroid, I had so much trouble concentrating on my Sudoku puzzles, even coffee would not suffice. I still would fall asleep! And I sure as hell did not want to work out while feeling so horrible. I sincerely hope and pray that Ms. Carlton’s health does not decline, but unfortunately, there is a very good chance that it will. As Dr. Datis Kharrazian states in Mary Shomon’s article in response to this controversy: “The research shows that by ignoring an autoimmune thyroid condition one raises the risk of developing future autoimmune issues. Also, the brain is highly dependent on sufficient thyroid hormones to function normally and she is accelerating her own brain degeneration, memory loss, and autonomic dysfunction by ignoring her declining thyroid health.” If you read her article and have the choice of treatment or ignorance (like Ms. Carlton), I truly hope you will choose wisely.

My Final Thoughts

Just so that I make myself clear, I am not holding Ms. Carlton solely responsible for this article being available. I do also blame the editors at Good Housekeeping for deeming it appropriate and factual enough to publish. You can view the editor’s response to the thyroid community’s comments, concerns, and rants about the article here. In short, the response to our outrage is stating that we are not careful readers and Good Housekeeping is avoiding taking responsibility for this dangerous article and its contents. I am horrified by this and still am amazed that they are standing by this publishing, and personally am offended by their simple yet bogus reply.

Please, my friends, be aware of what is out there, and make sure you are receiving accurate information about your diagnoses, and any other disease out there that you are trying to understand. It is articles like this and people like the editors of Good Housekeeping that/who mislead us and potentially harm our bodies further due to their lack of proper guidance. Know your body and know that you have valuable, reliable resources at your disposal. Use them wisely.

Wishing you love, blessings, and most importantly -- good health.

Dorienne Plait

5-year Papillary Thyroid Cancer Survivor

Like Daughter - 48

2011-04-25T16:53:00.000-04:00

Wow, it's been a while, hasn't it? Sorry, it's been pretty stagnant in the Cancer Clan. We're all doing fine for the most part. Mom and Janina are doing well. They both are still on 6-month follow-ups, but their scans showed up normal as did their blood work. Aunt Rea, Aunt Gracie, and Melissa are all well, also. They didn't need any radioactive iodine, so they are on yearly follow-ups. Aunt Gracie is the most recent addition to the Clan, so she's probably having more follow-ups, just to check her scar. I did see her at my cousin's 10th birthday, and, let me tell you, her scar is barely there! It looks wonderful, as does she.

I do want to let you all know that Mom and I will be on The Stupid Cancer Show on Monday, May 2. The 'Stupid Cancer' Show is a radio show hosted by Matthew Zachary, CEO and Founder of the I'm Too Young For This! Cancer Foundation, and Lisa Bernhard, Executive VP and Media Development for the Foundation. The show is entitled, "Parents of Young Patients." I will be on air as the Survivor Spotlight, and Mom will be one of the two guests on the show. It's going to be a wonderful show, so please mark your calendars and tune in! The link is here.

I'll more than likely post again later on in the week. I have more to tell! All good things; I promise. :-)

As always, I wish you all love, happiness, and -- most importantly -- good health.

Like Daughter - 47

2010-11-16T22:19:00.000-05:00

We got my Aunt Gracie's results from her thyroid surgery. Turns out she does indeed have papillary thyroid cancer. This makes her our 6th member of the PTC Clan. Fabulous.

Mom texted me with the news while I was at work. Of course, my phone was off, so I didn't get the message. I did, however, get a call from her with the news before I could even check my messages. To be honest, I couldn't help but laugh. Does this make me inhuman? I don't really like how I've been reacting since my aunt and cousin were diagnosed, but to be honest, isn't it just second nature now? It's sad to think that way, since this is one of the worst things to consider an everyday occurrence. At the rate this is going, though, it almost looks like it.

Let's put it in timeline perspective:

Me: June 2006 (outlier)
Mom: December 2009
Janina: January 2010
Aunt Rea: February 2010
Melissa: February 2010
Aunt Gracie: November 2010

This is absurd. Do you not agree? I hate feeling like this is just going to keep happening, but I can't help it. How else am I supposed to think otherwise?

I'm always the optimist in any situation that occurs. I do my best to think about the positives of each situation. The only one I can think of in this one is: No one is dying or is going to die.

Please tell me I'm not abnormal in my thinking.

Many blessings of love, happiness, and -- most importantly -- good health.

Like Daughter - 46

2010-11-12T23:03:00.000-05:00

I totally should be taking a shower right now, but I realized I haven't blogged in so long, and there's a lot to cover. So, I passed on my shower (for now, relax ;-] ) to update all of you in webland.

Last post, I mentioned that my Aunt Gracie (my mom's youngest sibling) was having biopsies of nodules in her thyroid. Well, those biopsies came back inconclusive, so she went in for surgery to remove her entire thyroid yesterday morning. Her (well, the family's, except me) endocrinologist stated that, considering our family history (which sucks at this rate), she should get her thyroid out. When we were on the phone after her appointment with him pertaining to her results, she said, "Dori, to be honest with you, I'm relieved. I want it out. Just take it. I'm already on Synthroid as it is." I agreed with her. I'm so proud of her attitude. We find out within the week if her thyroid tests positive for papillary thyroid cancer, or another type. That would certainly turn the tables, or at least knock them over.

On November 2, the whole lot of us (me, Mom, Janina, Aunt Rea, Aunt Gracie, cousin Melissa, cousin Jeanne, and her daughter Adrianna) all participated in a study that Johns Hopkins is conducting to find the genes responsible for thyroid cancer. When the family's endocrinologist told him about us, he was "very amazed" and said that our "case is so interesting." The doctor conducting the study said a lot of things that surprised me, yet made sense. 5% of thyroid cancer is the type that my family has, which is a familial cluster. He also told us (much to my dismay and disapproval) that the prognosis is "worse" for familial papillary thyroid cancer. Woo. One thing that definitely didn't surprise me, but it did reaffirm my suspicions, was that it takes "many years to spread," if there is spread. So, that pretty much means that me and Janina had it for a long time before it was discovered.

Hooray.

At any rate, they took blood work and information from us, as did the study from Ohio. Hopefully this will help further along the progress. I'd rather have my family get blood tests than ultrasounds every few years. Gross.

I finally have an update for you all! When we were at the study, we happened to be at the office across from my endocrinologist's office. She stopped by to say hi, then came back and told me there was a conflict with my appointment with her in late December (which would already have been about 2.5 months late). She asked if I could get my ultrasound done that morning. Well, duh! So, I got my ultrasound done, and when my endocrinologist came in, she said that they both saw something suspicious right above my second incision (the one along my neck crease in the middle of my neck). She said she wasn't sure if it was scar tissue, but she wants it biopsied and my blood work checked. I got my blood work done that day. My appointment with my surgeon for my very late follow-up (supposed to be in April; oops) is on Monday, and my biopsy is Wednesday. Hopefully my surgeon can give me a little bit more detail on what it is. Who knows.

At this point, I'm hopeful for the best, but expecting the worst. I can only think about the here and now, and that's the most important thing.

I hope that everything is well with you and yours. Many blessings of love, happiness, and -- most importantly -- good health.

Like Daughter - 45

2010-09-20T23:49:00.000-04:00

Another update on the Cancer Clan. My Aunt Gracie (a non-member) is getting biopsies done of nodules in her thyroid on Monday. From what I recall, she has a goiter, but her endocrinologist (same as my mom, sister, aunt, and cousin) decided she should have biopsies just to check. If any of this information is faulty, I'll change it immediately.

So, we'll see how that goes. I'll keep you folks posted.

I was looking through my Cancer Timeline, as I call it, recently. Today, I decided to glance through to see if there are any significant dates in September. I stopped around September, and I found this:

September 19, 2007 -- Thyroglobulin results betray that there may be more cancer.

I feel kind of sad that I didn't see this until today. This post would have been much more effective yesterday, but ah well. At any rate, here are my thoughts about this.

The back story to this event is that I had my usual scan on September 5 along with bloodwork. My endocrinologist gave me scan results immediately following each time I had one, so I always had instant results. This was after my second round of radioactive iodine (RAI), so I was really hoping and praying that this scan would show up clear. When my endo came out and gave me the thumbs up sign, I cried harder than I ever have. Seth (my then-boyfriend) was with me as were my mother and sister. It was so surreal for me; it seemed like a beautiful dream. I truly didn't want to wake up.

The next week, I had been talking to my sister as she was taking me to school one day. I said, "This just feels too good to be true." She told me not to jinx it. Well, I think I had, truth be told.

When I got the call from my endocrinologist stating that my levels were high, I was very confused. I thought that scans were completely accurate. How could I still have cancer? How could the scan betray me? Where was it, then? And why wasn't it showing up on my scan?

To make a long story short (I'll elaborate later on, when I go through the rest of the story later on in the week), I still had cancer in my body. It wasn't showing up on the nuclear scan because it didn't pick up any RAI. It was what my endocrinologist calls "radio-resistant" thyroid cancer tissues. These don't respond to treatment. The only other real treatment there is is surgery. And, that's what had to happen on November 29, 2007.

The point I'm trying to make here, ladies and gents, is that thyroid cancer is a bit more difficult than we all may think. Sure, it's a better one to have than breast cancer or lung cancer, but it's still a pain in the butt cancer. Every cancer is, to be honest.

I learned a valuable lesson when this scan came through. I learned that you cannot rely on just one source of information. Folks, get ultrasounds. Get bloodwork. Get scans. Do everything it takes to get accurate results. Get multiple opinions if you feel you must. Honestly, it makes a world of difference.

I know so many cancer patients who were misdiagnosed or mistreated because they were not given the right diagnosis or given the proper treatment they needed in order to combat their disease. By the time their cancer was found and treated, they were in Stages III or IV. Don't let yourself get that far. Check your body. Know what feels right and what doesn't.

As always, I wish you all love, happiness, and -- most importantly -- good health.

Like Daughter - 44

2010-09-18T21:00:00.000-04:00

JANINA'S SCAN CAME BACK CLEAR!!!!

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.

Like Daughter - 43

2010-09-15T23:39:00.000-04:00

It has been forever, loves, but there is finally an update on the Cancer Clan. Janina has bravely endured 3 weeks on her low-iodine diet, and has her nuclear scan tomorrow. This scan will determine one of three things: 1) if she is clear of thyroid cancer, 2) if not, she undergoes more radioactive iodine, or 3) she undergoes another surgery. Of course, we'd all prefer #1, but if that isn't the case, then I'd much rather her go through #2 than #3. I don't think I could handle seeing her go through a second surgery. She would take it well, though, knowing her. She's braver than any woman I know. But, let's not dwell on all that, shall we?

Mom is due for her scan soon. She's going to have it on a day she's off work, so I can go with her. She told me the other day that she has to brace herself for a nap. "It's too long of a scan," she said. The scan is an hour long, and it hovers about an inch away from your face/body, and it sloooowly moves down and up your entire body.

I've had about four of those scans. They all took place in the first, oh, year and a half of my treatment, so I was pretty used to them. If I had one now I'd probably just shrug and say, "OK!" By the time my last treatment came up, I knew everyone in the nuclear medicine facility by name. They were fantastic people, minus the woman who did the faulty Geiger test on me in my previous post. And, no, I'll never forgive her for that. ;-)

Anyway, during these scans, I would be nervous, of course. They pretty much determined what my next six months, or year, would consist of. To help this nauseousness subside, I would sing soundtracks/CDs in my head. For example, during one of my scans, I went through the entire Rent soundtrack/Rent movie in my head. By the end of the scan, I had pretty much gone through the whole film. During another scan, I "listened" to the whole Wicked soundtrack. It took all I could not to smile during the scan, and it comforted me.

These kinds of things kept me going during my entire journey. Sure, I had my family, friends, and then-boyfriend, but when they couldn't be by my side during the scans and treatments and surgeries, I had my memories, my songs, my slideshows. I thought of anything and everything about these people in my life and the other things that made me happy. I would instantly come alive at the thought of any of these things, and it reminded me that, no matter what, this too would pass.

As always, sweeties, I wish you all love, happiness, and -- most importantly -- good health.

Like Mother 39

2010-09-14T23:05:00.012-04:00

"Bringing Sexy Out of the Thyloset"
For My Friends at, and the Fans of "Dear Thyroid"

What kind of thyroid cancer were you diagnosed with?

In December of 2009, I was diagnosed with papillary thyroid carcinoma. Not even a year has passed since my diagnosis.

What does Thyroid Cancer Awareness mean to me in terms of importance, and spreading awareness?

As for all cancers, Be Aware and Beware…it could be you. Thyroid cancer, in particular, can lurk in one’s body rather silently for many years, yet as Dori’s endocrinologist once remarked “You can die from it”. And that’s the harsh truth. I spread awareness by being open and forthcoming about my cancer. And I love the way people subtly touch their necks, silently examining themselves for lumps, when I tell my story. (Be honest…Are you feeling your neck right now?). It would be difficult for a layperson to detect thyroid enlargement much less feel a nodule. It should be checked during a regular physical examination. A very simple thing for your doctor to do…and if he forgets, please request it.

How do I feel when people say "If you have to get cancer, thyroid cancer is the one to get"?

Well okay, if you say so—perhaps it is in some respects. Of course that depends on the type of thyroid cancer you are diagnosed with. I am grateful for the fact that I have the most curable of the thyroid cancers. I am grateful for the fact I haven’t lost a breast, or a kidney, nor do I have a disfiguring scar. Just a few-inch incision in my neck, and voila, thyroid is gone and hardly missed, and hormone replacement is started. I am also thankful that in exchange for chemotherapy, I had to undergo radioactive iodine treatment. On the other hand, cancer is cancer. There are no guarantees. I will still need to be monitored and recurrence, surgery, and further treatment is always a possibility. How's that for a good cancer?

What other myth would I like to dispel regarding thyroid cancer?

This is an easy one for me. When Dori was diagnosed four years ago, we were told how rare thyroid cancer is, not just because Dori was only 17, but rare in general. Then, just three short years later, I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer after which my oldest daughter Janina was diagnosed, after which my sister was diagnosed, after which my niece was diagnosed. It was difficult to believe that thyroid cancer was so rare after all. Scientists believe that there is a genetic link with regard to papillary thyroid carcinoma. Our family is currently participating in a study along with 100 other families (all with multiple family members having thyroid cancer) with the hope that this gene will be found.

What one thing would I tell the world about thyroid cancer?

It's easy to diagnose. It's easy to treat. With regard to your health in general, be diligent about getting regular checkups and screenings. That's your best defense.

What advice would I give to a newly diagnosed thyroid cancer patient?

At the end of the day, it's not so bad. No one could have been more terrified than I was, of all of it...the biopsies, surgery, treatment, scans -- ALL of it! For me to say it's not that bad is a huge deal. Really, it's not so bad. Surround yourself with the things and the people that you love. Find humor in whatever you can. Laugh out loud and be silly (loved ones are never more forgiving as when you have cancer). Know that YOU ARE NOT ALONE, even when it feels that way sometimes...or a lot of the time. So many people are rooting for you, many of whom you have never even met. Reach out to others and give them the pleasure of knowing that they've helped you. Stay busy living; and instead of dreading the day of surgery, treatment, whatever, look forward to it, because the sooner it happens, the sooner it's over. Before you know it, it will be behind you...and you will see that it's not so bad.

Funny Story Time...

I always tell my grandson, Marrin, that I have been with him since the day he was born. Since my daughter lived across the street from me, I saw Marrin every day. Always together, he's my buddy and the joy of my life. He accidentally calls me Mom sometimes, and it makes my heart smile. Marrin was 6 years old when I had my surgery. Just one month later, Janina (my daughter and Marrin's mother) had her thyroid surgery. When Janina removed her bandages, I stood next to her in the mirror to compare scars. Marrin ran to the sofa, buried his head, stomped his feet, and started to cry. Janina rushed to console him, assuming that he was upset because he felt sorry for us, thinking that our scars hurt. Through his tears he said in a rather demanding and pouting way, "But I want the same mark on my neck that you and Grammy have".

Oh, to be loved that much.

Like Daughter - 42

2010-09-13T13:05:00.000-04:00

My fabulous thysisters over at Dear Thyroid have put together a Blog Tour entitled, "Bringing Sexy Out of The Thyloset," and my mother and I immediately signed up. Today is my turn, and tomorrow my mother will post hers!

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?

Wow, what a turn of events, here! Well, I actually do have something very funny that I still kind of get a little misty-eyed over. It isn't a sad story, but it's funny and still makes me feel so loved. It also, however, makes me realize just how strange my father is.

When I was going through my first radioactive iodine treatment, I had no idea what I was in for. We got to the hospital, and I had my change of junk clothes, book, SuDoku book, and DVDs if I felt like watching anything. All of this had to be thrown out after treatment, of course, so I was hardly attached to any of it. The first night was hard, because I barely had any human contact except for the nurse who would come in to bring me meals, ask me how I was doing, then check her exposure levels before exiting the room. I felt like an alien, and more alone than I had ever felt in my life. Everything was wrapped in saran wrap, and the handles to the shower, toilet, sink, and bathroom door had gloves on them. I had to flush the toilet three times, and pour some anti-radiation liquid into the bowl so that it would flush out the radioactivity.

The next day, the lady from nuclear medicine came with her big Geiger meter to measure my radioactivity levels. She said that if I measured at 5 millicuries or less, I could go home. The first time she measured me, she measured me at 5, or a little below. I was elated; I didn't have to stay in the hospital for another night! It made me so happy. I was so thrilled, that I immediately got on the phone with my mom and told her the news. As I'm talking, the lady says she wants to measure me again, just to be sure. So, when she measures me, she said, "Oh, oops, I'm sorry. You can't go home today. Your levels aren't as low as I thought." I will tell you right now, people, I never wanted to injure someone as much as I wanted to injure this lady. I cried into the phone, telling Mom that I couldn't come home, and I just had the biggest meltdown of my life. Mom said, "We're coming down there.Calm down, sweetie, it'll be fine. I love you." I was still crying when my parents came over. They waved to me from the street below my window. I waved back, still a complete mess. They came upstairs and brought me some digusting orange icy thing from the cafeteria. They talked to me for a few moments, but as they're about to leave, my dad turns back to my mom and says, "Hang on, Neen." He gives me this piercing stare, with this absolutely serious look on his face, and turns the light off. He stares at me for a good few seconds, then turns them back on. With this faux-outrageous look, he turns to my mother and says, "Damn it, Neen, she doesn't glow!"

