Today, August 12, marks the 2 year anniversary of my total thyroidectomy. It was the first big health issue I’d had in my life, and little did I know that just over a year later I’d be diagnosed with an autoimmune disease (but that’s a story for another day).
I’ll be totally honest – for a long time I was not proud of how I handled the entire situation related to my thyroid issues. I suppose I handled them the way many would – falling into a pit of despair, hopelessness, and fear.
But if you had asked me, say 2 1/2 years ago, how I would have reacted – I would probably have said that I’d take things in stride, be optimistic, and be able to stay calm. I’d use my yoga breathing and mindfulness techniques to keep me centered.
Well let me tell you ladies and gents, those things did not happen.
Thyroidectomy Story
The beginning of it all:
When my primary care physician first felt the lump in my throat at my annual physical, she referred me to get an ultrasound done the next week. I was a bit on edge, considering there was a mysterious nodule invading my body, but at that point there wasn’t much reason to worry. It could just be a fluke.
Then, the ultrasound showed that the lump was partially solid. Soild means “red flag, red flag!” because cancer manifests itself as solid, not fluid. Due to this possibility, I was then referred to have a fine needle aspiration biopsy done on the nodule.
The biopsy:
“Fine needle aspiration biopsy” is tricky medical code words for “you lie back on a table with your neck totally exposed and a doctor sticks a hollow needle repeatedly into your throat then digs around a little to get the specimens he needs.”
(Total disclaimer in case you ever need to have this procedure done: IT’S NOT THAT BAD. They use a numbing spray and I would say it feels weird more than it hurts. It’s more just uncomfortable and nerve-wracking because you’re thinking about what they’re doing. I would say its comparable to have a dental procedure done – you know what’s happening and can maybe feel some pressure, but it’s not like you’re in excruciating pain)
I had been so nervous leading up the procedure and so on edge throughout the entire thing, that after I got up and began walking out of the room and down the hallway with my mom, I began feeling dizzy and faint. Most likely a combination of intense anxiety and having been lying prone with my head thrown back for so long.
As I walked down the hallway it felt like I was walking down a tunnel that was getting smaller and smaller the further I went. My vision became blurry and I almost felt like I was dissociating. When we reached the lobby I turned to my mom, pale white, and said “um, I think I’d better sit down,” after which I promptly collapsed into a chair. Thankfully, the wonderful desk workers at Beth Israel were prepared to help with juice boxes and graham crackers 🙂
The waiting game:
After the biopsy I had to wait a week for results. And let me tell you, a week feels a whole heck of a lot longer when you’re waiting to hear if you have cancer or not. I met with my endocrinologist with both of my parents by my side.
He sat me down and told me that my results had come back “inconclusive but suspicious for cancer.” When I asked “how suspicious?” he said that he estimated it was a 70% chance the nodule was cancerous. I burst into tears.
And so began another waiting game. I was desperate to schedule my surgery before I had to go back to school. I didn’t want this to have to impact my education. So we called the hospital and told them my story and begged and pleaded and somehow by the grace of God got an appointment for August 12, 2014.
The time between receiving my biopsy results and having the surgery was, again, not that long. Maybe about three or four weeks. But it felt like a lifetime.
I don’t honestly remember much of those weeks, but I know that I barely left the house, watched television constantly (although I was less watching television and more sitting in front of the television with glazed eyes) and cried a lot.
My fear and anxiety was a combination of the actual surgery (although I’d had one surgery before, I’d been too young and dumb to be nervous about it. And the thought of a surgeon slicing my neck open with a scalpel made me want to vomit) and the possibility that they would remove the tumor, send it to pathology, and find that it was, in fact, cancerous.
The surgery:
My surgery wasn’t scheduled until the afternoon, so I spent the entire first part of the day with my mom, trying to keep my mind off of what was to come. Both of my parents came with me to the hospital, where I changed into a gown and went to pre-op. My surgeon came in and drew a thick black line with sharpie where he was going to cut. I looked at myself in the mirror and tried to image that black line as a blaring red scar.
Right before my surgery, the nurses gave me some kind of anti-anxiety, relaxing medication through my IV. It kicked in immediately and I literally wasn’t nervous at all. I couldn’t be because I was loopy as hell.
They wheeled my bed to the operating room, and once there, doctors and nurses swarmed me, moving me onto the operating table, putting compression devices on my legs, and pumping medications into my IV.
I remember looking over at the one woman who wasn’t doing anything at the moment, and she said “I know, I’m the only one whose not all over you right now!” I laughed hysterically. That was some good medicine.
