Open Letter to the Man Who Kissed Me Today

Dear sir,

Today, there was an awkward moment when our lunch group was dispersing.  Everyone was hugging goodbyes, so I went ahead and reluctantly hugged you.  When my head went left, yours went the same direction, and you said, "I almost kissed you!" I was less than thrilled.  When you held me tighter than I wanted and you actually kissed my cheek, I understand why you did that, even though I had already said to you, "No! You will not!"  I understand you quite well.  You were laughing, and I may have laughed it off in the moment, but I'm telling you now that it was not funny. It was not just a funny kiss on the cheek.  You may wonder why I'll never let you hug me again.  I'll explain, even though it's not my job to school you because you're a grown man, and you surely know the rules by now.

You know that women don't want to be kissed when they say, "Don't kiss me."  But there's something you may not know.  You aren't the only one who acts like you don't know the rules.  I don't blame you for not knowing that your kiss represents the boy who groped my breasts twice in the hallways of my high school over 27 years ago.  The boy laughed, too. You wouldn't know that your kiss would remind me of the teacher who stopped me from chasing that boy so I could pummel him, and that the teacher asked me what I did to provoke the boy.

You probably thought I provoked you when my head came near yours.  It was supposed to just be a goodbye hug among friends.  But when I hugged you, you didn't know that in my first job I'd been subjected to unsolicited touching by men who were all my superiors.  You didn't know that when I told them to stop they acted like I had insulted their honor. How would you know that your kiss that I tried to stop would trigger a bad memory of when I told one aggressive coworker that he didn't understand the word "no." He acted like I'd accused him of rape, and he was so injured that he thankfully stopped coming around to my cubicle for a chat. When you kissed me you didn't know that you'd already made me uncomfortable the previous times you hugged me, by rubbing my back and lingering too long. I didn't make that clear, because it's not my job to tell you that I don't want you invading my space.  You're just supposed to be decent about that.

You didn't know that this is serious business. You assume I like it because I'm a nice person and I don't call you out like that bitch who suggests a guy doesn't know what "no" means.  So I also don't blame you for being dense because that seems to be how you get a pass every time you do this shit to women. Did you know that when I tell people about your actions they say, "Oh, he just doesn't get it. He means well..."?

Did you know that people don't believe you are in control of your own words and actions?  People say that about you, poor thing.  Remember that one time you told a joke about how you like women who can't escape you, and people just rolled their eyes?  I didn't roll mine. I was appalled and said, "That doesn't surprise me at all," and you kept on smiling. I think they roll their eyes because you generally put up a "good guy" front. People in the community like you because you do all kinds of good things. You're a liberal, peace-loving hippie with a penchant for making a certain demographic of women very uncomfortable, like when the waitress thought we were together and you suggested she thought we were lovers. No, that is not funny, and I told you so. And when women complain about it, you do that "I'm so misunderstood" thing and act confused and sad.  Let me tell you, that behavior is manipulative and lacks accountability.  It indulges the people who only see the good guy in you, and vilifies the people who have accused you of wrongdoing.

I once was acquainted with another good guy. The kids in the neighborhood loved him. He punched me in the face once because I ventured over see what kinds of fun things were going on at the swing set. When that punk died in a bar fight everyone was shocked that their beloved friend was gone. Not me. They wouldn't know that my knowledge of his violent temper put this little girl in a jam when he and some other boys told me to show them my body. I told them no, but they held me captive, just like you did.  I didn't want to get punched again, so I did it.  You have that peaceful front, but you do not remind me of peace.  You reminded me of these and so many other things -- That I've been bitten and grabbed. I've been punched and assaulted. I've been forced against a wall and pinned down with people watching and doing nothing but roll their eyes. I've been kissed by someone who heard me say firmly and clearly, "No, you will not."  And your reply was, "Oh, yes I will."  You actually said that to me.  Asshole.