I never laughed, nor cried, so hard in my entire life.

As always, my sweeties, I wish you all love, happiness, and -- most importantly -- good health.

Like Daughter - 41

2010-09-09T23:56:00.000-04:00

In keeping up with the more ancient memories and early memories of my thyroid cancer journey, I do want to address one thing that people tend to ask me when I initially tell people about my diagnosis: How did you deal with it? You're just...so young!

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.

Like Daughter - 40

2010-09-07T00:07:00.001-04:00

Woohoo, entry #40! :-) It'll be a real feat when I hit #50! I'll hardcore celebrate then. Which should (hopefully) be in about 10 days.

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.

Like Daughter - 39

2010-09-04T10:00:00.002-04:00

During this month, every so often, I'll blog about some unforgettable days during my thyroid cancer journey. Today's blog will be one of them. Since I was so busy yesterday, I'll blog again tonight.

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 - 38

2010-09-02T23:47:00.000-04:00

To follow the theme I started, I posted a statistic on Facebook that I happened to find as I was doing my research this morning:

Thyroid Cancer Awareness Month Fact #2.1: From 2003-2007, approximately 1.8% of thyroid cancer patients were diagnosed under the age of 20. Wow. Go ahead and ask me: How does it feel to be part of that 1.8%?

Shocked? Me, too. And, to top it off, I'm definitely part of that 1.8%, considering I was diagnosed in 2006. I was astounded when I found this statistic. I had never really seen a percentage or number that ever told me exactly how uncommon if not rare it is to find thyroid cancer under 20 years of age.

Here's something that may surprise you. As I was contemplating that 1.8%, I couldn't help but wonder: Who out of the other 98.2% were not diagnosed under the age of 20 when they could have been? And, if they could have been diagnosed before 20, why weren't they?

If you really break down the events leading up to my diagnosis, I technically would not have been part of that 1.8%. I had been diagnosed with Hashimoto's Thyroiditis when I started getting some swelling and pain at the base of my neck. My sister was the one to ask my pediatrician for a neck ultrasound, just so see how my thyroid looks. Turns out, there was a nodule there that looked suspicious, since it was a singular nodule and it measured over 1cm. It was biopsied that week, and one week later, on June 1, 2006...well, you know.

The point I'm trying to make here, ladies and gents, is that we all need to be aware of our bodies and know what to look for. We need to know our family history -- as far back as it goes -- because there could be some problems we never knew about. A prime example is my family. But, if you're veteran TMOOP readers, you know that story, too.

As always, I wish you all love, happiness, and -- most importantly -- good health.

Like Daughter - 37

2010-09-01T10:16:00.002-04:00

HAPPY THYROID CANCER AWARENESS MONTH!

For the entire month, I will be blogging every day. I may go through my entire journey up to now, but I may also jumble it up a bit. You never know what I'll do next. :-)

Why am I doing this? Well, I want to keep this blog going, and I also really want to bring my story out a lot more. I haven't had much of a chance to do that here in this blog, since it was mainly about my journey with my mother and the rest of the sexy thyroid cancer clan. But, I also want to keep raising awareness, and I plan to do that with the blog this month, along with Facebook and Twitter posts. So, without further ado, here's my first post:

In case our readers did not know, I am a big part of a community called Dear Thyroid, a place of rants, raves, and refuge for men and women of all ages with thyroid disease and/or thyroid cancer. Anyone with a pain-in-the-neck thyroid (haha) can write a letter to their thyroid and say anything they need to say to the gland that keeps on flunking. Guest writers also appear on the site, such as doctors and nutritionists. It is a fabulous place for information as well as connecting and communicating.

Dear Thyroid is hosting the next edition of Patients For A Moment, which is a blog carnival written by and for patients. As stated on its website, the goal of PFAM is to "build connections within the community of people who blog about illness, disease, and disability. This includes doctors, nurses, caregivers, even policy wonks – but especially patients." If you are a thyroid cancer/thyroid disease blogger and want to participate in the blog carnival for PFAM, please click here to participate through Dear Thyroid.

The theme for this month is about awareness. What a perfect day to do this! Here are the questions that were posed: How has your disease changed your view of awareness? Do you feel that raising awareness is important? Do you feel the need to educate others about your disease? If so, how do you go about it?

I love these questions. Let us tackle them two at a time, since one and two go hand in hand, as do three and four.

How has your disease changed your view of awareness? Do you feel that raising awareness is important?

Awareness can be awesome or be ridiculous depending on the methods. For example, breast cancer awareness is all over the place. While it's awesome that breast cancer is well-known and "pink" is everywhere, the ridiculous part is that it's everywhere. Companies know that they will make money off of the Pink campaign, so they make sure they put the "Pink" label or they make the color pink so that people will want to buy it and donate a portion toward Susan G. Komen. While I love how successful Susan G. Komen is and how aware the world is today of breast cancer and the dangers it holds, I despise how downplayed most cancers are. When I first heard the word "thyroid," I didn't even know how to spell it, let alone what it was. I hardly knew about my body, except for the usual girl stuff that we're supposed to know just before we hit puberty. Sad, really. From what I remember in my life, I have had three classes that deal with the body, two of which were about human development and STDs, and one was about how the body disintegrates into nothing after dying (Forensics). Learning about the different parts of the body and their functions are optional courses in high school, and usually those courses are only taken in college if you are planning on working in the medical field. To be honest, that's why I was hardly educated about my thyroid. If I hadn't been so uncomfortable and in so much pain, I would not have even gone to the doctor about it. I would have thought I was getting some kind of sore throat and been done with it. I had no idea it would turn out to be Hashimoto's, and then I would receive an ultrasound that would then show a nodule and then, bada bing! Cancer. And, to top it all off, my sister was the one who suggested the ultrasound, not my pediatrician. So, hm, what does that say about awareness? I honestly believe that, as soon as someone notices symptoms, or knows about a history of a disease of sorts, then that person should be checked as soon as they are capable. "It can wait" does not cut it with cancer, or any other type of disease. If my family had known about our apparent history of thyroid cancer, then they would have had me checked as soon as I hit puberty. And, lo and behold, they would have found my cancer a lot sooner, and I would not have had to go through all that I did in the first 2 years (I'll elaborate on that in future posts). My family had to learn about our thyroid cancer history the hard way. And I really do not want that for future generations and for other families out there who possibly have thyroid problems and do not even know it. It's a dangerous game to play, and we need to always be a step ahead of our opponent. If not, we lose. I do believe awareness is not just important, it's crucial. Not just awareness, but knowledge. Being aware and being knowledgeable are two different things. Simply knowing a disease exists is a whole different level than actually knowing the facts about said disease.

Do you feel the need to educate others about your disease? If so, how do you go about it?

Heck, yes, I do! Who else is going to do it? If everyone left it up to everyone else, nothing would be accomplished. I feel as though it's my duty, since I'm one of the poster women for PTC (papillary thyroid cancer). I also have no trouble speaking my mind (have you noticed?), so it's quite easy for me to say, "HEY! PAY ATTENTION!"

But, in all seriousness, I do feel as if it's my responsibility to spread the word about thyroid disease and thyroid cancer. Why not tell people, especially when they can use that knowledge to potentially save themselves, their family, and their friends? Even strangers deserve to know. Why would I have begun a blog with my mother to talk about every experience we have during our journeys with thyroid cancer? Why would I join organizations that spread awareness and information about cancer, thyroid disease, etc. if I wasn't going to use them to help others? I know people I don't know are reading this, and I know they are gaining knowledge that may not be useful now, but it may serve them in the future (God forbid). Now, maybe it never will become useful, which is wonderful. But, at the same time, why risk it?

Now, onto the next question. How do I go about it? Well, I have this blog, for example. I wrote everything that was bothering me while watching my mother, sister, aunt, and cousin go through their surgeries and treatments, and while waiting for the results of every single family member's ultrasound. It was a terrible experience, one that definitely makes the top ten worst events in my life. It's more than likely in my top three. It isn't enough that we have Mayo Clinic and WebMD; those websites are full of information, but not real stories. There isn't anything real aside from straight up facts. Blogs like this one bring anecdotes and real circumstances to the table. Combined with facts and information, people have something to relate to, and something with which to prepare themselves. Sure, everyone wants accurate facts to rely on when it comes to the "What do I expect?" question, but at the end of the day, I want to know what else lies behind the disease. There are so many things that could happen that we don't know about. Our doctors may tell us that something won't happen, for example, hair loss from hypothyroidism. It's an uncommon symptom, according to Wikipedia. However, just because it is uncommon does not mean it could not happen to a person. In any case, I would find real stories from real patients who have gone through the same diagnosis and struggle, and see what they have to say. That's why my mother and I keep this blog. A familial thyroid cancer cluster is uncommon. But can it happen? Well, we're certainly living proof.

I post all over Facebook and Twitter. Whenever I come across something I feel is big news or full of information that people should read, I post it. I don't care much about if I spam everyone, but if only one person benefits from my constant splatter of information all over their Home pages on Facebook, then I have succeeded in doing my job. Every single person I have met in my life, from my diagnosis date up until now, knows I had thyroid cancer. They know my story, and some if not all of the details. If they want to know more, they ask. And, what's awesome is, they usually do. I don't care if they know my story word-for-word, or if they remember a ton of the details. The point is, they will remember if someone else mentions thyroid cancer or having it at a young age. They'll say, "Whoa, my friend Dori has thyroid cancer...She was 17 when she found out." That is what I want. I want my story spread, because I want people to know that this is real. It happens to young adults. We all know about it happening to young children and older generations, but not to people between the ages of 15 and 40. No matter who I tell, I always get a shocked look or a blank one, usually out of surprise. "But you're so young..." Yep, I've gotten that, too. That proves to me that I need to keep talking. And I'll never stop.

And, as always, my dears, I wish you all love, happiness, and -- most importantly -- good health.

Like Daughter - 36

2010-06-17T03:13:00.001-04:00

Wonderful news, friends! My mother saw her endocrinologist on Monday, and the suspicious lymph nodes and nodules that he noticed were shrinking! The radioactive iodine (RAI) has been working! Fortunately, RAI can work for 6 months up to a year; my mother had her treatment in February. So, cheer on, folks! This is great news! Now we just have to get my sister squared away... That will be another time, though. Unsure when her appointment is. Think I should ask her? ;-)

Something I forgot to mention in my last update; my family is part of a study for Ohio State University (OSU), which is focusing on finding the genetic code for papillary thyroid cancer (PTC). All they request of us are blood samples, our medical records, and demographic information. They are requesting families of 3 or more people who have been diagnosed with PTC. The funniest part about this: our family is the largest they have with 5 people! Out of over 100 families! Shocking, no? So, the kicker is, OSU wanted not only my blood along with my mom, sister, aunt, and cousin, but they also wanted our direct relatives who do not have PTC! The reason is that OSU wants to examine the genetic makeup of the five of us versus the relatives who do not have PTC, and see what the code is that has given us five PTC and not our other relatives. The only trouble that OSU has run into is that they are finding the genetic code in each family, but the codes do not match other families. I do hope that our participation helps. What a wonderful discovery it would be!

Graduation was fabulous. It was almost like an odd reliving experience, especially when one woman spoke. She was receiving her master's degree after spending several years in college. She had been diagnosed with breast cancer, and gave a brief overview of her story and how she was able to achieve her success. I tried my hardest not to cry, though I did shed some small tears when she said something along the lines of, "Trying to get through college with cancer is no walk in the park." I couldn't help but remember everything in that moment, everything that I had experienced throughout my college career.

There is one story I would love to share with you all that this woman reminded me of, and it is still very special to me:

During my Fall 2007 semester, I was taking a speech class. I had to create three different types of speeches: informational, persuasive, and "buy my product." Take a wild guess what my subject was for my first speech. I spoke about my experience with PTC, how it changed my life, and I explained how it develops and forms, the treatments, etc. Well, I had some people in tears. My second speech was about Relay for Life, basically persuading my audience to join me on the track to fight against cancer. I spoke more about my story in this speech, and, once again, my audience was moved. They knew a lot about me from the first speech to the next, so they felt a lot for me. They understood when I wasn't in class because of a doctor's appointment. Before class began the following week, the professor would ask me about my appointment and every fellow student would ask me questions about it. I went in for surgery in late November, and I was not happy about it. Duh, I was upset because I had more cancer, but I was also upset about the fact that I was missing school and might miss information needed for my finals. I explained to my speech professor that I may have to take the exam another day, since she had moved it to an earlier time so we wouldn't be taking her final on the very last day. She said she understood, but to let her know if I was going to be able to make it. All of my classmates wished me well and told me I would be fine. I got lots of hugs at my last class session. It was really great, because I felt like I had another group of people supporting me. After my surgery, I recovered well, and was able to go to the exam date. When I walked in, my classmates immediately started clapping and cheering for me, and my professor presented me with a gorgeous bouquet of roses. I started to cry. It was such a precious moment. As difficult as that exam was, I took it with the biggest smile on my face. After that kind of reception, I knew I was loved and supported by every person in that room. They each gave me so much encouragement and strength to get through yet another surgery. I don't think any of them know exactly how much each word of caring and kindness meant to me. I'll never forget it.

And, on that note, I wish everyone love, happiness, and most importantly -- good health.

Like Daughter - 35

2010-05-20T00:50:00.002-04:00

We still live! It's been so long since Mom and I have updated the blog, mainly because we both have been so incredibly busy and there hasn't been much to update you all on. But, let me do my best here:

My cousin had her biopsies, as I stated in my previous post. Her biopsies came back BENIGN! We all were so thrilled to have that news. Believe me, it was an excruciating wait but the results were worth every second. She's definitely the happiest out of all of us! ;-)

Mom, Janina, Aunt Rea, Melissa and I are all doing fine. Everyone is back in the swing of things, from what I understand. All of their scars look amazing! Our surgeons rock the house. Mom and Janina are just playing the Waiting Game right now. Since they both had RAI treatment, they have to wait a certain amount of time before they find out if the RAI killed off the rest of the cancer. Unfortunately, they'll probably be waiting another three months, give or take. RAI works in the body for a good 6 months to a year after dosed. While that's a long time to rid oneself of cancer, it's another story having to wait to see if it actually did its job. We shall see. Let's hope for the best for them both.

I graduate from college later today. 10am to be exact. I can't believe it, really. It's almost surreal. I crossed the same stage when I graduated from high school, just three days after finding out I had thyroid cancer. Even then, I was wondering how I would juggle cancer and college. It was unreal to me that this was happening to me. I was celebrating with friends, happy and proud of all that we had accomplished together. Then I get the news that I never thought I would receive. I never truly had a break during my college career, but it has all been worth it. I'm still healthy; missing some organs, but still healthy, nonetheless. ;-) And, to top it all off: I'm graduating on time! No five-year plan for this stubborn woman.

It's a blessing. All of it. Cancer sucks, but it has made me become so much more aware and strong-willed. I didn't let it keep me from achieving my dreams, and that's the message I want everyone in my life to know.

As always, from me to you, blessings of love, happiness, and most importantly, good health.

Like Daughter - 34

2010-03-30T13:24:00.000-04:00

Remember me, ladies and gents? ;-) I'm back! There are some updates on the medical front, and I wanted to keep you all informed.

The only reason there haven't been many blogs lately is because there haven't been many eventful things going on. My family has been busy, as always. My mother has been working her tail off, Dad is also working like mad, Kyle (brother) has been working and going to school. I've been student teaching and trying to get my tuchus ready for graduation. It has been a crazy last few weeks. I had to buckle down the night that most of my work was due for my portfolio and get it done. I got about 80% of it finished, but was freaking out about a certain project that really did not turn out as well as I had hoped. My advisor has been wonderful. She said, "Dori, calm down. Do the work over break. It will get done. Just take care of your family and relax." I'm like, "OK...I can do this!" So now I'm just trying to enjoy my spring break and spend some time with friends and family. I'm long overdue for time with these lovely people. I'll probably be planning lessons and finishing up my projects later on this week.

At this point, everyone is pretty much back to normal. Melissa (cousin) is feeling well, as is Aunt Rea. They all (including my mother and sister) are experiencing vocal cord problems. It's not all that lovely. Our surgeon told my sister, "That should be gone by now." Gotta' love that kind of comment, huh? But, overall, everyone is not doing that badly.

My other cousin, Melissa's sister, Diana, had her biopsies done on her two nodules (yeah, now it's two) on Thursday. She's nervous about the results, but we're all hopeful. To be honest, I won't be surprised if she ends up with thyroid cancer. But, I'm trying not to jinx it. Hopefully we'll find out the results today or tomorrow.

That's pretty much everything right now. We'll have to see how everything goes. Please, keep us in your prayers.

As always, many blessings of love, happiness, and most important of all -- good health.

Like Mother - 38

2010-03-17T21:56:00.001-04:00

Since my last post, my niece had her surgery. Janina stayed with her in the hospital, and as everyone had hoped, she did beautifully. It was, of course, no surprise that her postsurgical biopsy confirmed papillary carcinoma. Although we had hoped otherwise, the odds were certainly stacked against her. Okay, that makes five…so far.

I had my postop nuclear scan. I’m not much for lying still for a long stretch, unless I’m sleeping, but it was one of those non-negotiable tasks.

Everything else has pretty much gone back to normal. Well, at least as normal as things can be for my family. We are all back at our jobs, managing well on our Synthroid, and appreciating the fact that it’s still cold enough outside to get away with wearing a turtleneck or scarf (to keep that scar under wraps for as long as possible). All of our scars are healing at different rates, so we tend to compare them. I’d say collectively we have about one foot of scar line – Wow!

