Out of the Woodwork

It’s really amazing how many people have problems with their thyroid.  It reminds me a lot of when I was trying to have my children and had multiple miscarriages along the way.  It was astonishing to me how many people came up to me and said, “You know, that happened to me, too.”  I’m finding the same thing happening now; it seems like everyone knows someone who had thyroid cancer.  Plus I know a LOT of people in person that have other thyroid problems.

For example, while I was on the phone with my friend K talking about my diagnosis and what I was going to do next, another friend of hers texted her and said that she’d been diagnosed with a large thyroid nodule and her doctor wanted to take it out because there was a good chance it was cancer.  So now I have connected with her–my new friend R.

My Dad’s cousin Eugene is having a thyroid lobectomy this week for thyroid cancer.

My Dad emailed me to tell me that my Great Aunt “Teen” (Christine) had surgery for thyroid cancer a LONG time ago.  It’s funny, because growing up I knew she’d had surgery on her throat and that her voice was affected.  I might have known it was for cancer, but I had forgotten all about that until Dad reminded me.

And it seems like the list just keeps going.  Mostly the moms or aunts of my friends, it seems.

So I’m in good company.

I decided yesterday to go “live” with my blog.  So I guess I’m yet another one of those bloggers I wrote about a few weeks ago who has papillary cancer like everyone else.  Sorry Hurthle Cell, Follicular, Medullary, and Anaplastic Carcinoma patients out there.  Who knows if anyone will read it anyway.  As of right now, I have NO intention of sharing the blog with my friends.  I’m doing this mostly as a journal, but also in case I can be of ANY encouragement to someone else out there who’s found themselves on a thyroid journey of their own.

Oh, and guess what? Eleanor is weaned.  Saturday was the day after my diagnosis.  She woke up early, and Rusty, still taking care of me in my post-surgical and post-diagnosis state, got up with her and fed her breakfast.  When I got up a couple of hours later, she was watching TV, but she immediately ran over and asked if she could nurse.  I said, “Let me go get some coffee.”  I kept putting her off that way to see how far I could push it (“Let me eat some breakfast…”).

Then I pulled out the big guns.  People, I got out my pedicure supplies.  I didn’t say anything to her, I just started painting my toenails.  Immediately, Eleanor propped her little tootsies up on the table and said, “I want to paint MY toenails!”  I asked her if she was ready to stop nursing and she said, “Yes!”  So I painted her toenails purple, and we went and showed Daddy, who knew full well what this meant.  He went right along with me and told her how pretty her toenails were and how she looked like such a big girl.  We went to the store and got cupcakes and a Dora balloon, and party hats and paper lanterns and a present.  We came home and had a “no more nursing” party, and sang, “No more nursing for you, No more nursing for you, You’re a Big Girl now Eleanor, No more nursing for you!” and had a grand old time.  And we are DONE.

She has asked a few times since then to nurse but is easily put off when I suggest taking her balloon and presents back to the store.

Being done is good.  I am hoping I will not need RAI, but I need to do some research on how long after weaning it’s safe.  I do not want radioactive iodine accumulating in any traces of milk my body might still be making.

There is so much more I want to talk about, but there are other days ahead, Lord willing, and this entry is already long.

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