Every time I tell someone who knows you well that this is who you are, they give you a pass.  But the next time you pull this shit you might feel the rage of a hundred wrongs done to me, including your own. (And I will see you again, because I refuse to avoid doing things because you might be there.) But if you touch me when I said no, I might become so angry that I will shout, "NO! I TOLD YOU NOT TO TOUCH ME, [your name, loudly here]!"to all the people on the street and all of your non-judgmental friends. I might swing an elbow or swiftly lift a knee. I am that angry.  I don't expect that this letter will ever reach anyone who will be sorry for being like you, because you really are a very dense lot.  I don't expect you to change, but be warned that I refuse to be silent.  I might be projecting a lot of anger at you that you don't fully deserve, but now you know where it's coming from.

In truth,
Angie

Plasticity

Ancient buried seas
Deep pergatorial deposits
Dredged up from the earth
Processed and refined
A contorted version of earth spirit
Bent and boiled to serve us.

We fill-er-up
Throw her down
Float her away
For Albatross and crab
The sacred  microplasm
of primordial ooze
Toxified and confused.

Cervicogenic Vertigo

I'm in physical therapy to address some dizziness issues.  The therapist told me to do some stretches, and I'll be in PT twice a week for four weeks.

The therapist prescribed some "take it easy, and don't do anything strenuous or symptom-inducing."  So, of course I went for a swim at the gym.  I've had a gym membership at Genesis throughout all of this, and it was mostly unused from May until now.  Someone mentioned I should talk to the front desk and see if I could get my membership adjusted so that my contract could be extended.

What could it hurt to ask? So, after my somewhat strenuous and often disorienting swim, I went to the front desk, and a severe-looking female personal trainer took my name down on a sticky note and walked back to an office.  When she returned, her lumbersexual manager was with her and he asked if he could help me.

I explained that I'd not been able to come to the gym because I'd been diagnosed with cancer, and was wondering if my contract could be extended for those months.  As I expected, he said he would need some kind of proof.  I asked, can I bring in my lab results, or does he need a note from the doctor?  The answer was yes.  He wanted to see it all.  I expected this,  but I didn't anticipate that it would feel so humiliating.  I showed him my scar, but that wasn't enough.  He sees lots of requests like this every day.  I explained I was trying to get into the gym, but even now it's hard, because of the vertigo.  Just get a note from the doctor, and the lumbersexual will take care of it.  And next time, it is important to let Genesis know right away.  Talking to this schmuck was the last thing I needed to worry about back in May. I told him, "I had other things on my mind." Seriously, this guy!

I went home and told Kevin.  I asked him if he could pull some strings, if I could take advantage of his good standing with the general manager to make the issue disappear.  He said he'd talk him.  Kevin Saves the Day!

I broke down crying when I told Kevin about it.  How I wish things were normal.  I wish I wasn't having to tell strangers I need a break because I have cancer.  I wish I wasn't so dizzy. And the crying made me dizzy, so I cried some more.

My Frame of Reference

An intelligent, young person recently told me that the Golden Rule doesn't really hold any significance for her. "The world doesn't work that way," she said.

In her experience, people don't treat others as they would have others treat them.  And maybe in her world, this is true.  She had a list of examples she offered to share, and I was among them. I declined the offer.

I recently heard an Invisibilia podcast describing a woman who spent her life not understanding why people treated her badly. She would approach every social situation not understanding that others were in relationship with one another -- relationships that involved emotion, reading emotional cues, and reflecting.  She was missing out on all of the emotional cues all her life.  One day, she participated in an experiment involving powerful magnets, and she got a glimpse into an entirely different emotional world that she didn't know existed. Her entire history was re-written because of that brief glimpse. Her frame of reference shifted.

What do we do when we see others being treated badly? Do we always recognize it?  Do we sometimes not know that we are part of the system that oppresses others?

I know a minister who is a champion for human rights, but when he was asked to endorse a low-energy Sunday service, he balked.  "The congregation won't like it if the lights aren't on."  No one was proposing that we endanger the elders with low lights and trip hazards.  We weren't even going to make it impossible to see the bulletin.  Some people might have needed to sit in a different pew than normal, to be closer to the natural light streaming from the stained glass windows.  In my mind, it was the minister's job to stand up for what was right, not to cow to the masses who might be uncomfortable with change. In my mind, it was his job to tell the congregation that their energy use on Sunday morning was deeply entrenched in human rights issues and care for creation. In his mind, he would lose his job if he didn't play his cards right.