I am thrilled that both my sister and niece will not need radioactive iodine treatment as their surgeons feel that because the cancer was caught so early, the operation was curative. That’s the good news—actually great news.

On the downside, my follow-up scan revealed a possible metastases. I sort of got into that “sticking my head into the sand” mode and avoided posting because I just didn’t want to write about it. But there it is. I’ll know more on Friday when I see my endocrinologist.

I celebrated my 54th birthday two days ago. I was surrounded by those that I love and that love me. It was a great day. As I blew out my candles (or rather as my grandson blew out my candles), I wished for the best gift of all…good health. I wish that for you too, my friends.

Like Daughter - 33

2010-03-12T22:06:00.000-05:00

Mom is worried about her follow up with her endocrinologist about her scan. I don't blame her. I hated waiting for my own results. I had four nuclear scans in less than a year, and I can tell you right now, I despised the waiting game.

I think that's a lot of what cancer is. Waiting. Waiting for results. Waiting for something bad, or good, to happen. Waiting for a miracle. Waiting for prayers to be answered. That stupid "W" word. We have lives to live, you know.

I remember when my endocrinologist gave me every result from every scan. I remember going to her office and giving me the news. You feel so helpless, like the rest of your life is determined by an inanimate object. You have no idea what to expect, and in no way are you prepared for what will happen. Sure, you try to prepare, but in all honesty, how ready are you for results that could potentially change your life?

I know my cancer wouldn't, and won't, kill me. However, I never thought past a few months in my head. I tried not to plan so far in advance. I still don't, for fear that something could change. It has been almost four years, and I'm still not able to say, "See you in a year, Doc!" No, sirree. Still stuck in the six month mode.

Right now, my life is a whirlwind outside of the cancer world. I am lucky in that aspect; I am still able to live my life. I am about to graduate from college and finally really live.

This was a really tough journey for me. As soon as I graduated from high school, I was not only a cancer fighter, but a freshman in college. I had a whole new road ahead of me to try to walk on. The only things that were stable in my life at the time were my faith (as much as it could have been), family, close friends, and my then-boyfriend.

I remember sitting in that patient room, waiting for him to come in and tell me what my future would hold. I knew that morning something was wrong. I could feel it. Janina knew; I had told her my feelings that day, but she still tried to keep me busy when I was with her at her work. Sudoku was the only thing keeping me sane in that room. It's funny; I had braced myself for the news, but honestly, I still wasn't ready. It's one of those things that you just don't fully prepare for. You just can't. "You have cancer" is not exactly something you're ever ready for.

It amazes me that it took me almost 3 and a half years to finally get over it and grieve. I was always on the go; I never had a real break. I shrug my diagnosis off all the time with people; I never really reveal how hard it has been. I say, "It's whatever," when I really mean, "This has been fucking insane. You have no clue."

I know I didn't go through chemo, lose my hair, get hospitalized for days/weeks on end... But you people need to understand something. On the Stupid Cancer Show, put on by the I'm Too Young For This! Cancer Foundation, something huge was finally brought to light: thyroid cancer is still a complicated cancer. A lot of people shrug it off and say it's the "best cancer to get." Shut up. It's cancer. Plain and simple. I don't shrug off my battle anymore. Hell, people, I'm still fighting it. It's not over for me! Sure, I'm not going to die, but folks, it's still in my body. It. Won't. Leave. Do you know how obnoxious and freaky that is? My cancer is as stubborn as I am! I'd rather it be passive and just...go away.

Don't dumb down any kind of cancer. Cancer = cancer. No matter which way you spin it.

As always, my dears, many blessings of love, happiness, and most important of all -- good health.

Like Daughter - 32

2010-03-05T07:11:00.000-05:00

I am so sorry that it has been so long since I posted. There has been a lot going on. My student teaching has kept me extremely busy, and I have been trying to spend time with family and friends during my "free" time. It has been crazy, but fun. :-)

So Melissa does indeed have papillary thyroid cancer. She was officially diagnosed last Friday, and her surgery was last Tuesday. And, so, the count has risen to five. Is it twisted to say that I almost feel like this is commonplace now? It almost feels as though this is one of those normal routines now, like brushing your teeth. Only, it's more obnoxious and involves surgery, and maybe, if you're oh so lucky, treatment.

Right now we're not so sure as to whether or not Melissa will need treatment. Her nodule was the same size as her mother's, 3 mm, and Aunt Ree did not need treatment. Let's just hope the same goes for her. But, hey, at least we have a little apartment-like basement!

Life has kind of become more normal now. Janina is doing great, and was so strong during treatment. It felt so good to hug her again after she was done. I swear, I think I scared her when I practically tackled her! She's still worn out from lack of medicine, but she won't feel completely herself for another 2-3 weeks. Mom has been fit as a fiddle, minus her little cold she has right now. She was such a trooper during her treatment; I'm so proud of her. I think I practically tackled Mom when she was done, too! Believe me, after you are in isolation for five days and can't be close to anyone, hugs feel so amazing.

Hopefully it won't take me as long to post again. We are still waiting on Diana to get officially checked. She has to move first, so that may not happen for another couple of months.

As always, blessings of love, happiness, and, most importantly: good health.

Like Mother - 37

2010-02-20T20:10:00.003-05:00

On day two of isolation, I’m finding that it’s really no big deal. I feel perfectly fine, just as before the treatment, as if nothing ever happened. I thought I would have some awful symptoms, but I’ve had none, nada, zip, zilch. Yippee!

I’ve been keeping myself busy doing some organizing and cleaning up. I have a nasty habit of changing purses and taking out only the things I want to put into the new purse, leaving all of the extra “stuff” in the old one and tucking it in the closet. Last evening and today, all of those purses came out of the closet and all of the “stuff” was gotten rid of. I did find a few goodies though…jewelry I’d forgotten about, lots of spare change, even a gift certificate. I’m making out like a bandit!

Actually, I think this radioactivity has put me into warp speed. I went on a vacuum cleaning binge—even vacuuming the laundry room and, get this, the furnace AND the oil burner! That big ‘ole noisy thing has accumulated an ungodly amount of dust on and around it…but no more. They will probably never get a cleaning like that again, as I’m counting on this treatment to work fully and completely.

The real bonus is that I no longer need to follow the low iodine diet. So, this morning, for the first time in 18 days, I had an egg, a slice of cheese, and a bagel. Later, Janina brought me a Starbuck’s Skinny Vanilla Latte. Yum! How did I ever live without that for the past 18 days?! The sky’s the limit for dinner, so what will it be?—pizza perhaps--a nice cheesy pizza. That way, Merril won’t have to cook.

I can come up from the basement at noon tomorrow. I can’t hug or kiss anyone for a few more days beyond that, and I will definitely have to avoid my gorgeous grandson. But by Wednesday, I can bust loose, so there will be hugs all around. Marrin, get ready for some big smooches from Gram! You too, Kyle, I owe you a birthday hug and kiss—and you can’t escape it big boy!

Now I’m ready for the ultimate reward…a nice hot bubble bath. After that, I’ll do some medical transcription.

This isolation thing is not so bad. I might be by myself, but I’ve never been alone.

Like Mother - 36

2010-02-19T23:41:00.002-05:00

Getting my radioactive iodine treatment today was totally uneventful. Kind of fun actually. The nuclear medicine department at the hospital was buzzing, having four patients getting similar treatment at the same time. The lovely gal next to me was suffering from Graves’ disease – an overactive thyroid. A smaller dose of radioactive iodine works for that as well. We wished each other luck and blessings, took our respective treatment, and were on our way.

Now, I’m in the comfort of my basement. My trusty laptop is keeping me company. Drinking water like crazy to flush the treatment out faster. I can hear the television going upstairs, the pitter patter of feet, and my family’s voices. Thank God the isolation part is short. I can come out into the world on Sunday which is, coincidentally, my baby boy’s birthday! Kyle will be 19 years old on the 21st, so we’ll have much to celebrate on that day.

Good news today! My younger sister, Grace, heard from the endocrinologist. Her thyroid nodule biopsy is benign! She’s been spared the family curse. I’m absolutely thrilled for her. She’s starting a new job in a week and fortunately doesn’t have to deal with the inconvenience (to say the least) of surgery. Congratulations Gracie! Your new employer is fortunate to have you – show ‘em what ya got!

In 5 days, my niece will have her surgery. It’s scheduled for 7 o’clock in the morning. She’ll be done and in Recovery by the time most people are just getting to work and/or waking up. We’re all praying for an uneventful operation and speedy recovery.

I think I’ll look for a good movie to watch and hopefully fall asleep. The sooner it’s tomorrow, the sooner I can be with my family again. At least I don’t have to worry about finding my way to the bathroom in the dark…with all of this radioactivity, I am my own nightlight.

Sweet dreams.

Like Daughter - 31

2010-02-19T19:46:00.000-05:00

I'm still coping with Xander's death. I listen to the same song over and over again: Keane's Bend and Break. It's a great song; the lyrics in the chorus are the ones I quoted in the letter to him in my previous entry. I think about him every day.

Mom is officially a hermit in our basement. Fun, right? I really wish I had been able to be with her, at least this morning before she got her radioactive iodine. It sucks, though. That's one of the really sucky things about thyroid cancer. The only treatment is RAI, and NO ONE can be around you. No comfort, no hugs, no kisses, no nothing. Just whispers of "I love yous" and "Get wells" over the phone or, in my mother's and sister's case, yelling down the steps. I hated being isolated, so I know exactly what my mother and sister have/had to deal with. I miss Mom already. :-(

I think I'm going to apply to a First Descents camp for this summer. It's a phenomenal camp for cancer fighters/survivors to meet lifelong friends and forget for just a while that they have cancer. I went to a First Descents event last night with two friends, and it was fantastic. I met some awesome cancer survivors and First Descents campers who told me about their trips and experiences. It was wonderful to hear their unique tales. I decided I want to have a story of my own to tell. I know my friend Beth will be proud of me when I apply!

My Aunt Rea had some good news, though. It actually is bittersweet; the bitter being that she was diagnosed with papillary thyroid cancer. The sweet is that she does not have to have any radioactive iodine! Her endocrinologist and surgeon both agreed that her cancer stayed within the thyroid, and her nodule was so small that it really was not enough to convince them that she needed RAI. Fantastic! One less person infected by Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle toxic waste.

That's all for now, folks. The Cancer Family Saga continues. As always, blessings of love, happiness, and most importantly: health.

Like Mother - 35

2010-02-19T10:12:00.000-05:00

I had my two shots of Thyrogen--one on Wednesday and one on Thursday. It was a terrific way to start the day. Nothing like a shot in butt to get you going in the morning.

Now, it's my turn for radioactive iodine -- the next phase of treatment for thyroid cancer. In two hours, I will take a pill that will hopefully do its awesome task of ridding my body of stray thyroid cancer tissue and cells, wherever they be. Afterwards, I"ll need to go into hibernation for a few days, so I'll retreat to my basement with my laptop, cellphone, iPod, and a few good books.

Truth is, I am a little scared, but I just have to stop stalling and get on with it.

More later...

Like Mother - 34

2010-02-15T00:06:00.003-05:00

Recently, Dori lost a friend to cancer. I cried when I read her post. That’s the funny thing about cancer...you gain - and you lose. You gain the support of so many, as this blog has proven. So many people, some that we will probably never even meet, have rallied together through this blog to encourage us, pray with us, and lift our spirits. Unfortunately, some of those people are cancer victims as well. They have supported us with the same enthusiasm as the others, even though their time with us is short. It’s a tough loss, particularly with the young.

Dori has lost a friend, a fellow online gamer, someone to laugh with, and share stories about their commonality of cancer. As a mother, I think of the other mother and what she must be going through. How many tears she must have shed, nights that she couldn’t sleep, and prayers she must have offered up from the day of her child’s diagnosis until the moment of his death. It’s easy to say, “He’s in a better place”, but I’m sure that every mother can’t help but feel that the best place for her child is within her own arms.

I feel like real slacker for not having posted until now. I can’t believe that in just three days I’ll get my first Thyrogen shot; in four days I get my second shot, and in five days my radioactive iodine treatment. It’s been six weeks since my surgery. Where has all the time gone?! I think I’ve been in a low-iodine funk. I never realized how much I love iodine. I miss my dairy products and my salt. I miss things that I never even thought I liked. It’ll be difficult to keep from going hog wild when I get to go off the diet (this coming Saturday!), but I intend to use some restraint. All in all, the diet is not too horrible, and if it makes for a more successful treatment, then I’ll just have to shut my mouth.

Anna Marie is doing phenomenally well. Just a week status post surgery and she looks amazing. Her scar is healing ever so beautifully – I do believe she got the prettiest one of all.

Janina is fantastic, and pretty much back to her old self. She had her post-treatment nuclear scan on Friday and should get the results this week.

In eight days, my niece will have her surgery. Janina plans to stay with her in the hospital.

We are so lucky to have each other to lean on...another thing that we’ve gained.

Like Daughter - 30

2010-02-14T19:43:00.003-05:00

Wow, I'm amazed I've been able to get to 30 posts. :-) Thank you to everyone for reading!

I am sorry, all, for the lack of updates. I have had a very rough couple of weeks. It has gotten very busy with student teaching, and a lot has happened lately.

Last Friday, my aunt had her surgery. She looks great! I got to see her yesterday when she stopped by to see us. Her scar looks so good! Our surgeon never ceases to amaze me. He is a magician. Since her biopsies never gave us a definitive diagnosis, her thyroid had to be sent to pathology. She doesn't get the results until her appointment on Wednesday, which I find to be ridiculous. If you get the results, why not call up your patient? In my opinion, the wait stinks. Why make people suffer more? I think the wait is worse than the results, honestly. So, we won't be finding out those results until the 17th. Ugh.

Janina's doing great. Her treatment went well, and she had her nuclear scan on Friday. Let's just hope treatment kills all of it. We won't know until 6 months from now, I think.

Mom's still suffering from the low-iodine diet. I'll be getting her some Dunkin Donuts when she's done with all this. :-) Her treatment is near the end of this week. Let's hope this one works, too!

On Sunday the 7th, I received some bad news. I met a man named Xander on Planet Cancer around when I joined, near New Year's. He was 18 years old and was diagnosed with rhabdomyosarcoma. We talked a lot and became friends. He was very strong yet sensitive. He did not like to talk about his cancer battle, but when he did, he was so emotional and had a difficult time discussing it. Xander loved his family, and told me he hated hurting them. He was so selfless. Xander fought so hard to live and be a normal young man. We would play games online and have fun talking to each other about anything and everything. I had no idea how little time I had with him. The last I knew, he was going home and receiving chemo by mouth with a nurse. From what I understood, this was it for him. Xander never revealed how he was feeling to me, except closer to the end. He died the morning of February 6, 2010. His brother, Mike, gave me the news the next day, when he was signed in to Xander's MSN account.

I haven't cried until just now. I was close to tears a lot of this week, but it hadn't hit me yet. Reliving the times we spent talking, the late nights we would chat about anything that came to mind, it's painful. I never met him. He lived in Australia. I was planning on visiting him one day. I can only imagine that trip now. He was so young.

Xander,

I miss you so much. It pains me that I never got to meet you and spend time with you. You were so precious to me, and I never dreamed that our time was so brief. I'll never forget every single conversation, every single time we laughed together about silly, trivial things. I wish I had known...I wish I had been there. I would have held your hand, helped you forget. It's so hard to go each day and not see you sign online, so that I can talk to you. The last time I talked to you was on February 3. It was a weekday, so I was running out the door to go teach. If I had known that was the last day we would ever speak again, I would have woken up earlier to talk to you longer. I remember when you tried to stop us from being friends. You knew your time was short, and I didn't want to think about it. I didn't care. I wanted to be your friend for as long as you would be alive. Thank God you decided to keep talking. Xander, I promised you I would be there for you no matter what happened. I still am, and I always will be.

"I'll meet you on the other side,

I'll meet you in the light."

I love and miss you, Xander. I'll be seeing you.

Always,

Dorilicious

Cancer sucks, people. Don't forget that. Let's keep fighting, shall we?

P.S. Happy Valentine's Day to all.

Like Mother - 33

2010-02-06T20:42:00.009-05:00

I miss milk…and I hate snow. The only thing they have in common is that they are white. But for me they represent much more.

In preparation for my radioactive iodine treatment on the 19th, I am following a low-iodine diet. I can’t have any dairy products…a real bummer. Milk and cheese are my friends. Who knew they contained iodine? No egg yolks, canned food, most breads, processed food, fast food, salt, and a host of other “staples”. Oddly, I can have sugar until my heart’s content – no iodine in that. I’m pretty much subsisting on fresh veggies, meats, natural peanut butter, no-sodium bread, whole grain pasta, nuts, and fresh and dried fruit. With any luck, I’ll lose a few pounds, but I’m not holding out any hope for that. I’m not complaining – I am eating well, and more of the things that I should.

With 30 inches of snow on the ground and nowhere to go, I did attempt a low-iodine recipe for chocolate cake. Didn’t turn out so great, so I smeared peanut butter on top and enjoyed it anyway. Peanut butter has a way of making everything taste better – well, some things anyway.

Janina came out of the basement today, so we’ll probably have six more weeks of winter. And to my thinking—who cares—my daughter has successfully come through another phase of her cancer treatment, so all is right with the world.

Yesterday, Anna Marie had her thyroidectomy. While most people are “regulars” at a local pub, restaurant, or exercise facility, we’ve become “regulars” at the hospital – not exactly the place where you want to be a “regular”. As I expected, my sister came through her procedure like a champ. I am feeling a bit guilty though, thinking I may have underplayed the postoperative part as not to scare her. You do feel a bit like road-kill following, but each day brings more healing, so I keep reminding her of that.

In 11 days, I get my long-awaited first shot in the butt. The anticipation is overwhelming. Such a nice present. Who said Christmas was over?