When I woke up from surgery I was super groggy and just wanted to sleep, but a nurse told me I had to get up and go to the bathroom. She had to help me all the way there. In the bathroom I was able to look in the mirror and saw that I was wearing something akin to a scarf, but it was just navy blue – no cute patterns or anything.
I held my breath and lifted the scarf to see the damage. To my surprise and my delight, it wasn’t all that bad. Just a thin red line below a bunch of pieces of tape. (In the picture at the top it looks worse because there was a few days of dried blood on there by then).
The nurse helped me back to my bed and asked if I was nauseous. I said no, and that I was actually starving. I hadn’t been able to eat since midnight the night before and my surgery had been in the afternoon. She kindly brought me a ginger ale and some Lorna Doone cookies and I chowed down.
My parents came to the recovery room then and were shocked to find me up, alert, and eating. We still joke today about how my mom had expected to find me drooling and groggy, and instead found me asking for more cookies.
The aftermath:
I went home that night, so incredibly relieved. Although I was still waiting to hear back on my pathology results, the worst was over. If the results showed that it had been cancer, I would have had to have radioactive iodine (which would involve going into isolation for a few days and taking radioactive pills to kill off any remaining thyroid tissue). It would have been a pain in the butt for sure, but wouldn’t cause me any physical pain.
After a week of waiting, I had yet another appointment with my endocrinologist. He was happy to inform me that the pathology on my thyroid gland showed no active cancer cells. The best news!
There were some abnormalities and some necrotic cancer cells present, so they continued to watch the situation closely, but the nightmare was finally over. The doctors were actually shocked with the results. They admitted later that they had fully expected it to be cancer.
When I went to my post-op appointment with my surgeon, he must not have reviewed my file very closely before meeting with me, because he walked into the room and said, “so, when are you having radioactive iodine done?” To which I momentarily panicked and replied, “I thought I didn’t have to since it isn’t cancer?”
He picked up my file and leafed through it. “Oh,” he said. “That’s great news!”
And great news it was. I had a scar and I had to take thyroid hormone replacement meds for the rest of my life, but that was nothing compared to the fear of having cancer in my body.
Looking Back
As I said earlier, I wasn’t proud of how I handled the diagnosis of my thyroid nodule. I was ashamed that I essentially broke down and removed myself from the world and real life. I was mad at myself for falling into that dark hole, when I felt like I should have been able to keep myself afloat.
But now, I feel differently.
Now, I have learned the importance of acceptance.
I have learned that you have the right to feel what you are feeling.
I have learned that your feelings are valid.
If you’re into any yoga philosophy, this relates to the second/sacral chakra, or svadhisthana. This chakra has everything to do with feelings, passion, pleasure, etc. When it is out of balance, it can cause one to feel great guilt, like guilt for feeling a certain way.
One technique that people often use to make others feel better is to say: “it could be worse.” (And then oftentimes listing worse things that could be happening)
I have so many feelings on this technique. I think when used mindfully, it can be helpful for gaining a new perspective. But it can also make someone feel as if their feelings are invalid. And I think that can be really injurious to the psyche.
I’ve become really mindful of this in my job working with kids. Oftentimes when a child starts crying, the way teachers attempt to comfort them is by saying things like “it’s ok, you’re okay” or maybe even “don’t cry, you don’t have to cry.”
And the more I’ve thought about these phrases, the more I’ve realized that they could be really confusing for a child. For example, say a little girl falls down and scrapes her knees and starts crying. Then an adult picks her up to comfort her and says, “ok, shh, you’re ok.” The child may be thinking, no I’m not ok, I just scraped up my knees!
It’s a simple example, but a poignant one. I’ve been trying to focus on changing the language I use when comforting children to be more mindful of validating that it’s ok to feel the way they are feeling.
For example, the other day a little boy was driving one of those Little Tikes coupes. Somehow the car fell on its side, taking the little boy down with it. He panicked and started to cry. I went over to him and helped him out of the car, and said “I know, that was scary, huh? But it’s ok, you’re ok now.”
See, I wanted to make sure he knew that I understood that he’d been scared, and that it was ok because it’s a natural reaction to a surprising event like falling over. I wanted to validate his feelings of fear and let him know that it’s ok to feel them.
Again, a simple example, but it shows how sometimes the subtle language we use can really affect the subconscious undertones of our words. I’m still working on this because it can be hard to change old habits, but I think it’s important. And, hey, maybe all of these tiny humans will grow up with really balanced second chakras. Who knows.
Anyway, this post was way longer than I meant it to be but I just wanted to let everyone know that it’s ok to feel the way that you’re feeling. No matter how you’re feeling. You are entitled to your feelings. Your feelings are never “wrong.” They are never “bad.” They simply are. And that’s ok.