I see that kind of naysayer thinking as part of the problem. Maybe the Golden Rule is not as achievable as I imagine. People are so afraid to upset the apple cart that they avoid taking a stand when the opportunity arises.  They only consider the safety and security of others who look and think like they do.  People of color, native tribal people, LGBTQ people, and women are still fighting for rights, fighting for their lives.  But why are they the ones who are fighting?  Why do we expect them to be brave and push against the societal norms?  Why on earth are we still saying, "but that's not how it's always been done," or "the eldest members of the establishment won't like it?"  Churches do the naysayer dance more than any group I know of, and they're the ones who are supposed to assume the uncomfortable work of the good Samaritan.  They hold Jesus up as their model and then they institutionalize homophobia, anti-environmentalism, sexism, and on and on.

I wrote most of this yesterday, and I wasn't going to publish it, because it's totally off-topic from my previous "thyroid cancer" blogs, but then I read Kareem Abdul-Jabbar's commentary about Colin Kaepernick, and then I saw this local video today.  This is Caleb Stephens speaking to the Lawrence City Commission and Police Chief about Black Lives Matter and the City of Lawrence.  "This is not a educational session.  Y'all are the city commission. You are the police chief, and I shouldn't be the one teaching y'all. I shouldn't be the one teaching y'all about marginalization or oppression."

I challenge myself to let other people's stories be a glimpse into a world that I am blind to.  Next time, I might invite my intelligent young friend to tell me how I defy the Golden Rule, and take her words to heart.  I challenge my own history to be re-written so that I can see the emotional relationships that I ignored because my frame of reference was limited. 

I'm a Potato Super Star!

I'm a Potato Super Star!  I got a sticker at the doctor's office after I got my stitches removed, and it says so.

More importantly, the doctor handed me my final pathology report, which said that I had normal parathyroid glands, normal parathoroid lymph nodes.  It also said that two of my three thyroid nodules had papillary carcinoma, and one was benign.  The two that had cancer in them were about a centimeter in diameter, total, which indicates no
zero
zilch
further treatment for cancer. That's no radioactive iodine for me!  Of course I'm thrilled, even if you can't see that in this photo of me posing as a Potato.

I've got to go in for checkups regularly to make sure I'm clear of future recurrence, and I have to spend some time getting my hormone levels stabilized.  All in the life and times of Super Potato.

Itchy stitches

Potato Super Star!

Meteor Outburst

I woke up from surgery to the sound of a nurse saying, "Angie, it's all over. We're done. Everything went great."

Immediately, I began to cry.  "Oh no!" she said. "What's the matter? Are you in pain?"

"No, I'm not in pain."  I said. "It's just that I came here a fully intact human, and now a part of me is missing."

She told me I was making her sad.

The drugs were weird. I was completely coherent for much of the day, and even had a conversation about biodiversity with a visitor. But then many hours after my last dose of what I think was codeine, everything got funky. If I closed my eyes, the last thing I had seen would become a melted Dali painting.  Or, I'd see streaks of light that were spaced along a grid, as if all of my rods and cones were lit up. And then, I saw the Perseid meteors through the ceiling.

In the vanity

There is no need to tell me how beautiful and strong I am. I know it.  And I know you are thinking it, with the words poised on your tongue, wondering whether to say it, and if it will be well-received.   What you need to do this very moment is turn that bow and arrow around and point it at your own heart. Say to yourself, "I am beautiful. I am strong." Believe it.

Do not fear your own ego, your vanity or self-confidence. Let loose that bowstring and sink it deep.  I can't do that for you, and you can't do that for me.  Dance and sing in the street if it pleases you. Get naked. Love without fear of never being enough. Do that thing you always wanted but were afraid of. Vanity and ego are what make you fully human, for no great sentient animal ever said, damn, I look good in this hat.

Oh, you can go ahead and tell me I'm beautiful, now that we understand that "you are beautiful" is made of pure, fearless truth. Truth that is infinite.  There is no timekeeper of days or years that can erase truth.

Gut reactions

Saturday, a woman asked me if I had a nuchal cord, suggesting thyroid issues are sometimes related.  No, I had a normal birth.  Logic said that this has no bearing, no correlation to my body now.

But then I told her that a boy punched me in the neck in the 1st grade. My hyoid dislocates on occasion.