Like Daughter - 29

2010-02-06T18:31:00.000-05:00

Janina's been here since Thursday. She got her radioactive iodine dose Thursday afternoon, and was hibernating in our basement until today. Finally, she came out of her hole and is currently spending some time with us. :) It's really nice living with her, if only for this small bit of time. I haven't lived with her since I was a baby and she was living with me, Mom, and Dad (Kyle was not even a thought yet) in an apartment. I just wish I could be closer to her than 4-6 feet away.

She'll be able to go home on Tuesday, I think. That is, if the weather clears. The snow is up to my waist!

Aunt Rea's doing wonderfully! She had her surgery yesterday, and all went well. They removed her whole thyroid and sent it to pathology. Hopefully things come out positive. If not, OY. Her daughter is scheduled for surgery on the 23rd. One of the other daughters came out fine, but the third is still working with her doctor. Her doctor is saying that he wants to look at all of our pathology reports before deciding on a biopsy. My response? WHY?! It's obvious that this crap runs in our family, so why not just do the biopsy? Her nodule is small, but if anything, at least attempt a biopsy. Don't play cat and mouse. Just get it done. Give us some peace of mind instead of even more stress.

So far, all is going fine besides all of the above. I'm student teaching now, and it is going really well so far. I'm very excited to be graduating and starting my career. I just need to survive the next few months, then I'm home free!

That's pretty much it for now. Keep in touch, everyone. It's been lovely knowing we have so much support. If any of you have any questions or need some encouragement or support, feel free to comment me or my mother. We'd love to hear from you.

Much love, prayers, and, most importantly, good health.

Like Mother - 32

2010-02-02T20:07:00.002-05:00

Just got the word that Janina’s TSH is 38…which means that she’s more than ready for her radioactive iodine treatment. Poor thing has no thyroid and no thyroid replacement hormone which has resulted in major hypothyroidism. For most, this equates to a feeling of “looking up to the curb”. However, Janina has remained her cheery, helpful self, so it’s been hard to tell how bad she really must be feeling. Her voice has become much deeper and hoarse, somewhat reminiscent of a scene from the Exorcist, minus the attitude.

At any rate, in a final attempt to eradicate any and all stray thyroid cancer tissue and cells, she’ll take a whopping dose of radioactive iodine on Thursday and camp out in my basement for a few days to “deactivate”. It won’t be all that bad as we refinished the lower level a few years back. There’s a comfy bedroom (with an amazing pillowtop mattress), sitting area complete with two recliners, flat screen television, Wii game system, DVD and VSH players, bathroom with jet tub, and compact refrigerator. Not too shabby. She’ll be comfortable and safe surrounded by family – albeit a floor away. After 48 hours of hibernation, she’ll be allowed to circulate through the house, keeping a safe distance from others for a few more days. The worst part for Janina will be that she won’t be able to see or hold Marrin for five days. That was almost a deal-breaker for her; but like she always says, “ya gotta do what ya gotta do”. And so she will.

I’m still hanging around waiting for a call from my endocrinologist that my thyroglobulin shots are in. Two shots in the rear on two consecutive days and then radioactive iodine on the third. I get injections in exchange for having to go through thyroid hormone withdrawal. Not a bad deal. I don’t remember when I last had a shot in the butt…should be interesting.

Three days until Anna Marie’s surgery. I’m confident that she will have a perfectly uneventful procedure and recovery. I told her that I’ll bring my PJ’s to the hospital and we’ll pretend it’s a sleepover, except that she’ll be doing most of the sleeping. I’m hoping that all of our readers will keep yet another family member in their thoughts/prayers on Friday.

Like Daughter - 28

2010-01-28T23:27:00.001-05:00

Why do I think that my life is about to become semi-normal? God does not play that game! I say this in pleasant jest, of course.

I'm with Mom on this one. It is very daunting. And to think, years ago cancer was the hush-hush "C" word. The one people feared. The one people did not want to hear uttered to them. It's funny how time changes so rapidly.

Up next: my aunt and cousin. Yay, just keep piling 'em on! Let's see how many family members we can draw into the cancer team. Round 'em up!

I'm getting sick of this. Really, I am. Familial papillary carcinoma cluster? Jeez, why don't you just nuke us with radiation? May as well! I mean, we get it. It's in our family. Do they really have to keep getting diagnosed? Do they?! Reliving this day in and day out, thinking about it constantly, wondering who the next victim is... I'm just mad. I'm very mad. Can I be mad? Because I am. Cancer sucks. Cancer is evil. It's like a snake. It sneaks in and takes over when you least expect it.

I'm doing my best to go about my daily life. I just can't help but think about this all the time. I'm student teaching now; I'm trying to graduate in May. I am trying so hard to juggle all of this in my head. Oy!

I think we really do have too much on our Plaits.

Like Mother - 31

2010-01-27T22:37:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, Anna Marie asked me why I hadn’t been blogging. So sister-sister, this one is for you.

Truth is, although I am trying to stay as positive as possible, I’m feeling a bit defeated. Now, with my sister and niece facing surgery, this cancer thing has grown too huge, too fast. And it’s scary…to say the least.

I’m also sad for my sister, the true matriarch of our family. She called me every day and sometimes many times a day throughout my ordeal with thyroid cancer. She remained so upbeat and positive that, at times, it was almost contagious. She reminded me often that I should be grateful that my cancer was found, that I was in the hands of amazing doctors and surgeons, that I was stronger than I knew, and that, in the end, I would be okay. Sister-sister, if you are reading this, ditto back to you.

Yes, it is daunting. Cancer is an incredibly frightening word. An almost unbelievable word in our family. Heart disease, yes. Diabetes, yes. The word cancer just hadn’t been in our family vocabulary. Until now.

Because of all of our diagnoses, the doctors feel that we are dealing with a familial papillary thyroid cancer cluster – a very rare occurence for which, unfortunately, specific genetic testing is not yet available. We need to focus on what we can do today, and that is to encourage each other to get an ultrasound and be diligent about follow-up. All in all, it is still a very curable cancer.

In 9 days, it will be Anna Marie’s turn to have surgery. I plan to stay with her and give her as much support and care as she needs – just as she has always done for me. I’d like to say that “it’s getting old”, but quite frankly it’s still major surgery and each time one of us goes through it, the others worry as if it’s the first time. I know that my sister will do fine. She has the same incredible surgeon as me, Dori, and Janina. She’s healthy and she’s strong. But most importantly, she has an absolutely unshakable spiritual strength...and that will see her through.

Like Mother - 30

2010-01-22T19:25:00.001-05:00

I went with my husband Merril for his screening colonoscopy today. He’s been putting this off for three years now. He says there are just some things that he would rather not do, and I think that having a colonoscopy was pretty high on his list. I don’t see why. It’s the best sleep you’ll ever have, and when you wake up there are no remnants of anything having taken place. No marks, no incisions, no scars, no fuss, no muss. And if the preparation for it doesn’t kill you, the colonoscopy certainly won’t.

You are probably wondering why I’m even bringing this up. Sure doesn’t have anything to do with thyroid cancer, does it? Well, while spending two hours in the waiting room, I started thinking about the very simple and painless (or practically painless) things that we can do to keep the cancer thing at bay, or at least at a minimum when there is a better chance that it can be fixed or cured completely. I guess the thinking is that it’s better not to know. No one likes bad news…so true. But I think there are degrees of “bad”. We all know that so many illnesses can be successfully treated if found at the beginning stages.

I was one of those people who just didn’t want to know. Now, I would race into the room and jump up on the table to have a test or procedure done that could potentially result in a cure. It took finding out that I had cancer to feel this way. I tended to make up excuses for feeling the way that I felt, and even worse, diagnosing myself – which is never a good idea. I’ve worked for doctors for over 15 years, but that certainly doesn’t qualify me to make any medical judgement with regard to my health.

I will never put off a mammography, colonoscopy, routine check-up, or blood test again. I feel fortunate to have found my thyroid cancer, and I am thrilled that my children, brothers, sisters, nieces, and nephews are being so proactive in pursuing the possibility that they may have it as well. I know it’s scary for them, and I know all too well that sometimes fear can stop you dead in your tracks. But they are courageously moving forward and doing what they know they need to do.

They say that there is strength in numbers. This must be true, because as our numbers are climbing it has only made us more determined as a family to not only fight this disease, but to find out how it came to be in the first place. Familial papillary thyroid cancer clusters are very rare. My family will probably never know with whom it started, but you can bet that we will work together to keep a handle on it going forward.

Like Daughter - 27

2010-01-21T10:46:00.002-05:00

Warning: I'm about to go on a very brief, off-topic rant of revelation.

How in the world did I not think to explore Pandora before?! It is absolutely amazing! I typed in "Michael Buble" and I got all this amazing, blissful music that is totally mellowing me out right now. I am so stoked; I think this will be my new addiction for music. :-) Click the link above for instant spectacular-ness. (I am sure my brother will laugh at me and pull the "I told you so!" card as soon as he reads this.)

Okay, I'm done with that. ;-)

There really is not much to report at this point. All of the fun stuff has already come to pass, and by fun stuff I mean the most dramatic and tormenting stuff. So right now, there is not much to say about everything that has not already been said. I am accepting the whole situation with Janina, and beginning to understand that thyroid cancer may just be a genetic thing with our family. After a little bit of research, we found out that Cowden Syndrome does not apply to our family because we do not have the primary symptoms. So, odds are we have a gene that has been passed down through my mother's family (unsure of which grandparent it came from). That gene has not been found yet, so we really cannot be genetically tested just yet.

I will end with some lyrics with which Dean Martin is presently serenading me:

Like the fella once said,

"Ain't that a kick in the head?"

...

Like the sailor said quote,

"Ain't that a hole in the boat?"

I jest with these lyrics, of course. :-)

Like Mother - 29

2010-01-19T22:35:00.003-05:00

My head is still throbbing from yesterday. I can spare you the details since Dori has already shared most of it in her recent posts.

It’s like I said before, “never assume, and expect the unexpected”.

I certainly didn’t expect that Janina’s results would prove to be worse (for lack of a better word) than mine; as was the case with Dori, too. At 53, I’m definitely a lot closer to having reached the age of falling apart, and I certainly didn’t expect to have the least difficult road with regard to this thyroid thing.

But what’s worse than not expecting it, is not wanting it. These are my babies, my girls, my daughters. I’ve lived more life than they have. I’ve dealt with adversity before. I can take this and a lot more too! For Pete’s sake, let the punches be thrown my way, not theirs. Isn’t that what being a mother is all about? Wishing for yourself that which you don’t want to see happen to your children.

I guess for me, that is not to be.

My sister’s biopsy results came in today. All nodes are benign with the exception of one, which is “inconclusive”. Anna Marie will see the endocrinologist tomorrow to find out what happens next.

Had my first followup with the endocrinologist yesterday; and will have my first post-surgical followup tomorrow. RAI in about a month with Thyrogen shots for two days prior.

Sometimes, it doesn’t feel quite real. A matter of too much too soon, I think. It can actually be a little maddening. At times, I have to calm my mind and remind myself that me and my daughters are blessed to be in the hands of such skilled doctors. We each came through a major surgery very successfully. We continue to get up each day and do what we would normally do. We laugh together. We compare and admire each other’s scars. We remind each other that we will be okay.

How lucky we are.

Like Daughter - 26

2010-01-19T12:44:00.001-05:00

I really should be writing a paper due tomorrow for my minimester class right now, but I really cannot seem to get my crazy self to start on it. So, instead, I want to clear something up.

I know most of our beloved readers did not take what I wrote in my previous blog entry out of context. But, I do want to clarify it for those who might have.

In my last entry, I stated that Michael and Mom got the better end of the stick. One surgery, one treatment (hopefully on Mom's part), then done. Whereas me and my sister got the short end, since our cancer spread and it might (hopefully not) be a tougher battle for Janina than Mom and Michael. I basically said a bunch of crap.

Cancer is cancer. No one has an easier battle than the other. It's all in perception. If Person A has to go through chemo while Person B does not, how can anyone say that Person B had an easier battle?

I have had a difficult time with this lately. Not only have I been comparing myself to other cancer survivors, but I have been comparing the lot of us within my family as well. Half the time I say to myself, "Why am I even part of I'm Too Young For This? I never had to go through chemo; I never had to lose my hair. I barely ever got sick from treatment. These people are survivors, not me." But, whoever I say that to within i[2]y always tell me, "You had cancer. You are a survivor. No one has a tougher battle than another person." They are so right. I can't help but make my comparisons, though. I always end up losing in my mind.

I apologize to you all, especially to my family. More specifically, to Mom, Janina, and Michael. How dare I say that I had it harder than you, Mom and Michael. And how dare I make a judgment about Janina's future when it has not even happened yet, if it even will. All of us had it hard; cancer affects everyone in different ways. We all have to suffer from the fact that we have a disease.

I'm sure that whomever is reading this thinks that I am punishing myself too harshly about the blog entry. I really am not; I just want people to understand that I did make a big error in judgment. I do not want to come off as someone who assumes that just because someone had less surgeries or less treatment, it does not mean that they had it easier.

On a better note, I am very excited to start student teaching next week. I cannot wait to see my students again! It will be wonderful. I just hope that I can get everything done and also help my Mom and sister get through their treatments.

Bring it on! I take after my family; I'm up for a good challenge.

Like Daughter - 25

2010-01-18T16:21:00.000-05:00

Janina went to go see her endocrinologist today. The results are in: Janina had some spread to the compartment lymph nodes beneath her thyroid. Translation: This crap spread to other stuff, and Dori is pissed.

This pretty much means that Janina has to undergo more radioactive iodine (RAI) than we suspected from before. One of the nodules they thought was in her thyroid was actually a lymph node. The node was so close to her thyroid that they thought it was inside of it. Woopsie.

The plan for her is that she now has to stop taking her Synthroid and begin going hypothyroid. Her TSH will be checked each week, and as soon as she gets to 30 or a little below, she'll be brought in to get the RAI treatment. She'll have to go through the low-iodine diet within the next two weeks. *half-assed cheer* Yaaay...

This is my sister. Janina. The love of my life minus my parents. I can't believe this. I was really hoping and praying that there would be no spread; that this would be an easier ride for Janina. Mom and Michael got the lucky end of the stick. Why not Janina, too? Can't just ONE of us have a more difficult fight? I'd rather that have just been me. Not my sister.

I can't imagine how Mom must be feeling. I know she sounded fine on the phone when I talked to her earlier today, but both of her daughters are having a tougher battle than her. Mom is just like any other mother; she wants her kids to have an easier life than her own. She wants to get the brunt of every attack, no matter the cost to herself. Mom didn't have any spread to other lymph nodes, and her treatments will probably (hopefully) amount to only one. It must really be hard for her watching Janina go through all of this and she can't do anything about it.

I despise watching this happen. I'm so angry at our bodies. What is wrong with us? We have always been healthy people. The only other issue I have ever had in my life is asthma. That's it for me. Mom has always been healthy minus her tachycardia. Physically, we are all pretty healthy. Like Michael told me one day, "Cancer does not discriminate." If only it could just disappear like the plague.

Like Mother - 28

2010-01-16T21:38:00.005-05:00

One of the greatest lessons that I’ve learned from this whole thyroid cancer experience has been to assume nothing and expect the unexpected. Maybe that’s two lessons, but no matter.

When Dori was diagnosed with thyroid cancer back in 2006, I never expected that I would get it too. I might have even had it at that time. But, I didn’t think about getting scanned. No one mentioned it, and I didn’t worry about it. I just thought that Dori was an unfortunate statistic, having one of the 5% of thyroid nodules that turn out to be cancerous. With those odds, why worry?

When I started having discomfort on swallowing, I didn’t assume it was thyroid cancer. I had surgery back in 2002 for a thyroglossal duct cyst and thought that perhaps it had grown back. I didn’t rush to the doctor’s office. And when I did see my doctor, I mentioned my symptoms only casually.

Janina was totally asymptomatic; but because her sister and mother both had thyroid cancer, her odds shot up considerably. And because we three have it, the rest of the family is at greater risk.

Not one of us assumed. Not one of us expected.

As it relates to life in general, this lesson serves me well. In order to try to avoid the unexpected, I know that I must take care of my body and be diligent about medical care. I cannot assume that a family member's disease is just a fluke; even a remote possibility is worth exploring.

If you are reading this, I hope that you agree.

Like Daughter - 24

2010-01-16T01:09:00.000-05:00

We spent a majority of tonight at my sister's house tonight. It felt good to spend so much time with her, her hubby and my nephews. The lot of us watched Death Becomes Her, which I used to be afraid of as a child. I called it the "Turning Head Movie." I still kind of wince at it, but it is amusing. I finally saw the ENTIRE movie tonight! Hilarious. It was nice while the boys were out after dinner to just have some girl talk with Mom and Janina. I loved it; it felt so good to just sit there and chit chat about things.

Janina is doing better. I think the shock is still there, but she was a lot more "with it" tonight. Honestly, I don't blame her as far as that's concerned. This crap sucks; plain and simple. She had to watch all three of us go through it, and now it's her turn. Taking care of us took so much out of her, and now she has to finally take care of herself. What a toll that has to take...I just hope I succeed in doing everything I can to support her and help her. She's my second mother; I wouldn't be who I am without her. I owe her my life.

So, in about four weeks Mom will be going through her first (and it better be her only) radioactive iodine treatment. Luckily, she won't have to stop her medication, but she will have to go through the low-iodine diet in two weeks. Janina's treatment will be in about less than 6 weeks, her low-iodine diet will be in about four. I feel bad that I complained so much about it when I went through it; now they both are dreading it! If you don't know what the low-iodine diet is, click here to read more about it. Trust me, you will wonder how I did it not once but twice! I actually cannot wait to make them meals and goodies. :)

Mom has her endocrinologist appointment on Monday, so we'll see what should be going on in the next month. The worst is over. That's all that matters right now.

Like Daughter - 23

2010-01-15T15:01:00.000-05:00

I'm with Mom on this one. I can't wait to see that geneticist. I want to know where the heck this is coming from. These are some mysterious ways, indeed.

We want answers. The lot of us, including our friends. But, you know, if we do get a "why," I think we will be so unbelievably lucky. Not a lot of people get definite answers, especially if it's a "fluke" or something that isn't "the norm" in the family. Cancer happens. So do a lot of other diseases and disabilities. Sometimes it's a moot point to ask, "Why?" Not often are we given the privilege to find out.

