And how it all began... my romantic tryst with cancer
It started with a cold a few months ago. Perhaps the kind kids bring home from their daycare to their parents to carry back to the office. Perhaps something more virulent that birds carry over distances. But still, a cold...
Vainly (and unashamedly at that), it was the double chin I noticed in my recent pictures that set the alarm bells ringing. "I've gotten fat, look at these pictures" I complained, early and often to the very patient G. In true cherubic form, he'd disagree. But when the ache that I woke up with each morning did not dissipate, I decided to go to the doctor. My own GP Dr D prescribed heartburn medication. The second GP Dr S at the clinic in my office building told me I was talking too much, which wasn't an impossible diagnosis. A return visit to my own GP Dr D had him prescribing an anti-fungal mouthwash to deal with the problem.
After two more months of knowing that there was definitely something more happening, I chanced a visit to the walk-in clinic by my office. A particularly alert Dr R after hearing about my fruitless visits to doctors and actually believing my oft-related complaint ordered a few tests and an ultrasound to see what was going on. Isn't that what doctors should have been doing?
A few days later I came back to find they had discovered three nodules on my thyroid, one of them especially suspect in its size and texture. Two weeks later a visit to the lovely, patient endocrinologist Dr M-P, two weeks after that a biopsy, and two weeks after a diagnosis of cancer.
Needless to say my head was in a ruthless spin. Even as I tried to do my own research, work kept its unrelenting claim on my time. Within days I'd seen a surgeon Dr A who wanted the entire thyroid out. Within a few days of navigating complex medical jargon (which not a single one of my Drs took the time to explain), and with much help and counsel from those near and dear to me who were privy to these events in my life, I decided I could part with my thyroid and face what came next. Fortuitously, they think they found the cancer early. The surgery is scheduled for September 23, 2009.
It's here that my blog begins, with two weeks to go before I go under the knife. Naturally, my writing isn't going to be about the cancer, but about me. For those who think "cancer" is a scary word (and I was one of them), in truth if one could wish for a cancer, this thyroid-style dish would be what one would want. Thyroid cancers have the highest success rate and a surgical solution holds the best promise.
A true diagnosis of what kind of cancer it is and whether it has spread cannot be made until the butterfly-like thyroid (that sits just under the adam's apple on a man's throat) is removed and biopsied... but there's no point worrying about that eventuality because there isn't much I can do about it till we reach that step. Unlike my stocks, and my interests in urbanism, more effort to solve this problem will not make for a more successful end result because it is what it is, and the answer lies not in my hands, but a surgeons'.
I apologise to those of you who feel they should have known sooner for not telling you. I needed to stay focussed on myself, to stay calm and composed and continue with life because this tumour was not going to get the better of me. I was tired of explaining the medical intricacies of the situation. I did not have the energy to reassure others who felt genuinely distressed, and wipe away their tears, because I needed to make sure I could tame my own. I did not have room for drama and emotion when I was trying to keep my own natural theatrical instincts at bay... I'm grateful to G, D, M and my family for their steadfast support, and respecting this wish.
My intention is to share through future blog posts some of the very interesting insights, and the demi-romance that this cancer has stirred in me. I cannot claim to have had a wake-up call, because I think I was quite awake already and nothing I could have done differently would have changed this... but it has definitely given me a fresh perspective on how fragile life can be... that every raindrop that touches this head is the first, and when it falls I trace its pattern down my face to its inevitable end in the ocean that I miss so very much...
Vainly (and unashamedly at that), it was the double chin I noticed in my recent pictures that set the alarm bells ringing. "I've gotten fat, look at these pictures" I complained, early and often to the very patient G. In true cherubic form, he'd disagree. But when the ache that I woke up with each morning did not dissipate, I decided to go to the doctor. My own GP Dr D prescribed heartburn medication. The second GP Dr S at the clinic in my office building told me I was talking too much, which wasn't an impossible diagnosis. A return visit to my own GP Dr D had him prescribing an anti-fungal mouthwash to deal with the problem.
After two more months of knowing that there was definitely something more happening, I chanced a visit to the walk-in clinic by my office. A particularly alert Dr R after hearing about my fruitless visits to doctors and actually believing my oft-related complaint ordered a few tests and an ultrasound to see what was going on. Isn't that what doctors should have been doing?
A few days later I came back to find they had discovered three nodules on my thyroid, one of them especially suspect in its size and texture. Two weeks later a visit to the lovely, patient endocrinologist Dr M-P, two weeks after that a biopsy, and two weeks after a diagnosis of cancer.
Needless to say my head was in a ruthless spin. Even as I tried to do my own research, work kept its unrelenting claim on my time. Within days I'd seen a surgeon Dr A who wanted the entire thyroid out. Within a few days of navigating complex medical jargon (which not a single one of my Drs took the time to explain), and with much help and counsel from those near and dear to me who were privy to these events in my life, I decided I could part with my thyroid and face what came next. Fortuitously, they think they found the cancer early. The surgery is scheduled for September 23, 2009.
It's here that my blog begins, with two weeks to go before I go under the knife. Naturally, my writing isn't going to be about the cancer, but about me. For those who think "cancer" is a scary word (and I was one of them), in truth if one could wish for a cancer, this thyroid-style dish would be what one would want. Thyroid cancers have the highest success rate and a surgical solution holds the best promise.
A true diagnosis of what kind of cancer it is and whether it has spread cannot be made until the butterfly-like thyroid (that sits just under the adam's apple on a man's throat) is removed and biopsied... but there's no point worrying about that eventuality because there isn't much I can do about it till we reach that step. Unlike my stocks, and my interests in urbanism, more effort to solve this problem will not make for a more successful end result because it is what it is, and the answer lies not in my hands, but a surgeons'.
I apologise to those of you who feel they should have known sooner for not telling you. I needed to stay focussed on myself, to stay calm and composed and continue with life because this tumour was not going to get the better of me. I was tired of explaining the medical intricacies of the situation. I did not have the energy to reassure others who felt genuinely distressed, and wipe away their tears, because I needed to make sure I could tame my own. I did not have room for drama and emotion when I was trying to keep my own natural theatrical instincts at bay... I'm grateful to G, D, M and my family for their steadfast support, and respecting this wish.
My intention is to share through future blog posts some of the very interesting insights, and the demi-romance that this cancer has stirred in me. I cannot claim to have had a wake-up call, because I think I was quite awake already and nothing I could have done differently would have changed this... but it has definitely given me a fresh perspective on how fragile life can be... that every raindrop that touches this head is the first, and when it falls I trace its pattern down my face to its inevitable end in the ocean that I miss so very much...
Tamzeel,
ReplyDeletetake care, our prayers are with you!!