"Why would he do that?" Her eyes were wide.

Because he wanted to go down the slide, and I was in the way. I didn't know him. He was much older.

"A bully!" she said.

Yes, a bully.  I woke Sunday morning sensing a deep psychologic and symbolic connection between my injury as a child and the injured DNA in my thyroid.

What the bully couldn't have known was that I loved that slide.  It was a place of innocence and joy.  It was a place where girls shared secrets under its shade.  It was supposed to be safe.  The space of the slide was creating an emotional connection in my life's moment, right when he punched me so hard I lost my ability to breathe.

What he couldn't have known was that he was the first of at least six more violent physical assaults on my freedom to be me in what I thought was a safe space.  He did probably know, just like the other six, that punching a little girl is an attempt to take away her power.

I went downtown, to my Sunday dance ritual.  During the intro, Laura, the leader, asked us to place our hands on our solar plexus and breathe with intention.  The solar plexus are considered a source of power, she explained. Then she asked the group, "have you ever been punched?"

"WHAT?" I asked.

"Have any of you ever been punched?"

I raised my hand.

She invited us into our own power as we dance with intention, and to lose ourselves in the dance with intention.

Breathing, stepping, in a safe place with innocence, joy, and secrets in the shade, the dance began.

Squeaky Wheel blah blah blah

Finally, after four attempts to make an appointment with a local endocrinologist, I have succeeded.  I just called to cancel the appointment that I made with one of KU Med Center's endocrinologist. I am so relieved to not have to drive all the way to Kansas City, while I am hypothyroid, six weeks after my thyroid is removed.

Show Me the BODY

I was at a funeral where an in-law of the deceased expressed dismay that there wasn't an open casket.  She was asking the sons and daughters to consider having an open casket, after the funeral had already begun.  She became insistent, but it wasn't going to happen.

Everyone was shocked that she would be so bold in a time of grief.  I thought, well, we all react differently to death, and she is entitled to her own reaction.  But really, was she entitled to be pushy about this?

I think about that incident a lot whenever I see someone doing something that seems inappropriate during a serious and troubling event, like a funeral or medical emergency.  I think, for some, that trauma brings out emotions that turn off their common sense censor.  Others are left to watch in dismay or to be further troubled by their behavior.

A friend of mine posted this LA Times article on Facebook about "how not to say the wrong thing."  I think it's basically good advice.

I'm hesitant to include this in my blog because someone might think, "oh, dear, what might I have done to offend Angie, who is currently in the center of this circle?"  While that might be an interesting mental exercise for you, I'm not directing this at anyone in particular.   You haven't spoiled it for me.

Yet.

The article says I'm entitled to kvetch all I want.  I'm not much of a kvetcher, if that's even a word.  I'm more likely to manically talk about my thyroid woes with a big grin on my face, like I'm about to go on an ocean cruise. My worst kvetching sounds more like I just accidentally put a dark red shirt in with the whites, and now everything is pink, which is slightly amusing.

The Cracks We Slip Through, Step On, and Smoke.

For the record, I have never smoked crack.

If you've ever worked in the service industry, hopefully you are aware of the phenomenon that I have experienced as a service provider.  There are certain people who fall through the cracks nearly every time I encounter them, through my fault alone.  When I was a waitress for a summer in my 20s, a pair of businessmen would always sit at one of my tables. I would always forget their coffee, and they would always get their food late and cold.  I didn't do it on purpose, but we were somehow trapped in a bad relationship where they weren't on my radar and were neglected as a result.  They complained, yet still continued to sit at that table.

This still happens to me today. Certain members of the monarch enthusiasts club want things from me, and it is my job to provide them.  99% of the time, it all works out for everyone, but sometimes certain people experience repeated issues.  Emails get buried, invoices get misplaced, and the like.

Who wants to be that person who is falling between the cracks?  Not me.  I think I've been that person before, and I think I do a good job of recognizing it and re-calibrating my trajectory.  My previous doctor repeatedly failed to attend to certain, important things.  Being overlooked when I'm paying for a service caused me to seek the service elsewhere, and I landed right in the hands of a doctor who pays attention.