My family keep saying to peope that they think I saved their lives. While I appreciate the sentiment and the true meaning behind that opinion, I cannot possibly agree. I love my family. It settles my stomach knowing that they all are aware of their health and want to nip this junk in the bud, but I did nothing to "save" them. They are taking matters into their own hands, and I am so proud of each of them for doing that for themselves and their loved ones. Each of them had a choice: either get tested and be aware and proactive in their active health, or do nothing and avoid it. It takes a lot of courage to do what each of them are doing, and I couldn't be more proud.

So, yay, we're at 50 blog posts! Thanks to all of our friends, family, coworkers, etc. The list goes on. I don't say "readers" because honestly, I consider you all my friends. Everyone who reads this blog is walking this journey with us, and I can feel each presence. I'm so pleased that our blog has reached so many people, and I can't wait to see what the next 50 bring. :)

Many blessings to you of happiness, love, and, most importantly, health.

Like Mother - 27

2010-01-14T23:13:00.000-05:00

Took dinner to Janina’s house this evening. It was good to see her back in the comfort of her own home. The house was overflowing with flowers and gifts from family and friends. Her aunts and cousins brought homemade meals for the family – ham, macaroni and cheese, baked ziti, garlic bread, salad, chocolate pudding and whipped cream…a virtual feast. Homemade meals are such a wonderful gift, and will give Janina one less thing to have to think about.

I watched her and wondered if I looked like that my second day from surgery. She moved very deliberately and carefully. Bandages were off and she admitted to having a difficult time looking at her incisional scar. Although she looked relieved that the surgery was behind her, she seemed somewhat sad, which I think is a combination of having to face reality of it all and the uncertainty of what’s yet to come. Everything happened so quickly for Janina. Within a week of her own diagnosis, she was in the operating room. That’s a lot for anyone’s physical and emotional self to digest.

Tomorrow morning I will be going with my sister, Anna Marie, to the endocrinologist to assess whether her nodules need to be biopsied. It is my guess that they will, but we’ll see.

I can’t wait until we see the genetics doctor. I really hope she can shed some light on all of this. I guess I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t sometimes feel tired and disgusted by it all. Living with it is one thing; not knowing why is another. I’m ready for the why. I’m hoping that the why will help protect future generations of my family, and others as well.

Bring on the why.

Like Daughter - 22

2010-01-14T08:28:00.000-05:00

Well, another (and hopefully the LAST) surgery done. Janina was fantastic, as always. She was positive and firm about what she wanted and didn't want for her surgery, and she was not backing down. When she told the RN she didn't want any pain medication, the nurse looked at her like, "Are you nuts?" I couldn't help but smirk a little, because I knew that the lot of us would have given them hell if they went against Janina's wishes.

It was easier this time around with Janina, but it was harder at the same time. If anything happens to my sister, I always get really mad and upset, because she's just so good! She's a beautiful, strong, lovely woman who doesn't take any crap. She's worked her whole life for everything she has, and she never takes any of it for granted. Janina loves her family and friends with all her heart, and, God, is her heart big. I hated seeing her in that hospital gown, tired with a headache from not eating since 8:30pm the previous night. I had to look away at times because I saw myself in that chair and wished I was in it instead of her. Once everyone came out when she was taken back, I was relieved. I wanted it over and done with for her. She was anxious about getting it done. And now it's done. Time for recovery, then soon enough both Mom and Janina will be going through radioactive iodine treatment. I plan on baking and cooking (!) up a storm for them.

I was talking to my best friend Anne last night, and I joked saying, "I still can hardly believe this happened, but then again, everything happens in three's!" Have you every had a time in your life where you think something that happened a few days/weeks/months before was kind of like a foreshadowing of what would happen later in your life? I came to a funky conclusion with Anne: that all of those celebrities (RIP) who died were kind of a foreshadowing of this cancer deal. Think about it: all of the celebrities who have died in the last year died in three's. Farrah, Billy Mays, MJ. There was another tricolon (woohoo, I used a term from my Writing Argument class!) that I'm missing, but you get the point. I kept saying over and over again, "Everything happens in three's!" I hit the nail on the head.

I can't wait for this to be finished for both Mom and Janina. It's enough for all of us that my battle isn't done. My battle can keep going, but theirs can stop. God, can we arrange that?

Like Mother - 26

2010-01-13T23:26:00.002-05:00

I teased Janina about being lucky that she was the third one to have thyroid surgery. Number three is supposed to be the charm, isn’t it?

Although there’s nothing lucky or charming about having thyroid cancer, Janina knew, after going through Dori’s procedure and my procedure, what she wanted and what she didn’t want. She made it perfectly clear to her surgeon and anesthesiologist that she did not want pain medication, and although a mild one was given during the procedure, Janina had none during postop – only Tylenol. That was a great decision on her part. As a result, she had a much less eventful postop period with no nausea and no vomiting – Alleluia! I remember that well, and it isn’t pretty. A bit of tachycardia plagued her (like mother, like daughter), but I.V. fluids helped control the situation, and her pulse gradually came down.

What a trooper! Janina remained her kind and grateful self during her hospital stay, complimenting the nurses and techs for their hard work, and impressing the doctors with her very pleasant demeanor…all without pain meds.

Two weeks postop and I’m feeling like my old self, so I’m hoping that Janina progresses in the same way.

Well, my family has made it over another hurdle.

Like Mother - 25

2010-01-11T23:33:00.002-05:00

We had dinner at Janina's this evening. Salad, spaghetti, and meatballs. Janina had some soup, as she didn't want to tempt fate, just in case she has some postoperative stomach upset.

By this time tomorrow, she will be recovering in her hospital bed and the surgery will be over. It has been such a blessing that she was able to be scheduled for the procedure so quickly. There's been little time to think about it because we have all been so busy scrambling around trying to keep other things in order.

I'll need to keep this short as I didn't get much sleep last night.

Your thoughts and prayers are appreciated as Janina undergoes her surgery tomorrow.

Like Daughter - 21

2010-01-11T14:34:00.000-05:00

I can hardly believe that time is going by so quickly. It's amazing to me how we are already almost halfway through January. Mom's surgery still seems like it was yesterday.

Now that Mom has had her surgery and is doing great, I think I'm a lot better prepared for Janina's tomorrow. I know what to expect emotions-wise. Janina is in such good hands; this surgeon is phenomenal. He has operated on me, Michael, and Mom already, and he has done a fabulous job on all three of us. I have no doubts that he will do the same for my beloved sister.

Take a look at our Flickr photos in the right column. I added some of Janina with Mom and I, and some extras of me and Mom. The one at the top of our page is a bonus for everyone. Wasn't I a beautiful baby? ;-)

I'll probably blog later tonight or tomorrow. In the meantime; adios! I have to write these papers due tomorrow for my class! I still haven't even started... Oops!

Like Mother - 24

2010-01-10T23:33:00.002-05:00

In only two days, we will be going to the hospital for Janina’s surgery. I’ve already started the visualization process in my head -- seeing her in the Recovery Room, picturing myself at her bedside, and imagining what her first 24 hours will be like.

Having seen both me and Dori so ill with nausea and vomiting postoperatively, Janina is prepared to ask the anesthesiologist not to give her any pain medication at the time of surgery. Every hospital has its own protocol, and while many folks handle pain meds well (and rather like them), I’m getting the feeling that me and my girls have a low tolerance for them.

Odd as it sounds, thyroid surgery is rather painless. I don’t recall having any pain at all in the neck area, and I still don’t. Perhaps it’s because the incision cuts through the nerve endings. But whatever the reason, it just doesn’t hurt, so I’m not going to argue. On the zero to 10 pain level scale, I was never more than a 2.5, and that was when I first awoke from surgery. The most uncomfortable part is the sore throat and difficulty swallowing that follows being intubated during the procedure. For me, time and Slurpees were the answer.

That’s the thing about having been there and done that, it’s so easy to put yourself into another’s shoes. I support Janina’s decision to request zero to very low-level pain medication during her operation, and I will be there in the hours following to make sure that she is as comfortable as possible, doing all those things that made me feel better when I was the one in the hospital bed.

It's wonderful having a job that you love, and I can't wait to get back to the office tomorrow -- my first day back since the day before Christmas Eve. I look forward to seeing and talking with our patients again. They don’t even know why I took some extra time off. I just didn’t have the heart to tell them about my diagnosis and surgery so as not to dampen their holiday spirit, or mine for that matter. My boss says they have been asking about me and seem concerned, but he told them that he gave me some extra well-deserved time off. Many of them are like extended family, and I can’t wait to give and get a big hug.

Somehow I feel that sitting at my desk again will give me a sense that my life is returning to normal.

Like Daughter - 20

2010-01-09T18:55:00.000-05:00

Man, Mom, you're a blogging whirlwind! I love it! :-)

Yes, I'm definitely going to jump on the Grateful Train here and say "Thank you" to everyone who has been reading our blog and walking along this journey with us. You all have been so awesome to us and we couldn't thank you enough for your support and love.

I was out all day today, from 9:30am until about 6:30pm tonight. I was at an FLL (FIRST Lego League) qualifier competition at a local high school. I volunteered with the team I currently mentor. It felt so good to see my students again and spend the day with them. They amaze me every single day. It's wonderful watching them grow up and learn. The team ran the competition today, and they did such a wonderful job. I am so proud of them!

The next couple of days will consist of homework, a little bit of relaxation (hopefully), and maybe some old movies. T-3 days until Janina's surgery. Keep praying/thinking of us, everyone.

Like Mother - 23

2010-01-09T13:07:00.007-05:00

I just want to take a moment to thank everyone who reads our blog. Because you have shown such concern and interest in what we have to say, it inspires us to share our journey with you.

When I write, I feel like I am talking to a good friend, and that friend is really listening. So, in the middle of the night or wee hours of the morning, and without having to call and bother anyone in particular, I can talk about what's on my mind. It's done wonders for me, and I thank you for that.

I'm just an average mom with two average daughters, all stricken with thyroid cancer. Every day is tough. Some days are better than others. But I don't think a single day goes by that we don't find something to smile or laugh about.

Perhaps you are reading this because you are going through a similar struggle. Just like you, I am a real person behind the blog, so feel free to e-mail me if you'd like to chat -- aplait@comcast.net.

Again, thank you, my friend.

Like Daughter - 19

2010-01-08T23:15:00.000-05:00

I'm normal now, folks, I promise! ;) I guess I just needed a little while to get myself back on track.

The last few days have pretty much felt normal. As Mom said in her latest post, it's felt pretty standard. How weird is that, especially after everything so far? It felt so nice to get some Starbucks with Mom after my class on Thursday and have lunch with her at one of our favorite places. For a few minutes, I forgot about what has been going on.

The truth is, I just can't wait to find out what the real cause is of all this. Is it genetics? Cowden's Syndrome? Environmental? Who knows at this point. It's too broad to tell. To be honest, I want it to be something concrete, like genetics or Cowden's. I want to know for sure what my children's chances are, along with everyone else in my family. I want to be positive as far as what the risks could be if I decide to have children. I want to know whether or not my younger cousins or my darling nephew could get this cancer or any other type.

What sucks about cancer is nothing is set in stone. You may or may not get cancer in your lifetime, you may or may not be "cured," you may or may not have a successful surgery or treatment. Anything goes when it comes to this crap. Believe me, I never imagined I would have such a pain-in-the-neck (hahaha) time with it. I thought I'd have my one surgery, one treatment, and bada-bing! Done. Haha, not the case at all. You just never know.

So from what Dr. S said about Janina, he is only removing her thyroid. He didn't see any funky-looking lymph nodes surrounding her thyroid, so this is good. I can't wait for her surgery to be done so we can just move the heck on! T-minus 4 days 'til the big day. Stupid cancer.

Like Mother - 22

2010-01-08T18:17:00.005-05:00

Yesterday almost felt like a regular day. I drove for the first time since my surgery. I picked up Dori from her minimester class, grabbed some coffee, and went to Panera for lunch. It felt to good to be among the living. I’m feeling better and better as the days go on, and looking forward to returning to my job on Monday.

Did I mention that I have the greatest job in the world? I am the practice manager for an internist. He is a remarkable physician and an extraordinary person. He brought me homemade soup when I was in the hospital. Did you ever know a doctor to do that? Well mine does, and he thinks nothing of it. It’s just part of who he is. He does it for many of his patients; and did I mention that he makes the soup himself? It is a privilege to work alongside of him.

I put a call in to the genetics doctor, since after Janina heals that will be our next step. In the meantime, I’ve been going crazy on the internet Googling thyroid cancer and possible genetic links. It’s scary to think that it may not stop with the thyroid cancer and that perhaps a tumor suppressor gene is to blame. I’m trying not to let my thoughts run away with me until the Geneticist helps us to make sense of it all.

Sometimes I just don’t want to talk about it. The fact that Dori has thyroid cancer is enough for most people; then when I talk about myself, I can see the eyebrows raise a bit; when I mention Janina, I get out and out foot-stomping shock. Although I do agree that it is almost unbelievable in that thyroid cancer itself is not all that common, I can’t help but feel almost freakish – like we’re contagious or something. Silly…I know.

The weekend will fly by, as weekends do, and Janina will have her surgery on Tuesday. In the meantime, family members are lining up at radiology to have a screening ultrasound. Many of them have been found to have thyroid nodules, which in of itself is not surprising as thyroid nodules are common. Whether or not any of these nodules pan out to be cancerous is another thing. Unfortunately, for my family, “Node news is not good news”.

Like Mother - 21

2010-01-08T00:00:00.008-05:00

My son, Kyle, opened a bottle of root beer earlier this evening. Inside the cap were the words "Write a poem". He handed it to me and said, "Write a poem Mom, it'll be good for you."

I haven't written a poem since grade school. And even though it surrounds unhappy circumstances, I had fun writing it. Kyle was right.

I still need to work on a title. I'm open to suggestions.

There were three gals named Laye and Plait

Two daughters and a mother were they.

They exercised and watched what they ate

And were healthy in every way.

The youngest lived life without watching the clock

And looked forward to her high school ball.

A lump in her throat made her visit the doc

And that was the start of it all.

Diagnosis of thyroid cancer came as a shock

As no relative had it before.

She went through treatment strong like a rock

Not knowing there would be more.

Four years later on screening ultrasound

Mother Plait to her surprise and dismay.

Discovered that three nodules were found

Needing biopsy without delay.

Off to the hospital the ladies flew

This time to support their mother.

It was her turn and in her heart she knew

That she wouldn’t want it to be any other.

But misfortune again reared its ugly head

This time in the oldest child.

Mother was barely out of her sick bed

When another cancer diagnosis was filed.

Is there a lesson to be learned from this?

We hope that it soon will be clear.

But in the meantime give your loved ones a kiss

And hold them ever so near.

Like Daughter - 18

2010-01-07T15:17:00.000-05:00

Okay, I need to clear the air, here.

My last post was pretty scrambled, and I do apologize to our beloved family, friends, coworkers, and readers. I have been going through a lot of mixed emotions the last few days. Janina's diagnosis and upcoming surgery (t-5 days) are certainly affecting me, but I have been thinking a lot about other situations in my life that have nothing to do with thyroid cancer.

I started my 3-week gen.ed. minimester course on Tuesday. It was really difficult to walk into that classroom and spend four and a half hours listening to lecture and reading editorials based on argument. It still is hard, especially when all I can think about is Janina. Last night, I was struggling to write a paper due earlier today in class. I just had such difficulty starting it. As you all either know or have realized, I do not have trouble finding something to say. I just was so overcome with a whole slew of emotions that I could hardly concentrate on the task at hand. When I went downstairs to tell Mom and Dad that I was not going to go to class today, they right away said, "Get down here and we'll help you start that paper." So, I did, and I got it done. I must say, thanks to my dad, mom, and brother, I think I wrote a pretty kick-butt counterargument.

The last few days, I have had a hard time doing anything. Mom and I had lunch today at Panera, and she finally laid down the law with me after yesterday's post. She said, "Dori, you're living your life. Janina and I are so proud of you. Don't let this bother you more than it should. You're the one holding all of us together. You're our rock." Now, I'm not saying that I am everything she says I am. They may consider me to be their crutch when they need me, but I needed to break down yesterday. I needed to vent everything I had bottling up inside me. The last thing that needs to happen is for me to explode on anyone close to me like I did years ago. I'm doing my very best to never let that happen again.

So, long story short, I am not crazy, suicidal, etc. A lot of things were rushing through my head, and it was hard to tame them all at once. I apologize for worrying anyone or making myself or my family look bad.

Much love to all. Many blessings of love, happiness, and health. Until later on!

Like Daughter - 17

2010-01-06T18:19:00.000-05:00

Lately, I feel like I'm living a whole different life. It almost feels as though I'm not really me, like I'm someone else going through all of this...stuff. I'm not Dori anymore. I don't know who I am, but it surely isn't me.

I know I'm not making sense, but I just can't think alone anymore. No, I'm not suicidal or anything like that. I just can't be alone or else I think the most ridiculous, crazy things. My mind wanders and I get so afraid. When things like this happen to me I don't talk to anyone. I talk if I have to, but I'm not confiding in people. Even my family, which is startling because I feel like I need to talk to them, but I can't. I have good reasons why.

"She'll be fine." "It's all going to be OK." "Stop freaking out." "Things will work out." You know what I hear when anyone tells me these things? "Blah blah blah blah." It sounds like all of the adults in Charlie Brown episodes where they sound like, "WAAH WAAH WA WA WAAAH WAHH." I just want to cover my ears and run out of the room. I can't take it. You may not realize it, but these phrases are things I hear every, single, day. From everyone I encounter or anyone who I tell about my family updates. Even close friends. It's so frustrating! Why tell me what I already know? Let me vent. Let me freak out. Let me be upset, scared, worried. Let me be!

