Another RollerCoaster

  I'm back.

  I never meant this blog to be a newsletter of my health.  But, in a way, that's what it's become.  Partially because there are so many people who care about how I am that it's almost impossible to talk to everyone one-on-one.  And partially because the most difficult things for me to express are a little bit easier in the written word.  I've spent so much of my life in books...it seems as though I express my own thoughts and emotions best where I can see them in black and white.

  Regardless of why this is the format, I'm glad to have it.  And I'm always thankful for the people who read, and especially for those who pray.

  Today I'm writing again, and I need to start with an apology for not doing it sooner.  And I need to follow the apology with a bit of what I HAVEN'T said since my last post.  So, to those of you who are faithful to read and pray for me, I'm sorry I've been out of touch.  There's been a bit of fear, of course, but I'm beginning to suspect that more than fear, there's been pride.  I'll get into that in a bit.  For now, let me go back to May of 2017.  Well, let's go back a little further to April.

  In April of 2017, my ENT wanted to schedule another scan.  It had become a fairly regular thing for me.  A pain in the backside, and dreary because it never produced GOOD news, but necessary so that we would know there wasn't BAD news.  Cancer just holding on in tiny bits, not enough to look into further treatment, but not gone either.  So we scheduled the scan and I planned to start my diet.

  And then we suddenly lost my Aunt Debbie.  She was one of those incredible people who always had a smile and a hug.  Not just for me, but somehow she made it feel like it was just for me.  I've never met a more loving woman.  She would call and encourage me, just out of the blue.  I know she prayed for me regularly.  She was both sweet and wise.  She understood my fears and encouraged my faith.  And then, she was gone.  It hit me hard.  It still hits me hard.  Not because we were super close, but because she loved so deeply.  The absence of that love is a tangible hole that no one will ever fill.

  I traveled with my parents to Illinois for her funeral.  My mom, my cousins, my grandparents...all had such deep, deep pain.  And my annoying little diet seemed such a small thing.  Not really any issue at all, compared to the gaping loss that we all were feeling.  I didn't put the scan off because of this.  I followed all the rules, even through the gatherings of friends and family where there inevitably was food being served.  But the burden of that diet seemed so insignificant compared to how I had looked at it in the past.  Perspective is a powerful thing.  I had just lost a precious piece of my heart, and I couldn't mourn the loss of food compared to that.

  Back home again, I kept my appointment for the scan, and then waited for the results.  And they were a surprise to me.  For the first time since that day way back in June of 2012, I was given good news!  The scan showed no more cancer!  It was more than I could have hoped for.  My bloodwork was still wonky, but the scan was clear, and that was amazing.  So I shared that information with you.

  But, let me be really honest (because, here in print, I'm able to be).  I didn't celebrate much.  I was happy, of course.  I was REALLY happy for my family.  This is the news they've been praying for for years, while I simply prayed for the strength to endure whatever would come next.  But I was still reeling from the loss of my sweet Aunt, who would have cheered the loudest.  In my mind, I was seeing her "happy tears" for my news, and it made me sad that I couldn't share it with her.  It felt like I'd been given a consolation prize, and it was hard to be as thankful as I should have been for it.  I don't know if I can express how I was more happy for my family than I was for myself.  I was so incredibly thankful that this very scary disease seemed to be put off, and that the pain I was feeling over her I wouldn't be causing in them any time soon.  Also, after living with cancer for 5 years, I had become rather resigned to it.  I almost didn't know what to do with a "success" moment.  So I made some happy phone calls, and wrote a blog about what a blessing it all was.  And, I will say, it still is.  But in my fog of emotion, I'm not sure I knew what I really was thinking or feeling.  It's only with distance that I see all of these things I'm telling you now.

  As I mentioned, my blood tests were not "right" through any of this.  I went back a few months later and had more drawn, and it still was "wrong."  Since you and I  aren't doctors, I'll explain it as simply as I can:  My blood shows normal thyroid hormone levels, which would be great in most people.  But my thyroid has been removed, so those numbers should be 0.  So I asked my ENT if, in light of the clear scan, we simply assume this oddity is normal for me, even though it's not normal at all.  He very firmly said no.  He said until they were 0, they would need to be regularly monitored.  At the same time, he said that as long as they didn't increase, he was content to not do any more scans or be unduly concerned about my health.  His assumption was that there were still thyroid cells in my body, producing that hormone, which was what the blood tests were showing.  But that the cells were so few and far between that they couldn't be detected by the radioactive iodine scan, which meant they were also too small to do any damage, even if every one of them was cancerous.  This seemed reasonable to me, as well.  It still does, and it very well may be the case.

  This past summer, that ENT moved from Murfreesboro, so I needed someone new to monitor my levels.  This fall, I began to become concerned with various small things that could be chalked up to age (I'm 41, after all.  Things just don't work the same as they did when I was 15), but one thing cancer has soundly cured me of is assuming all my discomforts are due to age and raising kids!  So I went to see my GP, and she referred me to an endocrinologist.  She and I spent a bit of time going over my medical history.  She kept going back to that "wonky" bloodwork.  Coming from a different perspective than an ENT, she was not content to make the same assumption that he did.  And so she ordered another scan, and more blood tests.  She said that it's very possible he was right.  But...