After some debate about which doctor to use -- Dr. Reussner in Lawrence, or Dr. Shnayder at KU Med Center -- I decided to go with Dr. R because he is so highly recommended by people who know him, including Dr. S.  One nurse friend told me, when I was explaining my choice, and I said that part of it was his excellent bedside manner.  She has seen patients who had this same procedure, and she said, "His technical skills are on par with his bedside manner."  That's good to hear.  She also said that the majority of the time, things go right, and even when things go right, something can go wrong, even with the simplest procedures.  I think this philosophy goes along with that mysterious gap between getting it right most of the time, and things sometimes slipping through the cracks, even when you're trying to pay attention.

My thyroidectomy is scheduled for Aug. 12. 

But I've had to call Dr. R's office several times to get him to refer me to an endocrinologist.  It turns out the person who normally does the referrals was in a car accident.  So, I called Dr. S and my primary, Dr. Cordova, to send the referral. Dr. Lehil is the current endo in town, but he is leaving to be replaced by Dr. Oertel, who just finished a residency at KU Med Center and isn't seeing patients until mid October.  So, there's a window where no new patients will be seen, and I need an endocrinologist on or around Sept 20, six weeks after my thyroid is removed.

At this point, I have three doctors working on getting me scheduled for the first available endocrinologist with either Dr. Oertel or a KU Med Center doctor.  

When I called Dr. Oertel's office myself,  when the receptionist said I can't be seen until October, I told her, "I'm having my thyroid removed because I have cancer. I'm not rescheduling just because Dr. Oertel isn't seeing patients.  If he can't see me, I'm going to go to KU Med."  The receptionist said she'd try to fit me in. But until then, I am most certainly slipping through a crack.

I now have a referral for the KU Med doctor, and the receptionist there is lovely.  She said, "I don't know what's going on with Dr. Oertel."  

I said that I think I just got stuck in a gap between two doctors coming and going.

"Sometimes I feel like that's what life is... getting stuck in the gaps," she said.

Dropping the C bomb

Let the lesson be learned that Verizon won't care that you've got cancer.  Only read this if you love a good story about getting screwed by the phone company, again.

June 1, 2016

Dear Mr. McAdam, CEO of Verizon:

I live in Lawrence, Kansas and a few days ago I went into the Verizon store to see if I could add two cell phones for my kids to my current plan. I was needing to consult with my husband before making the purchase, but he was out of town until Monday the 30th. The cost of the plan came up to a little less than $140 per month for all three phones, with a state of KS employee discount and tax included. Great! This is do-able…but I had been told at that time that this promotional deal, in which I would get a gift card for one free iPhone 6s ended on May 31st, which happened to be the same day I received a phone call from my doctor saying that I have a papillary carcinoma on my thyroid. Needless to say I did not spend any part of my day in the Verizon store, but instead I was processing that information and researching the possibilities. It’s highly curable, thank goodness. My spirits have lifted, I’m feeling happy to be alive, and I am back in the swing of things today.I visited the store today and the salesmen told me that since the $650 gift card was a nationwide promotion, they could not help me out by extending the offer one more day. I had asked to speak to the manager, and they just shook their heads and said they wouldn’t be able to help me. Well, I thought… Maybe the CEO could help? I sure hope you can. My kids were promised the phones for their good grades last year, and I missed the deal by one day.Now honestly, my daughters do not need the iPhone 6s. I’m perfectly happy with my 5s, and they don’t really need to up-stage me with their phones. But now that I’ve missed my opportunity, even the lowest-end HTC phones are going to cost me around the same price and likely more than the two 6s phones would have.I know you don’t normally have time to appease people who want promotional deals. I’m really just hoping you’ll take a bit of time to consider my request to extend the offer, or to at least help me find two iPhones for my kids that are within my budget.

Most Sincerely,

Angie Babbit

Mr McAdam did not reply, but maybe that is because he doesn't publish his email, and I sent this into the ether. But, I also emailed it the director of marketing, Diego Scotti, whose staff member, Edvanna, called me saying (I paraphrase) that her hands were tied but she could offer me $50 for each new phone I purchase.

June 2, 2016

Dear Angela Babbit,

Thank you for bringing your concerns to the attention of Diego Scotti. We are committed to providing you with a stellar customer experience everyday. We value and appreciate your feedback when we may fall short of that commitment.

