#thyca probs

[whatthyroid]

Help Spread Awareness! September is Thyroid Cancer Awareness Month. Save this image and post to your Instagram with a #WhatThyroid and #Thyca  //  There's so much more to come than just this blog with my story. Be a part of the movement. Support fellow survivors like myself and anyone in the future that may be hit with a similar situation. We're all in this crazy together. You never know who you might help. And don't forget: CHECK YO NECK.

[whatthyroid]

Homecoming 2014

No. No. Not that wonderful time of year in the Midwest, when the air gets crisp, the leaves turn a brilliant shade of warm tones, all the good sports are in full action + winning, and everyone seems to have a new found pride at your local high school. Nope not all that awesome nostalgic business. At least not for me this time around.

By that morning we found our way home from the hospital, I was ready to take on the world again. My throat hurt like hell and I was exhausted, but I'm used to that.  I can't say I'm one to really sit dormant for long periods of time (like 27 hours) or at all for that matter.

We walked in and up the stairs to our apartment. Me and my hot sweat pants, nappy hair and Minnesota Nice T-shirt. Thanks again, Julie! 

When I reached the top of the stairs, I probably would have dropped everything in my hands, if anyone would have let me carry anything.

While I was away, for a mere 27 hours, some of the best friends a gal could ask for, snuck into our place and decorated it, top to bottom, to resemble Mexico. MEXICO!

Do you remember me previously telling you we were Mexico bound with the Murray's until my surgeon decided to rescheduled the surgery date to a week later, and we had to miss our long awaited family vacation?

Well these friend genius's decided to bring Mexico to me. I burst out in laughing tears as I looked around. Seriously. It was so impressive. My entire living room, dining room and kitchen area were lined with beach murals. Palm trees. White sand. Ocean waves. The whole nine. They even cut around any photo frames we had on the walls so they peeked through. There were colorful paper lantern lights strung along the banister of the stairs, with colorful margarita glass candles strategically placed about. There were Mexican flags strung from the ceiling and green tiki fringes along every doorway, countertop and window. Above the T.V. arched a giant paper palm tree.

On our tiny breakfast nook of a table, sat a giant stack of endless magazines. From Vanity Fair and Vogue to Cosmo, Redbook, Fitness, Women's Health and literally everything in between, they had my recovery time booked solid. Literally. Last but not least all the delicious treats! Japanese strawberry gummies and TWO cases of seaweed snacks! Get out of here! And so much more... To top it all off, the most beautiful little note from the whole crew. I cried again. And then I tried to move both couches into my little bed island in the middle of Mexico. I got half way through before Julian and his Mum even noticed my hard work and made me rest it out.

Phillip, Haley, Ashley and Michelle. You mean the world to me and I am so damn lucky to have people like you in my life. Thank You, again and again for such a perfect welcome home.

That first week went gradually fast. Julian had the first two days I was home, off from work and then it became the Claud, Lace and Frank show. My throat felt like a thousand cacti decided to grow out of esophagus tissue. Claud got me hooked on binge watching Girls. Officially a fan. She definitely set the pace to a graceful recovery for me; full of movies, custom smoothies and fun girly conversations.

As the epic ambience winded down and Claud sadly went back to Minneapolis, the apartment grew into a gorgeous floral catastrophe. This new found Mexico abode looked like a Spring window set for Anthropologie. Every day the doorbell rang. I was overwhelmed with love and best wishes, flower and adorable gifts. WHAT an amazing feeling. To everyone, and You know who You are, CHEERS. I fucking love you!

The month of April pasted and I used every single perishing flower petal in my baths. (Try it sometime!) I was determined not to let any of this decor go to waste.

I decided it was time to plan a party before Mexico left apartment 121. Our cat Frank just so happened to be turning 9 at the top of May. I was back to work and in my creative zone, so I tossed together an invite and utilized the pre-existing theme. We called it "Franks's 9 Lives Birthday Party" and it took place the night of the Cino De Mayweather fight. Yes, we bought that shit too. Even though a quarter of our friends that came were allergic to cats AND the fact that my cat hates everyone outside of Julian and I (oops!), it was an untouchable evening.