The family says the same stuff. I understand they mean well, and I love them for trying to help me. I just can't bear to hear the same crap from everybody, and I want to express myself without any of this general junk. Please don't get me wrong, my family is amazing. They are wonderful people and simply fantastic to me. But this is an internal thing that I need to get through myself. Nobody can help me through it, because no one can understand what is happening in my brain. Not even Mom, who has a clue, but is not feeling the exact same things.

I love my sister. Mom is right when she says she is like a second mom to Kyle and me. I always accidentally call her, "Mom," but she barely bats an eye and looks at me, waiting to hear what I have to say. She knows who I'm talking to.

Not a lot of people know this story, but when I was little, Janina and I had sleepovers at her house every weekend. We would go to Blockbuster, rent movies, and come home to watch them in her room (she lived with her dad at the time). Whenever we went out, people asked her if I was her daughter. She would say yes immediately. We held hands throughout the store. I never wanted to let go.

I want to go back to that place. I want to be as close to her as I was then. Why did I have to grow up already? Why did reality have to hit us so quickly? What happened? Why did time have to slip by so fast?

She's had enough trouble in her life. This needs to stop. Of all the people to have so much happen to them, why Janina? Why my precious, self-less sister?

I love you, Janina...Let me be that little girl again and hold your hand. I'll help you through this one. I promise.

Like Mother - 20

2010-01-06T14:54:00.006-05:00

It was actually humor that got us through Janina’s appointment with the surgeon this morning. You know that part in the movie where Forrest Gump is sitting at the bus stop having a conversation with another person waiting for the bus, and he’s telling his story. Anyway, he talks about going to the White House,“Again”, and meeting with the President, “Again”. You just have to chuckle when you think about that part of the movie, because you can almost hear his voice and visualize the expression on his face. Well, that’s how it felt for our family today. So we just went with it and had a few laughs – or at least as much fun as one can possibly have while scheduling a major surgery.

Janina, of course, was her usual incredibly strong and cheerful self, despite not getting any sleep last night (which she confided in me). When the surgeon came into the room, she greeted him with “Hey handsome!”. I know that he must have a soft spot in his heart for her. After all, he watched her take care of Dori, Michael (Janina’s husband—diagnosed with thyroid cancer a year after Dori), and then me. Despite being a professional, I’m sure it pains him, as much as it does us, that she, being the caregiver for all, now has to go through this herself, but he went along with our jokes and reassured Janina that all would be okay.

Surgery is scheduled for Tuesday, January 12th. On that day, it will be exactly two weeks since my own surgery. God has been gracious enough to allow me to heal rather uneventfully, and I plan to be totally ready to be with Janina next Tuesday to comfort and help her through those difficult and crucial first 24 hours. I wouldn’t think of being anywhere else.

Only six days to go. I’m happy that my own surgery is behind me, sad that my daughter’s is yet to come, but in acceptance of the fact that we must do it “Again”.

Like Mother - 19

2010-01-06T02:01:00.007-05:00

I can’t sleep. It’s 1:57 a.m. and I’m lying in bed wide awake, wondering if Janina is doing the same. Sometimes, I just hate the night.

I visited Janina’s Facebook page and was thrilled to see so many folks sending her messages of support.

People just love Janina. You can’t help it. She’s such a kind and gentle soul. Small children follow her around like the Pied Piper. She wears so many hats all the time, reaching out to family, friends, and others in any way she can. She is not just a big sister, but a second-mother to my younger children. Yet she is “cool” enough to be their best friend as well. It takes someone pretty special to pull that off. I have always found it a comforting thought to know that if anything were to happen to me while my younger children were still young, Janina would step in and their lives would hardly miss a beat. Truly…she’s that close to them and would give them as much comfort and love as I ever could.

In about 7 hours we’ll be meeting with the surgeon…again. The game will be similar, but the players will change. As much as I don’t want it to be, it’s Janina’s turn now. I’m hoping that things move as quickly for her as they did for me; without too much time to think about it, and faster into the healing and recovery stage. For all that Janina is to those around her, she deserves that.

J – I love you with all of my heart.

Like Mother - 18

2010-01-05T11:12:00.004-05:00

I’ve been having problems with tachycardia since my operation. Evidently, with manipulation of the thyroid in removing it at surgery, much excess hormone is secreted into the body. It’s a lousy feeling – like you’re in overdrive even when you are trying to relax. After talking about this with my endocrinologist yesterday, he doubled my beta blocker, and if that does not give me effective relief, may decrease my Synthroid dose. As well, my menopausal hot flashes have hit an all-time high. I have become one big walking/talking hormone.

The recent turn of events with Janina doesn’t help any either. I know she is anxious about her visit with the surgeon tomorrow, and I feel her pain. Everyone feels her pain. Calls and messages have been pouring in. I’m sure most people are thinking what misfortune and horrible luck our family seems to have – that we all have cancer at the same time. Truth is, we have it “at the same time” because we are looking for it. But it was there, and who knows for how long. Dori’s diagnosis four years ago eventually led to my concern and subsequent diagnosis, which led to Janina’s diagnosis.

Misfortune? Perhaps. I choose to think that we are fortunate. Fortunate to have discovered our cancer and fortunate to have each other. Each of us can both sympathize and empathize with the other. Each of us knows how it feels every step of the way. We’re just exchanging places to be where we need to be. Janina and I were once at Dori’s bedside, Janina then at my bedside, and I will be at her bedside very soon. I will hold her hand and whisper the same comforting words that she whispered to me and reassure her that she will be fine.

It’s 11 a.m. and I’m still lying in bed as I make this entry. Trying to give the meds a chance to kick in. When my feet hit the floor, I will officially be up. Let’s see what today brings…

P.S.

Another great “Tweet” I received today:

"Adversity is another way to measure the greatness of individuals. I never had a crisis that didn't make me stronger." - Lou Holtz

Like Daughter - 16

2010-01-04T19:03:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was a great day. I had a wonderful time out with a good friend, and then afterward I went out to watch the Ravens beat the Raiders and earn their rightful spot in the NFL Playoffs. It was great to forget my troubles outside of that place, and just focus on something fun with close friends.

However, I barely slept last night. I had maybe 4 hours of sleep, give or take. I was feeling terrible. It must have been some indication of what was to happen today.

I woke up at 11:15am to my alarm clock. I was excited for my chat with Matthew Zachary from I'm Too Young For This! at noon, and was ready to spend some time with a friend visiting from New Jersey in the evening. However, when I checked my phone as soon as I awoke, I came across a text from my dad. He said that Janina's results were positive for papillary thyroid cancer, and that she was in the office talking to our surgeon about her surgery. It was such a shock to me that I could hardly move for a minute or two. Then, I lost it. I started to hit my pillow so hard I almost thought I broke through it, I screamed at the top of my lungs, and I shouted, "No, no, not my sister! Not my sister!" There was nothing else I could do. I wanted to break something into a million pieces, just like this cancer has been doing to my heart. Just when I feel like I'm getting over it and moving on and trying to help my mother, it has to shatter my heart all over again. Why Janina? Not her. She has already had 2 cancers. This is ridiculous. Of all the people to get cancer, it should NOT be her. She has the most amazing personality. Janina's a beautiful person, inside and out. She has the biggest heart you could ever find in a human being, and she has been my hero since I was a little girl. She's my second mother...my best friend. This is one of those things that is slowly sending me over the edge.

Oh, how perfect. You know that song I talked about in my last blog? Avril Lavigne's "Mobile"? Well, it just came on when I hit "Shuffle" on iTunes. It's perfect for right now. Everything is happening way too fast here. It's getting harder and harder each day.

I'm still saying it over and over in my head, "Not my sister...not her. Please not her." But, it is. The next unfortunate victim. But, as Breaking Benjamin's lyrics in, "I Will Not Bow" state: I will not bow, I will not break...I will not fall, I will not fade..."

This family is not giving up. We refuse to back down and let this stupid cancer win. We will not break from it. That is a promise we will never break.

Like Mother - 17

2010-01-04T17:10:00.004-05:00

By Sunday evening, day five post-op, I think my bowels and I have made peace with each other…finally. I am starving for a regular meal. The kind of starving where everything starts to sound good, even things you never liked before. But I bit the bullet, threw caution to the wind, and all that brave stuff. I asked Merril to pick up a sour beef and dumplings dinner from Silver Spring Mining Company – a definite comfort food for me as it is as close to what my grandmother used to make as any recipe I have eaten. I managed one dumpling, a chunk of beef and some gravy—Yummy! Later, I had a day-old low fat brownie. I can finally eat and life is good again.

But that was yesterday.

Today, Janina (my oldest daughter) called at 8:30 a.m. to let me know that the endocrinologist wants to see her to discuss her thyroid biopsy results, so we went to his office. We weren’t totally shocked, but of course sadly disappointed, to find out that she too has thyroid cancer. WAIT A MINUTE!…I thought I said in an earlier post that I wasn’t willing to share my cancer. It’s mine, and I want all the attention. Benevolent Man upstairs, did you hear me??? I don’t want to share. Not anymore. Especially not with another one of my children. Especially not with Janina.

I talked about Janina in an earlier post. I could spend an hour telling you how wonderful she is, and if you asked me about her bad points, I would have nothing to say. There are none. She’s the kindest and strongest woman I know and I am confident that she will get through this ordeal. I would like to think that “the apple never falls far from the tree” theory applies to Janina and I, but I know better. She’s got it all over me. She’s my mentor and my rock.

Indeed 2010 started off with a bang. But, as families do, we’ll lean on each other, draw strength from each other, care for each other, and move forward -- to a large degree because we have no choice, but mostly because we want to.

Taking one step at a time towards a better tomorrow.

Like Daughter - 15

2010-01-04T06:09:00.001-05:00

I'm pretty much an insomniac at the moment. It's 5:17am right now and I'm awake. I fell asleep around 12:30am and woke up at 2:30, but fell asleep again around maybe 3:30am and now I am awake. I will probably go back to sleep as soon as I finish writing this, but I feel slightly alert. I'm also telling you all this just in case this entry seems a little off.

This is probably one of those days where I really do not know what I want to say. A lot of things are happening around me at once; not just this cancer shindig, but many other personal things, too. I have had so many ups and downs with friends and others over the course of the last month or so that my head is still spinning. Change happens every time we look another direction. Each time I feel like this, I like listening to Avril Lavigne's song "Mobile." Go take a listen. It has been so true about everything that has been happening in my life. Many people I know can relate to all of this, and can relate to constant change. Coming to terms with change, though, is a very different matter.

In an earlier post my mother made, she mentioned that she was joking with her sister, my Aunt Rea when she accompanied her to get her ultrasound. She said that this was her cancer and she didn't want to share it. I know it was a joke, but sometimes I thought that myself. Especially when Mom was diagnosed. I didn't want anyone else to have this. I wanted it to just be mine, my cancer, my ordeal. In reality, though, folks, this was not just my battle. Everyone who chose and has chosen to be with me and suffer with me -- this was their fight, too. They were fighting with me. They were giving little pieces of themselves to me when I was running out. At times I still need these pieces in order to feel whole again, feel normal.

Time for me to pass those pieces on to my Mom. I don't need them right now.

Like Mother - 16

2010-01-03T18:06:00.004-05:00

I cried when I read Dori’s entry today. It brought back memories of her pain and struggle as a teenager, so full of promise and life, right at the time of high school graduation, being diagnosed with thyroid cancer. So while her friends were partying and packing to leave home and excitedly venture off to their respective colleges, she was preparing for major surgery, subsequent treatments, and surgery again.

Sid, Lynn, Lindsey and Chris sent me a wonderful get well card (thank you guys!). In it Lynn wrote, “Do everything Dori says…she’s a pro”. And indeed she is. I prayed that I would be as accepting of the illness and as a good a patient as Dori was, and still is. She never missed a beat, always thinking ahead to her future plans and treating the cancer as if it was just an inconvenience, a bump in the road that she was determined to get past.

Okay, sure she was crabby sometimes – maybe even a lot. Physically, it’s easy to understand this as the thyroid controls so many of our body’s hormones. I cannot even begin to understand the emotional component. At 17, I was living the high life. Although I considered myself a mature person, I don’t know what I would have been like having been dealt the same hand at that time. In my mind, Dori is nothing short of amazing – even if she is my daughter.

As for the young man Dori spoke of in her post – his name is Seth. Seth stood by her, cared for her, took a lot of guff, and never stopped giving. Dori is right about that. We loved him and thought of him as part of our family. I don’t think I could ever thank him sufficiently or convey in words how much it meant to me that he loved my daughter enough to see her through that very difficult time in her life, without hesitation and without complaint.

They say that when the chips are down, you find out who your real friends are. True that! I am still in awe of the folks who have reached out to me. Conversely, I am stunned by some of those who haven’t (but we won’t go there).

So for today, I am grateful to my friends and family for their support, calls, cards, flowers, and continued well-wishes. As Dori said so many times, we couldn’t do this without you.

Love & Hugs.

Like Daughter - 14

2010-01-03T15:47:00.001-05:00

No matter what you have gone through, the past seems to always creep back up again. While my mom has been going through all of this lovely thyroid cancer business, I have thought a lot about what my life was like when I was diagnosed. Who I was dating, what I was doing, things I liked and disliked, and then some. Everything just seemed to flood me all at once over the course of the last three weeks. I've been looking through old photos, cards, letters, and journal entries lately, and a lot of things have really registered with me. Not only have I really grown up, but I have realized just how much I should have appreciated more.

While I was going through my surgeries and treatments, I had a long-term boyfriend. I was diagnosed a year and a half after we started our relationship, so we were very close and very much in love. A lot of things hit me all at once as soon as my diagnosis started. I became even more stubborn, needy, and temperamental. He gave and gave and gave, and I never truly appreciated him and everything he did for me. I realized, after going through all of these things, just what I lost. Sure, I'm moving on and living my life as I should, but sometimes I wonder if things would have been different if I knew then what I know now. Past is past, and it will remain that way. I have to live from now on with no regrets. And that is exactly what I am doing now.

Through these life lessons, we come to terms with the fact that we are only human. I was young and juvenile. I dealt with my cancer in any way possible, and that meant hurting a lot of people in more ways than one. I lashed out, vented, and bottled things until they exploded at the worst times. My life had become such a whirlwind that I didn't take the time to really appreciate those who stuck by me and loved me throughout my difficulties.

As a New Year's resolution, I do not plan on committing to yet another diet plan. I do not plan on trying to work out more (even though I will do my best to). I simply plan on giving thanks for my family and friends, especially those who were there for me and have been for as long as I can remember. I am grateful, and will always be grateful for the support, love, encouragement, and strength that I was able to receive through these people. I would not have been able to go through any of this alone.

Thank you. I love you.

Like Mother - 15

2010-01-02T14:37:00.001-05:00

Surgery is the best diet…NOT! I’m down about 9 lb. which I’m sure is mostly fluid. Not being able to eat on top of getting rid of your body stores is rather draining. Yesterday was my best day. I actually got in three “meals” – a toasted bagel for breakfast, cream of wheat for lunch, and a hot soft pretzel for dinner. As you can see, I’m on a high carbohydrate diet these days. I even had a Coke Slurpee, which made me long for summer…a nice cold snowball would be just the ticket. And since the cream of wheat worked so well yesterday, I had it again this morning for breakfast—along with another Coke Slurpee. I know, not a great combination.

I’m dreaming of pancakes and omelets, burgers and fries (something I usually don’t even eat), a luscious Thanksgiving feast, and oddly, sour beef and dumplings (one of my personal favorites). There’s steamed shrimp, stuffed flank steak, and cheesecake still waiting for me in the fridge--leftovers from New Year’s Eve. I may have to get Merril to eat them, and I’m sure he won’t complain too much about that. Although I have accepted the surgery, unfortunately my stomach and bowels haven’t. I’m waiting patiently for them to get on board.

My sleep schedule is absolutely crazy. Difficult to sleep at night, better in the day. I feel like I’m missing out on so much by sleeping in during the day, particularly since it gets dark so early, and I look forward to a more normal schedule. Some things just can’t be rushed; recovery from surgery being high on the list. It’s like a swift kick in the pants, a huge jolt to the body, and every body handles it differently.

Janina just called to let me know that she’d be stopping by. She’s at Game Stop with my grandson. She asked me if I wanted anything. Trying to be humorous, I told her to get me the Wii Feel Better. I think there should be such a game, don’t you?

Like Daughter - 13

2010-01-02T01:30:00.000-05:00

It's nice to stop and smell the roses. I just hate when something bad has to happen in order to force you to do so.

When I got diagnosed, I just lived my life as I saw fit. It had to happen the way I wanted it, mainly because if I stopped, then my thoughts would take over and drive me insane. Even now, being post-treatment and living life on a six-months-ahead basis, I still have to keep myself busy at times or else I will daydream myself into an anxious frenzy. There are days, though, when I feel like I need time to just blank out.

What really irks me, though, is that a lot of the time something really bad has to happen to punch you in the gut and make you stop doing what you're doing to think about what's really important. I'm pretty sure that God is trying to tell me to spend more time with family, and really, truly value them. I love my family dearly, and I would do anything for each and every person within my family, but I don't think I appreciate them enough. With my mom getting diagnosed and dealing with her surgery and upcoming treatment, my sister getting biopsied and the rest of my entire family getting ultrasounds of their thyroids, I feel like I really should spend more time with them and talking to them. It's the same feeling with my dad's family, too. They all live in different states minus my dad's sister. It's so difficult to keep in touch with people who hardly live close by. I really need to put forth more effort, and I should. They're family, and I couldn't be here without them (literally and figuratively).

Cherish your family and friends. Whether or not you have been through cancer or any other life-threatening disease or disorder, you should spend as much time with them as possible and love them for who they are. Every moment counts.

Like Mother - 14

2010-01-01T23:51:00.002-05:00

Sometimes we need to be flat on our backs before we stop to smell the roses. Granted, the roses are a little harder to smell when we are on our backs, but it can be done.

It’s a rather freeing feeling to walk (rather shuffle) through the house and appreciate it just the way it is – as my home. Not to worry about the lint on the rugs (that I would have picked up before), the dishes in the sink, the piles of mail (mostly junk), the hair on the bathroom floor (and I’m only noticing that because I’m in there so much – yuck!). Who cares?!

