Almost to the day – October 22, 2008, to October 28, 2015, seven years hence, I come up against the C word once again. My thyroid, delicate throbbing mass of endocrine tissue, was victim of another cancer, a lumpectomy of the right breast, radiation to burn away residual poison made by my own body then destroyed by an alien looking space age metal contraption.
Almost to the day. Actually, the biopsy was performed a few days ago, maybe actually on the day of the prior cancer diagnosis.
These are the cancers that they can handle. They are initially very easily dealt with. Cut out the offending part. In this case, a piece of neck that has faithfully performed to its best, helping its owner stay warm, keep cool, and regulate her system in a reasonably efficient way. Until now.
Waiting to hear more from my medical team. In the story of my head to toe specialist list, including a curly hair specialist and a foot doctor, attention is about one quarter of the way down, now. From a fine, painful needle stuck in there a few days ago, an invisible unfelt cut and extraction and more testing. The aftermath.
Stress starts slow, it seems from the gut, but knowledge will hammer it down as the physician slices it out.