My cancer story has finally, thankfully come to an end, for the most part.  It’s not something I think about or deal with day to day.  My morning pill is a rote ritual, as mechanical as breathing or brushing my teeth.  My yearly check-up with my endocrinologist at Mayo is something that is built into my calendar; it falls in the summer, so we plan vacation around it.  It’s just something that happens every year, and then we move on. 

And the visit is the same every year, a routine that feels familiar and easy: bloodwork in the morning, followed by an ultrasound of my neck, then lunch at one of our favorite restaurants near the hospital, then a meeting with the doctor in the afternoon. 

We make a trip out of it.  I have family in town we look forward to seeing when we go.  We may plan a trip to the beach or a fun dinner out.  We may get some good time in at the pool.  Or we may laze around doing not much at all but enjoying being together.  My annual Mayo visit doesn’t feel like a chore; it feels like the precursor to a mini vacation. 

Which is a good thing!  I’ll be having these annual check-ups for most of my life, I understand.  My endocrinologist explained to me that this type of cancer, mild as it may be, requires a lengthy follow-up.  So, these visits will continue indefinitely.  Thankfully, we don’t live too far, and thankfully, the care at Mayo is worth the drive. 

In the beginning, we were making that drive every three months.  After I had surgery there and things started to settle down, it was every six months.  When I graduated to once a year, I thought I had conquered Mount Everest.  It felt like a huge accomplishment! 

And that’s where we’ve been for the past few years – making our yearly trip to Mayo, not concerned about what may happen, just taking it in stride.  And for the past few years, my ultrasounds have been clean and my bloodwork stable.  I remain cancer-free.

But I don’t remain unchanged.  I don’t think it’s possible to go through cancer and not learn something, feel something, or change something. 

My takeaways:

1. Lumps are not to be ignored!  Perhaps if there wasn’t so much going on in my life when I first noticed the lump, I would’ve acted on it sooner.  But there were just too many life changes I was dealing with then: my dad’s death, getting married and becoming a stepmom, moving, a new job… I knew lumps should be checked out, but I just didn’t have the presence of mind to think clearly about it then. 

Thankfully, things in my life have settled down.  And years later, when my husband pointed out a lump on my back, I handled it correctly!  This was on a Sunday, and Monday morning, I was on the phone with my doctor’s office.  (It turned out to be a lipoma – completely harmless.)  But this reaction brings me to my next point.

2. Lumps and other ailments are not to be ignored – but they’re not to be obsessed over, either.  There is a happy medium in the realm of health where you don’t call the doctor for every little thing, but you don’t neglect to take care of yourself, either.  Carelessness and neglect are not the answer just as fear and stress are not the answer.  Find the balance. 

When I made the call to my doctor about the lump on my back, I wasn’t assuming the worst, but I did want to get it checked out right away.  To me, information is the antidote to anxiety.  The right amount of information, that is – not obsessive research that you can’t put down. But generally, the more information you have to work with, the better.  You know what you’re dealing with and what you’re not dealing with.  It puts it all into perspective. 

So, even if something is probably nothing, I’d rather the professional tell me that so I know for sure and can then put it out of my mind.  And if it’s not nothing, then I’d rather know about it – soon – and begin tackling it. 

3. The main part of any treatment plan is the people who help you walk through it.  The medical personnel, the family, the friends who help you through the process – people are a precious commodity.  I am so thankful to have had nothing but the best doctors and nurses, and the best family and friends a gal could want. 

I’ll never forget learning about what went down in the waiting room during my first surgery.  My husband, my mom, my father-in-law, my husband’s ex-wife who was also my only friend in town, my husband’s aunt and uncle – all these people came to show their support.  I was extremely touched and also grateful that my husband did not have to endure that alone.  They were such troopers – the surgery lasted six hours! 

If you’re a patient, be honest with your people about what you need.  If you’re a caregiver, know how very crucial your role is.  You are needed, not just for all you do, but for who you are.  Sometimes, the gift of presence is the best gift of all.

4. Human beings are made up of body, soul, and spirit.  All are important.  All must be maintained.  After I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer, I realized I had not made my physical health quite the priority it should be.  It was a wake-up call, and I heeded it.  I made some healthy, lasting changes.  And I celebrate the fact that something good came from all this. 

Treatable.  Manageable.  The good cancer.  These often-heard descriptions of thyroid cancer are mostly true.  Even though thyroid patients maintain that no cancer is good, and all cancers carry a risk of spreading, it is highly treatable.  This cancer is manageable, and I am managing it. 

I am moving forward, scars and all.