I love it that I’m actually watching and finishing a movie. Only did that on rare occasion because I was too busy transcribing, cleaning, working on a craft, or something else that I could have put off, but didn’t. I’m not even minding if what the family watches is football (of which I am not a fan) because as long as we’re together in the same room, it’s a good thing.

I love it that my family has camped out with me on our rather large sectional sofa, which has actually become lost amongst the blankets and pillows. I hated all that clutter before. I’m happy for all of the phone calls and visits that I was too busy for before – busy doing what?!

I love it that I am appreciating each little bit of progress that I’ve made since the surgery, even if it’s been just to hold down a few crackers. The reality is that there are so many who suffer far worse than I. I have no room to complain.

I guess that’s what people mean when they say that a lot of good can come from a little bad.

Like Daughter - 12

2010-01-01T20:05:00.001-05:00

I still can hardly believe that 2009 is over. Sometimes it feels like time is going so slowly, but other times it feels like it's speeding by like a whirlwind.

So 2010 is here. A new year. Hopefully a fresh start for my family and I. Even though the whole thyroid cancer fiasco has begun for my entire family, I feel like we're going to be OK.

When my sister got her biopsies, the doctor said that we should see a genetics doctor to discuss whether or not this is a family thing. The one piece of information that startled me was that, if this is genetic, there's a 50/50 chance that any offspring could get thyroid cancer. Wow.

A close friend of mine, Jon, was also diagnosed with thyroid cancer. He has a tumor suppressant gene mutation, diagnosed as Cowden Syndrome, and there is a 50/50 chance that if he has children, they could get the syndrome.

Mom and I had a conversation on Monday about if thyroid cancer was genetic, and, if it was, would she have had me and my brother, and will I still have children? She said if it were thyroid cancer, yes, she would have still had us. Mom told me that thyroid cancer really isn't life-threatening, as long as it is caught early and closely watched. I wonder, though, what I will do. Would I really refuse my children life because of a disease that very well could not affect them?

I guess that's something I'll have to think about when the time comes. If it ever does. ;)

Anyway, I wish everyone a Happy New Year! And I hope my Florida Gators win the Sugar Bowl tonight! Woohoo!

Like Mother - 13

2010-01-01T06:39:00.000-05:00

2009 is over. But the year will live on in my medical history. Whenever I see a doctor from this time forward, I’ll have to indicate that in 2009 I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer.

The big “C” always comes as a shock to people. It’s such a scary word. I can remember really being afraid of that word. Whenever I would meet someone with cancer, either personally or in my profession, I could only but admire their strength, determination, and most of all, acceptance. Acceptance is the most difficult part. But again, that applies to so many things in life. Once we’ve tackled that, the rest seems to follow in a very natural course.

Welcome 2010! I was surrounded by my favorite folks last night as the new year very quietly rolled in. My husband, children and grandson were with me. They prepared a virtual feast. Unfortunately, I could only tolerate a bit of it, so hopefully the leftovers will be around for a few more days. The guys played Risk in the dining room, and the ladies lounged on the sectional sofa and watched movies. Marrin and I drew pictures together and snuggled. Everyone was happy, healthy, and safe. I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect New Year celebration.

I’m still working on those resolutions.

Like Mother - 12

2009-12-31T14:02:00.001-05:00

The bandages are off! Ahh, that feels so much better. I stood in front of the mirror and took a good look and my scar which, at this point, is an amazing array of colors and textures -- red, purple, lumpy, bumpy, not too terribly long, center and just above my collarbone. At first, I felt like the lady in the Beetlejuice movie. Do you remember the one? The smoker with the slit in her throat so that every time she inhaled her cigarette, the smoke would come billowing out of her neck. Fresh incisional scars are not too terribly attractive, but just like everything else, will get better with time.

Finally was able to get down a toasted bagel and some tea that Dori very lovingly made for me. Let's just hope more of it stays "in" than comes "out", if you know what I mean. My appetite is there, but the rest of my body is not being totally cooperative. Marci's Christmas candy is especially wonderful right now, soothing to the throat, and oh so good!

Family and friends are calling and I am basking in the luxury of being loved and cared about. When different members of my family ask what they can do for me, I simply tell them to go get scanned. That would be the best gift of all. So far, a few of them have gone and are awaiting results.

Officially started on my Synthroid today which will become my daily companion. See thyroid, I never needed you anyway.

Like Daughter - 11

2009-12-31T13:41:00.000-05:00

Mom's scar looks wonderful. In three months, I guarantee you, that scar will barely be there. Our surgeon does wonders.

I'm really proud of my mother. After her "big reveal," I asked her how she felt about her scar. She said she felt good. I asked if she would be comfortable going out without wearing a big turtleneck. She smiled and said, "Yes, of course!" I sure hope we can do that very soon. It's exciting for me to see her like this. She's confident about her scar, and she doesn't care what the world thinks about it. I can't wait to go out with her and see her step out into the world, showing everyone the champion that she is.

I think 2010 will be our year. Even with all of the commotion going on in my mom's family with getting their thyroids scanned, I think that 2010 will really bring our family some good luck. Something just tells me that no matter what goes wrong, it will turn up right. At some point.

Happy New Year, everyone. May you all be blessed with happiness, love, and most important of all...good health.

Like Mother - 11

2009-12-31T09:19:00.000-05:00

Visits from family early last evening. Marci with a lovely stuffed shells dinner for the family, Anna Marie bearing edible treats, and Gracie with some wonderful Bath and Body gifts. And I thought Christmas was over!

Later things got a little rough. Nausea and vomiting plagued me in the hospital, but at home the other end started acting up (not the kind of thing you want to elaborate on in a blog). At any rate, I’m hoping it’s just the anesthesia and/or drugs trying to work their way out of my system. Nonetheless, I’m still as grateful today as I was yesterday. I can sleep fairly well, and still only have minimal discomfort.

Today will also mark the great unveiling. I get to take off my bandages and make friends with my new scar. That part of the surgery never bothered me. We all have scars, inside and out. It shows that we’ve experienced life. I’m actually excited about seeing mine. It will remind me that I looked into the face of that which I thought I could not and dealt with it.

The days seemed to have meshed together – I just realized that it’s New Year’s Eve. I’ll have to work on some resolutions today. At the top of the list will be to reach out to others as they have done for me, to give an encouraging word and remind them that they are stronger than they know. Dori had her cell phone with her while waiting for me to be taken to the operating room. The messages never stopped coming. I was being rooted on to victory even as I was being wheeled away to the OR. What a team! I intend to be part of that cheering team for others. Without a doubt, it can make all the difference.

Love & Hugs!

Like Daughter - 10

2009-12-30T22:09:00.000-05:00

Thank God it's over. Mom is home and she looks, sounds, and feels awesome. She's relieved, and so am I.

I know what she's talking about when it comes to the build up before surgery. It's really not a fun thing. Time flew by for me really quickly, and that was not only a blessing but also a curse. I wanted it over, but I was too afraid of the outcome. Since I never had surgery before, I didn't know what to expect. Luckily my surgery was at 7 in the morning on a Monday, so I slept a little and was extremely tired before surgery so I hardly could think. I will never forget looking back at my mother, father, and sister one last time before going into the OR. I could barely see since I didn't have my glasses, but I knew how their faces looked. I don't think those images will ever be erased from my head.

As soon as I was home the next day, I was just like my mother is right now. She's talking on the phone, letting people visit, and relieved it's all over. Mom is still her beautiful, smiling self. She just has an extra little beauty mark to show off. ;-)

Like Mother - 10

2009-12-30T20:44:00.000-05:00

It's over. The surgery is behind me. The day came and went just like I hoped it would. Right now, I am in minimal pain and feel like I'm navigating in slow motion -- on the outside. On the inside, I am grateful for having such an amazing surgical team, an incredible family, and such supportive friends, some of whom I've never even met.

The "build-up" to the surgery was the worst part. The imagining of what would happen and how it would happen. Playing out scenarios in my head of what the operating room would be like, what would happen to me during surgery, and how I would feel when I awoke. As you can guess, none of it turned out as I had imagined. It was pretty straightforward and rather uneventful. I did, though, get postsurgical tachycardia, and extreme nausea and vomiting, but the right medications helped with all of that. Twenty-four hours later, I am back in the comfort of my own home.

I'm somewhat tired, and my thoughts seem a bit scrambled, so I'll end the post here...but I'll be back.

Love & hugs to all!

Like Daughter - 09

2009-12-29T21:33:00.000-05:00

Before I rant and rave, Mom is doing very well. She's not in any pain, but her throat is sore from the breathing tube. It's difficult for her to swallow, but she is able to drink and possibly eat. When I left her, she was slurring but coherent, and she looks fabulous for just having surgery. I'll probably blog for her tomorrow when she comes home. Dr. S told us that he took out her entire thyroid and some "clumpy" lymph nodes underneath the thyroid. We won't know the results on those nodes for a few days. Mom thanks everyone for their support, love, and encouragement through this whole ordeal. She smiled when I told her about everyone's well wishes. But please keep thinking about her and praying for her.

Today was one of the most difficult days of my life. I can safely say that. I knew Mom was in good hands, but it's still scary. I finally know what it really is like being on the other side of the fence. It's not greener.

I imagined every possible scenario in my head. I imagined what she would look like. It frightened me. I remember how I looked and felt, and it disturbs me even now to think about her scar. I kept touching my neck all day, thinking, "Oh, Lord, she bears this now, too..." It surprises me that I'm still moving around and doing what I need to do.

Things are definitely changing inside of me. I've been very blank lately. I'm faking a lot of my emotions. It's getting more difficult to stay peppy and excited about everything. In high school, I was so obnoxiously bubbly that a lot of people couldn't handle me for a long period of time. It's amazing what time, life experience, and a lot of damn drama can do to a person.

I don't know how my sister has been able to do this. She went through my surgeries and treatments, my brother-in-law's surgery and treatment, and now she has just gotten herself through my mother's surgery. She is such a hero to me. Janina went through her own cancers, and now she has had to be the rock for all three of us. She got her own biopsies done yesterday. I pray she doesn't have this stupid cancer. If she does...I can't think about it.

Pray for this family, everyone. If you don't pray, then think of us. Keep us in your thoughts. This is really difficult for the lot of us. Thank you again for all of your support, encouragement, well wishes, and love. We could not have gotten this far without it.

Like Mother - 09

2009-12-29T09:36:00.000-05:00

As I leave for the hospital, I am touched by the messages of support and encouragement still being sent to me. They mean more than you can imagine.

Never underestimate the power of a kind word and a caring heart.

Love & Hugs!

Like Mother - 08

2009-12-28T23:48:00.002-05:00

I can’t believe this is it. The final countdown. I'm getting butterflies in my stomach as I type this. Am I ready?

The truth is, it doesn't matter if I'm ready or not - it will just happen. Tomorrow will come and I'll have my surgery. Since I was first diagnosed, time seems to have flown by and stood still all at the same time.

At this time, though, I want to thank everyone who has shown me support along the way. You know who you are. Your hugs, thoughts, prayers, calls, cards, text messages, and twitters have meant more than you know—and I mean that. I feel like I have my own cheering section rooting me on to victory. I have drawn so much strength from you. I am overwhelmed by the people who have reached out to me. Some folks I have never even met. It has made all the difference in my journey and reassures me that the things that bind us together are more important than those which separate us.

Today was a rather bittersweet one. Although my surgery will be behind me by this time tomorrow, my oldest daughter, Janina, is awaiting thyroid biopsy results. Today, she had three nodules biopsied and we will know the results on Monday. One day at a time; that's all we can do. I reminded Dori that she has probably saved our lives by her own diagnosis.

I’d like to think that by tomorrow night, I’ll be blogging again, but we’ll have to see about that. I'm sure Dori will keep the blog going and post an update.

Going to go pack my bag now.
Blessings to all!

Like Daughter - 08

2009-12-28T16:29:00.000-05:00

Disclaimer: If you watch Ugly Betty and have not gotten to Season 3, Episode 16, then don't read this yet. Go watch that episode and then come back. You'll get mad at me. If you have never watched Ugly Betty and don't really care about the show, then read on.

Molly has cancer. I knew it as soon as I saw her in the doctor's office in Episode 16. She was crying, upset, and seemed completely torn. She finally tells Daniel, who is the head honcho in Mode Magazine. Daniel lets her walk out of his life. I haven't finished the episode to find out if he succeeds in bringing her back. I needed to write this entry. It's going to really hit home for people, especially those I have become close to going through cancer themselves.

Betty talks Daniel into going to find her. He was torn up about Molly just walking out and him not stopping her. He said that she didn't want him to see her sick, and that he let her walk out because he was scared of seeing her get worse. Then he said, "But...I love her." That, my friends, is the clincher.

As a cancer patient, I can tell you right now: We want support, even when we don't want you around. Sometimes, we crave it. Especially when we need it most.

Molly's reaction fits. She didn't want to hurt Daniel, especially since she put her ex through it a long time before, when she was first diagnosed. She was afraid of Daniel going through the same pain that her ex did, especially since the cancer came back worse than before. I know I feel that way a lot of the time with my friends and family. But, as I've learned, some of my friends are too stubborn to kick away, and my family would disown me before letting me go through this on my own.

I've definitely felt lonely on this journey. Friends have come and gone and lost touch with me. Some knew about my diagnosis and tried to be there for me but strayed after a while. Few have stood by this entire time, but those few mean more to me than anything. I notice the inconsistencies, even when some people don't know I see them. Sure, I'm not dying, but this is something I will be fighting my entire life. And sometimes I have days when I need someone, even just to hear me vent.

If you're a friend or family member of someone who is going through cancer, don't leave them. Don't be scared. I'm sure your loved one is scared enough for the both of you. Love them, cherish them, keep them close to you. Don't stray from them. A phone call or card means so much. If they call you, pick up the phone. Even if their prognosis is not a good one, be there for them as much as you can. Express how you feel to them; hold nothing back. Cancer shouldn't affect the way you feel for that person. Develop the bond you have with your loved one. Strengthen it. Don't let cancer weaken it. Your bond will be unbreakable.

Tomorrow is Mom's surgery. If she's ready, then so am I.

Like Mother - 07

2009-12-27T23:39:00.005-05:00

Visited with Merril’s sister Marci and family last night. Had pizza and salad and way too much dessert. Even on the way home, I had my head in a box of the fabulous Christmas candy that Marci makes every year and shares with the family. Lovely pieces of stained-glass-like sugary goodness of grape, pineapple, orange, lemon, and my all-time favorite, cinnamon. It was wonderful to be with everyone and to get even more hugs and well-wishes for my upcoming surgery. (If the Treeces are reading this, I love you all and thank you for a wonderful evening!)

After that, a quick escape to Delaware Park Slots. The nodule gang, me, Anna Marie, Janina, Dori, and Melissa piled into Janina’s Tahoe (love those backseat seat-warmers!) and headed off like thieves into the night. I found it peculiar, statistically-speaking, that all five of us have been found to have thyroid nodules; and so far two of us have thyroid cancer, yet not one of us won any money, hmmm… Oh well, it was a welcome diversion and we had a blast.

Surgery is around the corner. So much to do and so little time. I need to get through some medical transcription jobs, clean the house, get meals together for the next couple of weeks (thanks to Let’s Dish www.letsdish.com), and pack a small bag for the hospital. My grandson, Marrin, came to visit today and drew a picture for my hospital room. My beautiful niece and goddaugther, Diana, sent me a card that makes me cry every time I read it…that’s going with me too.

Anna Marie stopped by and excitedly reminded me that I have only two days to go. She's unusually happy about it and I’m starting to get a little worried about her -- but, I get her point, and it does make sense.

I know that in order to take action, you have to want something more than you are afraid of it. I want it now. I want the cancer out. I want the surgery behind me. I know that it needs to be done and that I cannot go forward with healing, recovery, and potential cure until it is. It’s a process, just as most things in life are.

As I toggled between writing this blog and going into my Twitter page, I discovered the following post: “Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear.” (Ambrose Redmoon).

Amen to that.

Like Daughter - 07

2009-12-27T19:11:00.002-05:00

I watched my Ravens lose to the Steelers today. It was pretty painful to watch. We gave up three touchdowns because of penalties. I won't deny that I was quite pissed and yelling at the referees through my TV set (yeah, they totally heard me). Overall, it was a heart-wrenching experience.

A cancer battle is pretty much like a football game. Both teams battle it out, and, in the end, one has to win. Doctors make the call on what would be the best treatment for the patient, just like the referees make calls on the game to benefit one or the other. Family, friends, coworkers, and even strangers have to watch from the sidelines, shouting encouraging words for their loved one and booing the disease and all the hell that goes with it, just like fans rooting for their favorite team and cussing out the opposition. All the fans can do is watch and anxiously wait for the final score. All the loved ones surrounding the cancer patient can do is watch and wait for something to happen.

As I was watching the game today, Derrick Mason got badly injured. He looked like he was really hurting. A Steelers player fell on his leg and it looked like Mason had twisted it. The whole thing looked painful. What amazed me was Mason got up and walked off the field, and within about ten to fifteen minutes, the announcers stated that he was coming back into the game. I was floored. I kind of sat wide-eyed at the screen for a good while, wondering what in the world Mason was thinking. His injury seemed pretty bad initially.

Isn't that what we, as cancer patients, have to do sometimes? We need a breather. We need time to take everything in. But in the end, we have to get back in the ring and fight. If not, then we need to live our lives and not regret a single moment.

Sometimes I have definitely needed time to breathe. I felt suffocated most of the time. A lot of it happened so quickly. Diagnosis, graduation, surgery, driver's ed, treatment...all within about two months. And then school started almost immediately after I finished treatment. I barely had time to rest. Before my first semester was over, I had to go off of my medications (whoopee) and start becoming hypothyroid. I became even more exhausted than before! The low-iodine diet began a month later, and then I had treatment a little over a week later. By the time treatment was done, I was back in school for another semester. I was burned out, but luckily this semester wasn't so horrible. I finished with straight A's and made it onto the Dean's List. By the time summer came, I needed a breather. There were so many things I had to do, and I had no choice.

