Thyroid cancer, broccoli and cauliflower

My doctor told me I had thyroid cancer the day before my post on June 16, 2015. 

"If you had to pick a kind of cancer to have, this is the one you'd ask for."

I heard some variation of these words almost every time my diagnosis was mentioned, and I know the words were intended to comfort. But most often, I felt patronized and dismissed by them. Because I had "the easy cancer," I didn't feel allowed to be afraid or sad or worried.

Treatable and easy are different things. Thyroid cancer doesn't ever go into "remission." It's monitored on a yearly basis and treated when necessary. Two of the four types of thyroid cancer have a highly effective treatment. I was diagnosed with a mashup of the two treatable kinds - papillary and follicular.

It was a very difficult time for me and my family. There's nothing easy about fighting cancer when it's in your own body.

Our family and friends were extravagantly supportive.  They brought meals, supported my husband, kept our kids, washed my clothes and dishes... the list goes on and on.

I had a two partial thyroidectomies, one on August 10 (the right side), the other on August 24 (the left side).

The second surgery paralyzed one of my vocal cords. Talking required a lot of effort, breathing and swallowing were challenging, and I was unable to sing or even raise my voice for four months.  Four months doesn't seem so long now, but we had no idea when or if my vocal cord would ever wake up again. The doctors could only say that the paralysis had a good chance of resolving within 6-12 months; any paralysis lasting longer than that was likely to be permanent. It was an indefinite, heart-wrenching waiting game. My voice was hoarse, muted and unpredictable.

I didn't plant anything for such a long time. The things I'd planted before the diagnosis had to basically fend for themselves.  I didn't have the energy to do anything with them.

At some point in September, I walked around to sort through the weeds and evaluate the neglected beds. With no small amount of joy and amazement, I pulled up tiny onions and wads of carrots from the stair step beds.

My onions are on the right. Tiny, but wonderful.

Inspired by this unexpected harvest, I tromped over to Lowe's and bought a bunch of broccoli and cauliflower starts. Planting calendars be hanged, I just really wanted to plant something. I said that I was gambling on a mild winter. But I would have planted regardless. It was wonderful to nurture life in the soil again.

I had also grabbed a few marigolds, some brussel sprouts (one eventually died and the other turned out to be a cabbage). The one pitiful Petit Gris de Rennes melon vine that had survived the summer against all odds, I carefully arranged on the trellis. Months later it bore a solitary, creamy fruit. I carefully saved its seed and a new generation of these melons is coming to fruition as I type. 

I took a dose of radioactive iodine in October and spent a week in isolation. My aunt and uncle gave me a beautiful place to stay. It was an incredibly peaceful week.

The winter was mild. Just cold enough to keep the bugs away.

Around Christmas, my speaking voice started to sound more normal. At one point in late December, I called upstairs to the kids to come eat or something. My husband looked at me wide-eyed and I realized that I'd raised my voice without it breaking or straining. And then I was able to sing again.

We harvested delicious broccoli and cauliflower all through the spring. Not a bug or a blemish on a single piece. That particular harvest will always hold a special place in my memory. Life returned to whatever normal is.

Thursday, June 23, my whole body scan and blood work led to a wonderful report. The cancer in my body has been effectively eradicated with surgery and radioactive iodine. My blood tumor marker is 0.

It's wonderful to write it all out like this, to see the Cancer Chapter from beginning to "end" and to truly feel we're living a new chapter.