I am glad that we were able to resolve your concerns by offering a credit to your account for $50 for each of the two lines added to your account.

Edvanna F.

I don't know why she couldn't just give me a $650 credit, but whatever. After purchasing two refurbished iPhone 5s, this is a summary of my experience with Verizon, which I emailed to Edvanna.

July 2, 2016

Dear Edvanna,

Thank you for the credit toward two phones. I wish that I had been able to actually purchase new phones, but I decided to get certified pre-owned phones because new phones are not affordable. One of them has been working okay, with a few minor issues, like Verizon Family Base doesn't recognize it at all. No one has resolved that issue for me. The other phone arrived with a crack in the lens, so I returned it and received a replacement. The replacement arrived with a defective microphone, so no one could hear me if I spoke on anything but speaker phone. The third phone, which I've had since Monday stopped working spontaneously today and can't be restored in iTunes. According to tech support, my 14-day return window has expired, even though I haven't yet had a fully functioning phone.

And, each time I've asked for the phones to be delivered to my work address, they are delivered to my home address instead. No one is there to receive them and I have to track them down, so of course my 14 day window has expired.

I mentioned in my first email that I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer, and as you can imagine I'd like to not have to deal with this at all. I could use a break here. I'm waiting for the fourth phone to arrive over the holiday weekend, but the one I currently have will be dead for the duration, because it is non-responsive.

If there is anything you can do to help me out, I would appreciate it. The experience has been a multitude of disappointments.

Sincerely, 

Angie Babbit 


Edvanna replied:

RE:Re: Re: Re: Case Closure Notification - CASE(1916059)

Verizon Wireless Executive Relations

8:33 AM (8 hours ago)
July 5, 2016
to me

Hello Angie,

I am very sorry to hear about the trouble that you have been having with the 5S purchased for you line. After you have received your replacement let me know how that device operates for you. If you are continuing to have trouble, let me know and I will look into seeing what options are available to getting you a better working device.

Best Regards,

Edvanna F.

Executive Relations

It's better than the alternative

I asked my daughter why her euphonium has a big dent in it.  "What happened to it?"  I said.

"Life," was her response.

I can't argue with that.

The Doctor Will See You Now

Or, will he?

I have a surgery date set for August, but it might need to be changed.  I called the endocrinologist's office, and it turns out Dr. Lehil is leaving town to be replaced by Dr. Oertel, but neither of them are seeing patients in August.  So, I'm either going to have to postpone the surgery or find an endocrinologist at KU Med Center.

I called KU Med Center to set that up, but they say they won't make appointments without a referral.  Now I wait for the referral to go through, and if it does, then I will be able to ask them if they have availability in August.  If they don't, I'm back to square one.

The surgeon's office, oddly enough, told me that the two local doctors wouldn't be around, but did not automatically instruct me to make any endocrinology appointments or offer to do so for me.

But I'm sure as heck not going to have my thyroid removed and then leave my body chemistry hanging until I can get medication.

For those who have asked when I'm having surgery, no announcement of an exact surgery date is coming until I get this straightened out.

Butterfly Cancer

Papillary Carcinoma is butterfly cancer.  I think I caught it from the butterflies.  There will be no transformation, no metamorphosis.   I will not spread my wings and fly.  I was already doing that without butterfly cancer, thank you.  And who gets a tattoo of a thyroid gland? No one, that's who.

Recall that the thyroid processes iodine.  Three doctors have asked me if I've had radiation treatment of any kind, because that can cause butterfly cancer.  I have not.  There is a lot of iodine in some foods, like seaweed.  I love eating seaweed.  One evening, I was giving a talk about monarch butterflies at a Science Café in Hays, KS, and a man came up to me after the talk.  You know the sort.  The FBI had been following him and stuff like that.  He handed me a packet of his research and said, "you know why the monarch butterfly population crashed?  Fukushima."  Maybe Fukushima tainted my seaweed, and gave me butterfly cancer.  Thanks to some Japanese nuclear engineers with really bad oceanic geology skills, I ate radioactive seaweed that was processed by my thyroid.  Or I just have bad luck.  My luck is not as bad as the citizens who once lived near Fukushima.

