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.