It's October, and you know what that means. It's Breast Cancer Awareness month - pink ribbons and Race for the Cure events take center stage. And though breast cancer awareness is certainly an important topic, I thought I'd share with you an experience that enlightened my own personal health awareness. Less than two weeks after I turned 24, a lesser known cancer came into my life.
In May 2002, I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. As a busy dietetic intern, I thought I was just run down or anemic when I reported to my physician how tired I was feeling. After being referred to an endocrinologist, and undergoing several blood tests and an ultrasound of my neck, I found myself lying on an examining table waiting for the biopsy needle to pierce my neck. I took a deep breath, and the radiologist inserted the needle - not once, not twice...but three times!
A week later, I called my endocrinologist. She spoke the words I had been dreading: "It's cancer." Although mine was a treatable cancer, the best kind of thyroid cancer - heck, the best kind of any cancer: papillary thyroid cancer. Because my cancer was a Stage 1 - the lowest risk category - and because of the type of cancer, I was told my prognosis was excellent. Yes, surgery would be necessary, and probably radioactive iodine treatment, but I should not worry; I was likely to be just fine. (In fact, my doctor said many people live a full life never knowing they have thyroid cancer. Papillary thyroid cancer is extremely slow growing, and does not spread - save to some nearby lymph nodes - as do some other types of thyroid cancer.) Still, I thought, cancer is cancer...
I went under the knife in June of that year to remove my thyroid gland and several lymph nodes. In August, my endocrinologist admitted me to a hospital room draped in paper and plastic. Even the sink was taped over entirely in plastic, leaving only a small drain hole. A radiation technician entered my room with a lead container; inside was a potent pill of radioactive iodine. I swallowed the pill, and the tech backed quickly out of the room as radiation dissipated into the air.
I spent one night in the hospital on isolation precautions, then a week of limited contact with the outside world. I was told that in all probability that they had killed any remaining cancer cells. I worked with my endocrinologist to stabilize my medication dosage. I went about my daily activities, and eased back into my "usual" life: job, friends, exercise. I felt good. I feel good.
Now, three years, another round of radioactive iodine treatment, many blood draws and several check-ups later, I am stable on my thyroid hormone dose and living my life as "normally" as possible. I don't know yet if I am "cured." It seems that with cancer, there is always that fear that one may never really be cured. I continue to wonder if the cancer might come back, but I remain vigilant and I know that if something doesn't feel right, I will alert my doctor. That is as much as anybody can do.
It is an ever-evolving process, this road to health. Knowing your body - staying in tune with how you feel and listening to yourself - is truly important. In many circumstances, that awareness is really all you can count on to alert you if something is amiss.
To everyone who has mothers, sisters or aunts, grandmothers, cousins or friends who have battled breast cancer, I applaud you for standing beside them in their fight, and for continuing to champion this important cause.