We had Mexican food catered in; margaritas on a constant pour, decorations, obviously. This was my first real hooray since surgery and it felt amazing to be surrounded by such energy.

Another solid Thank You to everyone that came that night. In and out, we had a flow of over 30 people! For a cats birthday! Ha!

But really. That night was the gold to my wanna-be rapper chain. Not only were these amazing people that came, a naturally up-lifting crowd, they genuinely cared for my well being, what I had went through, Julian's amazing long haul in the supporting role, and of course, wanted to see the man, the myth, the legend, Sinatra Frank.

To this very day, that massive paper palm still hangs.

[whatthyroid]

Surgery // Part One

So your going to cut my throat open. That’s the only thought that went through my mind. Surgery was inevitable. I clearly had no choice and my thought process was leaning towards drastic measures. I met a man named Dr. Sina Nasri. Maureen Parker had referred him. His bed side manor had a solid reputation of not good. He came off intelligent, quick talking, emotionless, and slightly cocky, however I was told he was the best in Las Vegas.  I had the option to check into other surgeons. A few people gave me recommendations. I asked every nurse, technician and doctor I encountered through out my tests, scans, and needle pokes, if they had heard of Nasri and if they knew other doctors that were top notch for neck surgery. I had a few leads, and most had never heard of him, which now I find strange. I can’t say it was a gut feeling, because after initially walking into his office and finding his staff looking completely unorganized, and his personal lack of apathy, it came naturally to have doubts. But alas, I was drained. All this crazy was a huge blow to my everyday life and I didn’t want to wait so I jumped and took this surgeon with me all the way to the operating room. I will say now, I feel like a slight asshole for being so judgmental up front. Life literally handed me on a silver plater, the notorious phrase “Never judge a book by it’s cover.” How many times have you heard that? A lot? Well believe it. —— My original operation date was set for March 15th. I was ready. Prior to that surgery date I had numerous consults with the surgeon, and another biopsy with a new doctor named Creed, at Desert Radiology. He mapped out exactly how far the cancer had spread into my lymph nodes, so Nasri knew what all to remove. Then of course more paperwork.  The day I went to sign my life away and drop a hefty deposit for surgery, I was overwhelmed with what-if’s. I had to initial past countless “possible outcomes” which is terrifying because half these complications of this surgery weren’t even in my mind. They were all declared rare, but come on, this is life, and nothing is guaranteed.  I paid extra to ensure he wouldn’t fuck up my voice box. Sad, that that doesn’t come has part of the deal but I appreciate he takes extra measures that not all doctors do. Insurance typically doesn’t cover this cost, but I’d rather be safe than sorry with a man voice or no voice. My last appointment was to check in and ensure all my pre-op tests came back legit. My body was ready to be reckoned with. Lungs look good, heart works great, let’s go. But wait, to wait some more. On that last visit, Nasri informed me that he had to reschedule my surgery for the 22 of March, due to conflicting schedules. Fuck. FUCK. There went our Mexico trip, right out the window.  Mexico? Yes, Mexico. How was I thinking of that while I was dealing with cancer? WELL, we booked this trip with Julian’s family almost a year in advance. Thanks life for that wicked curve ball. We were suppose to leave on the 28th of March and come back in April. If my surgery would have been on the 15th, I would have been golden. Exhausted yes, but healed enough to go lay on a beach somewhere in Cancun and enjoy some much needed time away from work and with family. That was canceled instantly. Another bummer to this reschedule business was that Claud had already booked her tickets and got time off approved from the hospital she works at for the original dates. My nurse, mum in law, came out for an entire week to help Julian take care of me at home in recovery. How lucky is THAT! A lovely personal nurse at home! Anyways… Now we had to scramble to get her plan adjusted and money refunded but also our own. Definitely not something I was in the mood to deal with. So the new date was set and away we went.