My family did so much for me during this time. They made my meals, talked to me, let me vent if I needed to. They encouraged me and drove me wherever I needed to go (oh, they still do, oops), and never denied me fun when I needed it. They sucked it up when I wanted to watch an old movie, or something just plain stupid on TV. But through all of that, it had to have been horrible watching all of this cancer business happen. I feel the same way about my mom.

She works so hard. She has so many jobs. Wife, mother, practice manager, medical transcriptionist, soap and jewelry maker, etc. The list goes on. I know that I'm going to become the woman of the house and take care of her, but I don't mind at all. I want to support her and help her get through this. I want to cook for her, clean (did I just say that?), watch movies and crazy TV shows with her, anything that would help make this battle easier.

Sure, players get injured. Cancer fighters get their scars. We all fall down. But the key is getting back up again.

Like Mother - 06

2009-12-26T14:24:00.002-05:00

Where would we be without comic relief? I went to see the new movie “It’s Complicated” with Merril and Dori last night, and laughed to the point of forgetting time and place. There was one part of the movie, though, that brought me back to reality, but in an odd sort of way.

Meryl Streep has gotten herself into a very complicated relationship with her ex-husband, Alec Baldwin, who has moved on and married a much younger woman. Naturally, Meryl is frantic and totally scattered about what to do. She descends upon her therapist, unannounced, begging for time with him to discuss the “situation.” She wanted him to tell her what to do. It’s funny that so many of us are like that, me included; that we look to those whom we feel are best-equipped to tell us how to live our lives. At any rate, Meryl is talking with abandon, completely opening up and her therapist is listening intently. She concludes by instructing him to tell her that she’s doing a bad thing. I found his response very fascinating, and in a twisted sort of way related it to my own situation. The therapist told Meryl that he had never seen her so open and willing to share her thoughts and feelings, that perhaps the “affair” brought this out of her, and she should just go with it. This “bad” situation that Meryl had found herself in helped her to see herself better by sharing with others, facing things she felt deep within her gut and reckoning with them, thus opening herself up to new and better possibilities.

And how in the world does this relate to my situation? Uncomfortable, sad, and bad situations tended to make me retreat. Keep things inside. Not talk about it. Suffer silently, and subsequently worry myself into a frazzle. Blogging has been incredibly redeeming, rewarding, and emotionally freeing. What I write is one thing, it’s just the tip of the iceberg, and has allowed me to think and feel to the point of seeing things differently…in a good way. I have been able to take this bad situation, turn it around, and give it some benefit.

Fortunately, I don’t need someone that I perceive as a wiser, better-equipped person to tell me what to do. Cancer is serious business. Surgery is not an option. It’s a non-negotiable. My sister, Anna Marie, called in the middle of my blogging. She happily reported that I only have three days to go; that I should get excited because in only three days the surgery will be practically behind me. Interesting way to look at it, but true. So in only three days, I will take on this new and uncertain adventure, with the certainty that everything will work out just the way it’s supposed to.

Like Daughter - 06

2009-12-26T02:07:00.000-05:00

So in about 3 days (give or take, I'm posting at 1:45am on Saturday), Mom goes in for her surgery. It's funny, I kind of forgot how I felt in the few days prior to my first surgery.

I think I was feeling a mixture of things. I didn't have any prior experience, so I had no idea what to expect. I was probably just afraid of how it would feel going under and then after I woke up, but I don't remember if I was scared of the surgery itself. My family and friends definitely kept me busy during that month. I had graduation three days after diagnosis, my graduation party, other friends' graduation parties and outings, and my week trip to visit my lovely grandmother in Florida for Senior Week. Once I recovered from the craziness of the month, I had days before my surgery. The lull made me worried, and gave me more time to think than I wanted. Funny, though, I never really vented. I mean, truly vented. I blubbered and whined a little, but I never really let everything out. That's always been one of my problems: holding things in. I don't let them out unless someone really hurts me or if I feel it's definitely necessary. Go figure I'll get pissed off and chew someone out for being unfair to me in some serious way, and I won't even truly talk about my cancer diagnosis. I'm weird, I guess.

To be truthful, my surgery wasn't so bad. I had my entire thyroid and ten lymph nodes removed. Two of those lymph nodes tested malignant, so it had definitely spread. I never really imagined that it would have gotten more complicated over time.

Looking back, I feel that I'm very different from then. Funny how something can change you in a moment's time. The second I received my diagnosis, I changed. Everyone noticed. A lot of very bold friends actually told me I'd changed, that I wasn't the same person anymore. I'm not sure if I'm happy or pissed. Why does something like this have to alter my personality and turn people off from me, when I'm still surviving? I'm still living; I'm still Dori. So why does something like a fatal disease or any other serious event have to change us entirely?

I see how my mother and sister are, and it amazes me every time. They both are still the same people. Janina had two cancers (yes, two) when she was around my age and older, and she still is the same lovely, wonderful, beautiful person she always has been. My mother has hardly changed since her diagnosis. She's still working, still bustling about the house like the queen of the household she is.

Maybe I simply grew up. My sister grew up long before her diagnoses, and my mother, well, let's just say she's been grown up for a little while. Maybe I needed a big, strong kick in the ass to bust my head out of the clouds and drop back down into the reality that is life. I know I'm far, far from perfect, but I know I've had to grow up a lot since June 1, 2006. I've had to learn how to handle my doctor's appointments, medications, medical history, and all the while juggle school and work. Funny fact, though: I still lack a driver's license. Gotta' get on that, I think.

Long ramble short: In the end, the change has been good. I've learned how to advocate for myself and become more independent. I'm still learning, but I'm pretty sure I'm on the right track. And, no, I'm definitely not thanking my cancer for this. Cancer can still suck it. :)

Like Mother - 05

2009-12-25T17:51:00.003-05:00

I really wanted to post yesterday; but I was struggling with a migraine, and unfortunately cannot take any Advil because of being within 5 days of surgery (gulp!), and I wasn’t feeling as joyful as I wanted to feel.

I spent Christmas Eve morning with my sister, Anna Marie, at her screening ultrasound. I expect that the folks at the radiology facility will become well acquainted with many of my family members over the upcoming months. She has some thyroid nodules (at this point no surprise), and I razzed her about it being my cancer, not hers, and I am not willing to share. I mean why shouldn’t I get all of the attention? We laughed, and got on with some very last minute Christmas shopping.

Truth be told, I think there are just some people who are too good for cancer. My sister Anna Marie would be one of them. She’s the matriarch of the family and the glue that holds us siblings together. I think my sister Grace and I secretly compete for her attention, sort of like being the “favorite” among a mother’s children. But there are no favorites with Anna Marie. She spreads her love equally and unconditionally because she wouldn’t know how to love any other way. She’s a beautiful soul, inside and out.

I’m appreciative of the fact that this thyroid thing has awakened my family to wanting to be screened. One reason being that I want them to live a long and healthy life, and the other is the fact that it’s helped to take the focus off of me. The more fuss about my cancer and upcoming surgery, the more nervous I get about it actually. I’d like to slip in and out of the hospital like it’s just any old day, and then get on with my life.

Today being Christmas day, I’m filled with hope that all will go well. I'm well-armed with countless hugs, kisses, and well-wishes from family at last night’s Christmas party. Watching my children and grandson excitedly open their presents this morning was enough to make anyone forget their troubles.

The days are going by so quickly, as will my surgery, like it’s just any old day, exactly the way I want.

A Merry Christmas To All!

Like Daughter - 05

2009-12-24T10:45:00.000-05:00

And now the cycle begins. My cousin got an ultrasound as soon as she found out about Janina, and now she has one nodule in her thyroid. My mother woke up early this morning to go with my aunt (her oldest sister) to her ultrasound appointment. I don't even want to think about what the possibilities are.

Mom said something interesting to me last night. She said, "Dori, you probably saved all of our lives." Say what? Everyone in my family is popping up with the same problem. I feel like a statue. A statue that stands in the middle of all this turmoil, and I can't move. I can't come alive and do anything to fix it. All I can do is talk. Talk talk talk talk talk. Tell them this, tell them that. I can only comfort. I can't take it away. I can't wave my magic wand and eliminate it. All I can do is hold their hand, answer all of their questions with honesty and no sugarcoating, and pray to God that this is easier for them.

T-minus 6 days until Mom's surgery and T-minus 5 days until Janina's biopsies. I'm going to be there every single second. I don't want to miss a moment. I'll never forget the fact that both Mom and Janina were there for me through my biopsy, diagnosis, surgeries, and treatments. They cooked and baked for me when I couldn't do it myself (and still can't. *wink*) because of exhaustion and low-thyroid hormone, and let me be mad when I needed to be mad. My cousin and aunt always checked up on me and wanted to know how I was doing all the time. They all stuck around and supported me when I needed it most.

Every single time someone finds something, though, I lose a little bit of my sanity. I just hope I don't run out before everyone gets through their own journey with this stupid, ridiculous, unforgiving disease.

Like Daughter - 04

2009-12-23T19:46:00.000-05:00

I'll be truthful; I only waited until now to post because I wanted to wait to see what my mother was going to write about. I've been having trouble trying to figure out what to say, especially since, for the most part, I've said all I've thought the past few days. It's hard to write about something new when your mind is blank. I hardly know what to think these days, but yesterday really brought things home for me.

This shit's real. Plain and simple. I'm being very straightforward here because everyone else tends to beat around the bush with cancer. No fluff here. I refuse to be that person. Cancer is real. It doesn't toy with people. It's like watching duels in old films; one doesn't often survive while the other thrives.

It was bad enough when my brother-in-law got diagnosed less than one year after me. I hated the feeling of that. It frightened me, especially since all of the motions of cancer were fresh in my mind and very recent. Luckily, his didn't spread and he had just one surgery and treatment. He's awesome. Then my own mother got diagnosed with the same exact cancer. That was pretty much the equivalent of...any of your wildest fears coming to life in front of your eyes.

And now, as if all of this isn't enough in this family, my sister was scanned and they found 3 nodules in HER thyroid. As if my sister hasn't been through enough with her own two cancers and the rest of us! Janina is the most unselfish, kind, generous, strong person I've ever known. I always call her "Mom" by accident. She takes care of me when I need her, and if my mom or dad can't come and help me with something or see me when I'm not feeling well, Janina is always there as soon as possible. I think I hate seeing her upset the most out of everyone. She's the person I could never bear to think was unhappy or ill or scared.

Sometimes I seriously wonder if I can be as strong as she. Is it possible for me to be strong for both of the wonderful, spectacular women in my life if Janina also ends up having this stupid cancer? Will I really be able to watch both of them go through the same things that I had to? I don't know. I just feel like everything is falling apart; that we're all being tested to the point of insanity.

I guess we'll all have to see for ourselves. I plan on being one of the rocks they need during this. I can't abandon them, especially when they would never do that to me, no matter how hard things became. This is going to be a real test to this family, and it already has been. If Janina ends up being diagnosed, it's going to only get worse. We're ready for you, cancer. And we're not afraid. Not anymore.

Like Mother - 04

2009-12-23T12:02:00.001-05:00

My only thought up until now has been what a sad and unfortunate coincidence it is that Dori and I both developed thyroid cancer. At least that was my thinking up until yesterday…and then WHAM!, to my absolute surprise and major disappointment, I learned that my oldest daughter, Janina, was found to have three thyroid nodules on screening ultrasound – two of which need to be biopsied. All I can think of at the moment is ENOUGH ALREADY!

Aside from being a truly amazing daughter, granddaughter, goddaughter, mother, wife, sister, aunt, cousin, niece, and friend, Janina is, without a doubt and hands-down, the best person I know. Everyone around her would agree. She’s the rock of the family, the go-to person, the first one to volunteer, the one you can always count on, the caretaker, the shoulder to lean on; and she does all of this willingly, unselfishly, and as if it comes naturally, which I’m sure it does, at least for Janina.

So the day before my surgery, she will undergo biopsies of her suspicious nodules. I’ll be there with her, as she was for me, and pray that they are benign. But no matter what, we are a family, together we are stronger, and we will get through this difficult and somewhat surreal time in our lives. And as Forrest Gump said so well…"That’s all I have to say about that”.

Like Daughter - 03

2009-12-21T18:56:00.001-05:00

People look at me with the most predictable faces when I tell them I've had cancer. I get one of three looks: pity, confusion, and blank. The blank one is the funniest, because that usually means they are either trying to figure out if I really did say "cancer," or it is because they are trying to choose their words carefully. It really is boring, actually, telling people about my story. It's all the same stuff but from different people. Every so often I revel in the sea of pity, more than likely because I am mildly depressed. But more often than not, it irritates me.

I was one of those people who used to think that people with cancer pitied themselves, that they walked around looking like death because they had no other mindset. I only have one word for that: bullshit.

Through i[2]y and my encounters with other cancer fighters/survivors, I have met some of the most incredible people. My sister and brother-in-law are both cancer survivors, my sister from cervical and vulva cancer, my brother-in-law from, well, take a wild guess (papillary thyroid cancer, if you didn't feel like guessing). They both hardly mention it, nor do they wear it on their foreheads. Both are incredibly strong, especially my sister. She amazes me every single day. There is no such thing as pity in her vocabulary, that's for sure.

Honestly, I can't wait for the day when I meet someone who is NOT a cancer fighter/survivor who looks at me and simply tells me, "Okay." I do not want people to keep telling me how "I'll be fine," and "I'm too young for this." Well, duh. Tell me something I don't know.

I'm glad my mother has the mindset that she does. She obviously understands what will happen when she tells people, and she is ready for it. She does not want anyone to pity her or ask her how she is all the time, because obviously, she's fine! We're all fine; we wake up in the morning, go about our daily routines, and count our blessings. Cancer sucks, and it's not on the "blessing" list, but I can tell you one thing: us Plaits/Mannings/Facketts/Layes do not let it hold us back.

Like Mother - 03

2009-12-21T17:07:00.009-05:00

I get the most puzzling looks when I tell people that I have thyroid cancer, since most of these people know that my daughter has it as well. Even the doctors are a bit surprised. I’ve been asked about everything from radiation exposure to cancer cluster. The cancer cluster issue is an interesting one, and probably worth exploring, particularly because my daughter’s husband, Michael, was diagnosed with thyroid cancer about a year after Dori, and they lived across the street from us for about 6 years. We sold that home and moved in 2004; it was checked for radon at that time.

According to my endocrinologist, there is a particular type of papillary thyroid carcinoma that has familial tendencies. He plans to explore this with me at a later time. So, in the meantime, everyone in my family is getting a screening ultrasound. My son has a cyst on his thyroid that his doctor feels is of no significance, but you bet we’ll keep a close eye on it. If it is genetic, it looks like I started the trend. How kind of me—certainly not the sort of thing you want your children to inherit.

But for today, I continue to do all of those things that will better ready me for surgery; eat well, get enough sleep, exercise, keep busy, laugh as much as I can, lean on my family & friends for support, cry if I must, and know that this too will pass.

Eight more days until surgery…

Like Mother - 02

2009-12-20T21:07:00.002-05:00

Today was a great day. I was actually more focused on what to get certain people for Christmas than on my upcoming surgery. I just hate when bad situations consume you, stop you dead in your tracks, and you just can't seem to focus on anything else. But not today. I spent the day shopping with Dori and Merril, racing through the mall, from store to store, level to level, looking for the perfect gifts for some pretty perfect folks. Came home and shoveled two cars out of the driveway and the back walkway. Exercise is the perfect stress reliever!

When I lay my head on the pillow tonight, I'm hoping that all of that shoveling will help me fall into a deep sleep. Sometimes, when the house is quiet with everyone in peaceful slumber, I lie awake and think about what's ahead, or at least what I think is up ahead. I remember what Dori went through and wonder if it will be the same for me. I remember her face when she awoke from surgery, just like it were yesterday. The hours were long and difficult for her, mostly from the effects of the morphine. But by midnight, she was eating Cherrios and we were watching "Rent" on a portable DVD player. I was on one side of her bed, and her older sister, Janina, on the other side. Her guardians of the night. Now, it will be me in that bed, with daughters on either side, not just as my guardians, but as my guardian angels--for only God could have created children as perfect as they.

Like Daughter - 02

2009-12-20T19:48:00.000-05:00

Kairol Rosenthal's latest blog entry inspired me to write about waiting. Waiting is terrible, on all facets. It eats away at your sanity. Right now, that's all my family is doing. Waiting. Trying to busy ourselves hardly covers up the fact that we all are worried. Even me, the one who has been there, done that.

I want it over with, because I know my mother is anxious. I know she wants it to just happen. She told me earlier today that she was hoping that our surgeon's office would call today saying that his Tuesday patient canceled and wanted my mother to come in and have her operation done then. My heart almost leaped into my throat. Just the thought of what is coming makes me sick to my stomach.

Mom told me last week sometime that our surgeon talked to her about what the surgery would be like and what her scar would be. He said that he would make it like a half-smile type deal; it starts at the base of the throat on the right side, then travels to the left and curves upward toward the back of the ear. Fabulous. My surgeon told me when I had to receive my second surgery that he wanted to do two incisions instead of the one because I was "too young for that scar."

This irritates me. Isn't my mother too young for that, too? I know he'll do a fabulous job and make it almost invisible by the time it's fully healed, but it can be an ugly scar. I've seen people with that kind of incision, and it doesn't always look that pretty. It scares me. I thought about it today, and I wish that I could go back to when he was about to do the surgery and tell him I want that scar. I want it because my mother would get it, too. I didn't want her to suffer from that scar alone. If it meant that my mother didn't have to feel as intimidated by it, I would have insisted upon it, hands down.

Even right now she's talking about how she hopes there's a cancellation on Tuesday morning so that she can just get the surgery done. To be honest, I doubt I'll even be ready to watch this happen. I still have to pinch myself every day to make sure this is really happening.

I can only hope I can be as strong as my mother was when she had to take care of me. I don't plan on letting her down.