I've discovered that the ENT doctor here in town has the same opinion about lymph nodes as the KU Med Center doctor:  Only remove them if they are enlarged and are showing obvious signs of cancer.  So, I've asked the doctor here in town to start the process of scheduling the surgery.  His nurse will call me on Wednesday the 29th of July, probably, after squaring things away with the insurance.  I kept finding myself complaining to the doctor about the insurance company, which has asked his office to substantiate a claim, and has failed to pay for the pathologist at KU Med Center.

"I didn't even need the pathologist at KU Med Center, because I didn't doubt the original pathology," I said, as I wondered why I was telling him this.

I think I was telling him because he seems like he cares, and he listens even when I'm babbling on about the "perspective of a hospital patient," or "bad timing, just really bad timing."  And he doesn't look over his glasses at me and purse his lips like the KU Med Center doctor.  He even gave me his cell phone number, just in case I have any questions.  Of course I lost that.

I've been losing things and forgetting stuff, you understand.  I have some trouble getting motivated in the morning normally, and this morning I just wanted to sleep for ages.  But I've managed to drag myself to work each day, maybe a little late, and plug away.  My patience for unreasonable people has become more limited.  I've had to tell several people who aren't satisfied with their milkweed plants that they aren't being reasonable, and they respond remarkably well.  One woman complained that her butterflies died after eating the milkweed we sent her.  I should have told her that the plants are giving the butterflies cancer because of Fukushima, but I really don't want the FBI to give me any trouble.  The timing for that is not so good.

Shoot for the Stars

I am a pragmatist.  I see no practical reason to worry about something I have no control over, so when I do start to feel a worry creeping in, I remind myself that humans are programmed to worry as a survival strategy, and that I am in no real danger.  I am not a cave woman on the lookout for the next ambush by a saber tooth tiger.

Worry spoils everything.  I think that sometimes when I feel humor or curiosity about things that would upset most people, it is disarming to them.  Someone confronted me about this once.  On a college field trip, I had been left behind at a filling station, and no one in the van noticed right away that I wasn't there.  When they pulled into the parking lot, I was laughing at the situation, and one of the other students told me I should be upset.  He was angry at me for being happy.  Sometimes, when I get a little bored, I secretly hope for an adventure like a flat tire, or some unexpected challenge.

Certainly, now that I've been diagnosed with thyroid cancer, thoughts of malignancy taking over my body have crossed my mind.  I put those thoughts aside as being highly unlikely in my situation.  A new body pain that I've never experienced before might make me wonder, but I'm really not into torturing myself with doubt about the future.  Nobody really knows the future.

I do actually know one thing about the future, and that is this:  I am going to have to abandon my irresponsibility around taking medicine on a schedule.  My thyroid gland is going to be removed, and it serves many vital functions.  Every day for the rest of my life, I am going to have to take medication that will replace the hormones my thyroid is currently making.  My thyroid is working great right now, by the way.  Papillary carcinoma does not impact thyroid function.  I am doing my best to appreciate the time I have left with my native body chemistry.

I also know that I'm going to be having a surgery that involves (a highly skilled surgeon) cutting my neck open and removing a body part from my throat.  This is perhaps one of the least pleasant images I can imagine, and it gives me the complete heebie jeebies.  The imagery can keep me awake at night, so thank goodness for meditation.  Some have suggested that I select my doctor based on their ability to do this without leaving a scar.  I am going to definitely have a scar, and sure, I would rather not.  But my vanity isn't going to determine who I select as a surgeon.  I'm too pragmatic for that.

I also don't feel sick at all, so I don't feel like I'm fighting anything, or that I will be a survivor.  I've fought things before. I've survived some pretty rotten things.  This cancer is not worth those kinds of words.  It's more like my thyroid is a bratty teenager freeloading roommate getting tough love.  Behave or leave, it's up to you, thyroid.  This is not breast cancer, brain cancer, liver cancer or any of those.  I am at once thankful that I do not have one of the more aggressive cancers, and also in awe of those who have had to endure them and the treatment, whether they survived or not.