  Oh, how I hate that word!  Since that first moment 6 years ago, there's been so little to be happy about.  Thankful, yes.  Thankful that the cancer was found.  Thankful that it wasn't all through my body, even though it was in my lymphnodes.  Thankful that I had such great doctors.  Thankful for all the support.  Thankful for the painless recovery from 2 surgeries.  Thankful for the sensitivity it brought out in my family members.  Thankful for the emotional wounds it helped heal.  Thankful for more things than I can count right now.  Happy?  No.  I had cancer.  That's really, really scary.  It took my voice.  I've developed a new one, but cancer took the one I had, and it will never be the same.  It invaded my life and brought fear into my household.  It forced me to look death in the face and agree that we would meet one day, and more than that, possibly meet before I was even able to see my children grown.  There's no happiness in that, no matter how much peace you are granted.  I'm not bitter about those things.  I'm just trying to be very, very honest.  I DO have peace.  God has granted it to me, and it truly is peace beyond my understanding, because when I see all the other things I've felt, I don't understand how I can still rest in His plan; the very plan that brought all of this uncertainty into my life.  But I can, and I do, and I try to teach my children to as well.  Because along with the turmoil, He reminds me that He is in control and knows better than I do what I need. It's a daily process,  and it's not easy.  I don't mean to give that impression.  But there is peace,  supporting me through all of the other emotions.

  So my new doctor says my old doctor could be right,  but... But what?  But this:  there's a possibility that this cancer has lost the property that only thyroid cells have of absorbing iodine.  Such a small thing, considering they're cancer cells and I don't depend on them to work right anyway.  But this is the thing we've depended on to track them.  I stop taking my supplement, I go on this low-iodine diet to starve any cells of iodine.  Then I take a pill of radioactive iodine and those starving cells suck it up, if they're there, and if not, it flushes through my body.  And then they scan my whole body, looking for that radiation.  It's genius science, and it's the thing that makes thyroid cancer one of the simplest cancers to cure.  But.

  98% of thyroid cancer patients have one surgery, one radioactive iodine treatment, and they're done forever.  I've had 2 surgeries and 2 treatments, and I still wasn't cured.  I have been in that 2% for most of little Mikey's life.  One time he came up out of the blue and said, "Mama, you still have cancer, right?"  Just like he might ask if I still had a necklace he hadn't seen in a while.  Yes, baby.  I do.  And I may always have it.  But he was so young, he understands least of all of them.  To him, it's just a fact.  And since July of 2012, I've depended on that cancer to act the way it's supposed to act.  And we've responded according to those rules.  And now I'm told there's a possibility that the cancer isn't playing fair.

  And it's not fair.  It's not fair at all.  I was scared.  And angry.  All the things I've stayed calm about.  All the loss, all the uncertainty, all the pain it's brought to those I hold most dear, and now we're told there might be more.  More what?  We don't even know.  And, once again, I had to accept that my plan wasn't the one my life would be following.

  Friday I had another scan.  Over the past 4 weeks, I've had 3 blood draws, no thyroid supplement,  and I've followed the strict low- iodine diet.  And now we wait.  Again.  I told a few people along the way, but I didn't do this.  This makes it real, in a way.  This blog is where I face everything.  I knew if I did this, I would have to tell you I was scared. I would have to admit my weakness,  and even the fact that I was angry over the whole thing.  I thought I was past this level of uncertainty, at least for a long time.  I had begun to allow myself to see a "normal" future,  where cancer was a possible problem,  but no more likely than and other issue that old age might bring.

  But.  Here I am,  41 and facing the unknown all over again. And I find that it's not easier than it was 6 years ago. I'm tired. I'm ready for it to be someone else's turn.

  And I'm prideful. I refused to write a blog where I know I have a huge list of people who will pray for me and encourage me.  I told those who were closest,  those I felt I owed the knowledge... and that's it.  I couldn't bring myself to do more.  To admit I don't want to go through this again. I keep saying,  "it very well could be nothing." And that's perfectly true.  But it's not the only possibility.  I don't even know if it's the most likely situation. If I don't write,  I don't have to think about it.  Which means I don't have to worry. And not worrying is faith,  right?  Sadly,  no.  Not today,  not for me.

  But.

  That can be a good word too,  you know.  I'm prideful.  But. But God knows me and provides for me in spite of myself.  He sends people and verses and songs to me,  bearing His word and truth even though I didn't ask for it. Soothing my injured spirit.  Reminding me of things I know,  but so consistently forget:

"No guilt in life, no fear in death
This is the power of Christ in me
From life's first cry to final breath
Jesus commands my destiny
No power of hell, no scheme of man
Can ever pluck me from His hand
Till He returns or calls me home
Here in the power of Christ I'll stand"

  So now I humbly come to you,  my faithful friends,  and ask you to pray for me.  For my family.  For accurate test results,  and for wisdom for my doctors. I desire perfect health. But more than that,  I desire an obedient spirit,  and for my life to be a light.  After all,  every moment is a gift from Him. I am thankful for each of those moments,  and for each one of you who will read this.  You have touched my life and made it richer. I cannot ask for more.  💜