One thing I haven't mentioned is that I will probably have to take a single pill that contains radioactive iodine.  In order for the pill to work, I will either have to stop taking thyroid medication or opt for another drug (which I need to learn more about), that will allow the radioactive iodine to kill any remaining thyroid cells in my body.  Apparently papillary carcinoma can pop up in other body parts.  The doctor said there are very few side effects of the iodine pill, but failed to go into the details of how a person copes with zero thyroid hormone replacement after a thyroidectomy.

This, I remind myself, will be nothing compared to the chemotherapy required for many cancers, which I hope to never have.  This, I remind myself, will be a short-term discomfort compared to...geologic time.  Yes, that's right. I just compared my era of discomfort to the history of the earth.  I did this because I'm a pragmatist. I am also thinking about how this compares to the big bang, and it's really just peanuts.  I'm also thinking about how nobody ever really knows what is going to happen tomorrow.  But shit, people, lighten up, because we're all going to return to the stars, and that's really the most awe-inspiring ultimate goal I can think of.

A Lump in My Throat

My dearest acquaintances and other fellow humans:

So a lot of people have asked me how I discovered that I have a cancerous nodule on my thyroid.  I didn't. I just got lucky that Dr. Loree Cordova saw it during an annual well-woman checkup.  She asked me, "has anyone ever told you that you have a nodule on your thyroid?"  She placed a mirror in front of me and showed me the lump in throat.

That led me to an ultrasound, then a biopsy, and then a consultation with an Otolaryngologist, which is fancy speak for an Ear, Nose and Throat (ENT) doctor.  The ultrasound revealed two nodules, one of which is calcified, and the biopsy showed that the calcified nodule has signs of papillary carcinoma. I've seen three ENT doctors now, and the third one at KU Med center ordered another ultrasound to examine my entire neck area.  She also had the actual slides from my biopsy sent to her pathologist, who confirmed that I have papillary carcinoma in that one, calcified nodule.

The second ultrasound helps to determine whether the lymph nodes are involved.  After a visit to KU Med Center yesterday (a long drive that could have easily been a phone call),  I learned yesterday that my lymph nodes do not show any sign of enlargement, so unless surgery shows otherwise, there seems to have been no spread of cancer to the lymph nodes.  This is good news!

The KU Med Center doctor is a faux red-headed eastern European (as far as I can tell from her strong accent), who has the opinion that the lymph nodes should not be removed "prophylactically."  She gave me documentation to back up her opinion, which differs from that of the Lawrence ENT doc, who may not have read this professional document yet, since it is fairly new.  So now I'm debating which doctor will do the surgery, and will probably have a conversation with the local ENT, who I like a lot, about avoiding prophylactic removal of lymph nodes.

So those are the facts.  I'm really doing very well with this news, and have found that it is sometimes difficult for me to speak to people about it because they are more upset than I am.  Then we get into the realm of only being in control of one's own feelings, but also wanting to be compassionate about other's reactions to some bad news.  I have cancer that is super curable!  It isn't in my lymph nodes! It's not an emergency!

Now, I want to gently turn my attention to the next thing, like picking my kid up from band camp, which is where I am headed now.

Love to you,

Angie

A Bump in the Road

Hello again to those of you who have already received news of my recent health kerfluffle.  For those who are unaware, I am including this letter that I wrote, and I will be blogging about it rather than updating everyone by email.  I will be writing another, short entry today, so come back again soon.

Jun 3, 2016

Hello beloved family and friends,

I am currently sitting in a doctors exam room waiting for him to open the door. I have been diagnosed with (probable) treatable thyroid cancer based on a needle biopsy and may be having a thyroidectomy. I likely won't know the amount of thyroid removed until after the surgery. (The best case scenario is that the needle biopsy was wrong. Then it would be a lumpectomy.) This is not confidential info. So feel free to talk about my health issue and put me on your prayer list if that's your thing.  I'm doing well now, mostly pissed off, but I feel healthy so I'm making the most of it.

I'm getting a second opinion from KU med otolaryngology on the 13th.

I'm out of the consultation now, and everything went as expected. The lump is on the isthmus (bridge in the middle) of my thyroid and the initial pathology indicates it will likely all need to go.

We'll probably be taking our family vacation first.

I feel assured that this is, as the doc says, just a bump in the road. I've heard lots of people tell me that they or someone they know went through this and are doing great now. Thank you in advance for your positive, loving energy.