Survivor

I am a Survivor. I have learned this about myself the hard way. I have been put through more in my 36 years than many people experience in a lifetime.

survivor

And I am so angry right now. Furious and frustrated that we live in a world where the first assumption about a woman who comes forward as having lived through sexual assault or abuse is that she is a liar or somehow “deserved it.” Now I will admit I’m not very hip to pop culture, but I like the song where Kesha sings about brushing her teeth with a bottle of Jack-I can get behind that. What I can’t get behind is a judge that rules that she is legally bound to work for the company of her rapist.

I don’t know all the details of the case, but I do know that coming forward as a victim of rape is difficult, and brave, and terrifying. And instead of surrounding these women with love and support we punish and doubt them. I felt this way when the Cosby allegations were surfacing and there were so many hateful comments about how no woman who was raped would wait 10 years to confront her rapist-so she must be lying, or trying to get money, or a whore.

I stayed quiet then because I was scared for myself, for people judging me. But now Kesha is being tormented in the same way so very publicly, and I have discovered my hidden super-power of not caring what people think of me, so here goes:

I love/hate therapy. Because part of the goal is to continually look at your life and assess it and figure out the ways to break some of your self-destructive patterns and bad habits. And that can be hard. Really hard.

I am in an upswing in my life; my health is finally stable, my energy is back to about what it should be for someone who runs around with 4-year old twins, my family is healthy and happy, and I have a good marriage to a man who can be a pain in the ass but is also my best friend and the best choice I could have ever made for a life partner. And yet I still have so much I have to work through, so much hurt that I never dealt with that comes back to the surface when I am overwhelmed.

I have an analogy I like to use about all of my past traumas being like little (or giant) boxes stuffed on a shelf. One of my well-developed coping mechanisms is the ability to put things that happen to me into a little box, seal it up tight, and stick it on the shelf. This works great until that shelf gets over-crowded and trying to put one more box up there causes everything to topple down on me. That is how I ended up in a place that I was having panic attacks and severe depression.

Now that I am feeling good, I am trying to take down and unpack those boxes one at a time so that the next time something happens (which it will, life is never perfect) I have the room to cope with it.

That being said, I really hate unpacking those boxes. It is difficult, and painful, and I generally just don’t wanna. And I am unpacking a big box right now. One of the biggest on my shelf and the only one I have sealed up so tight that I have almost never spoken of it. Which is saying something because I am a major over-sharer.

I have used this blog in the past to be honest in a way that I just can’t be other places, and I feel the need to do that again.

I am a Survivor. I am a Cancer Survivor. I am an Eating-Disorder Survivor. I am a Depression and Anxiety Survivor. I am a Miscarriage Survivor. And I am a Rape Survivor.

That last one was a bitch to write. Because admitting that is really f-ing hard. It was a very long time ago and I am not going to share the details of my rape other than that it happened. There was no knife and no gun, but my rapist (only now can I call him that out loud) had sex with me without my consent. That is rape. I was raped.

If I am using that word a lot it is because it is totally foreign to me. I pushed it so far back onto my shelf that I did not tell anyone for more than 5 years. Five years. Before I told anyone. And to this day I have only told one friend and my husband what happened to me (and now the entire world who has any interest in reading my blog!)

I can’t give a real answer yet as to why I didn’t tell anyone. I know that I was ashamed. And that I felt it was my fault. And that on some level I knew that if I told anyone they would encourage me to report it, which terrified me. Because what if no one believed me? What if I went to trial and they used the short skirt I was wearing as evidence against me? What if I went through having to relive my rape over and over and over again only to find no justice at all? To have people taunt me and accuse me of lying? To have to hear someone say out loud the things I said to myself, that I shouldn’t have put myself in a vulnerable situation, that I shouldn’t have had so much to drink.

I was young and I was not nearly as brave as I am now and so I chose to shove it down and pretend it never happened. But it did happen. And I am a grown woman now. And I am stronger than I ever believed possible. So I finally have the courage to say it. I was raped.

This is obviously extremely personal, so why talk about it in such a public way? First of all, because I now know that I have nothing to be ashamed of. I did not do anything to deserve what happened to me, and if the person who raped me had any strength of character at all he would not had sex with an unconscious woman. I am “lucky” enough that I do have memories of telling him no and trying to push him off of me before the blackness came over me again.  But I want to make this very clear to everyone reading this.  Even if I had not woken up enough to try to make my rapist stop, it still would have been rape.

And it was not my fault.  I did drink a lot, and I now wonder if I wasn’t drugged, but the truth is it doesn’t matter.  Drugged or not, drunk or not.  I was raped and no part of that is my fault.  It is not a reflection of me or who I am. And if people comment with any sort of nastiness in response to this post, then that has nothing to do with me, they need to find their own therapist and unpack their own boxes.

But the main reason I felt compelled to write this is because I was at my therapist today and she asked me if I knew any other women who had been through something similar that I could talk to, and I said no. And then I thought about the statistics, some of which say that close to 1 in 3 women have been raped or sexually violated. So I must know people this has happened to. People just like me who feel scared and damaged and alone.

But you aren’t alone. Maybe you are in the crisis period of dealing with your rape immediately after it happened, or maybe, like me, you are coming to terms with it a lifetime later.

So this is for you. For Kesha, and for anyone who has been raped or brutalized. And this is for me. By giving a name to what happened to me and coming forward with it so publicly I am declaring that I am not ashamed. I am not embarrassed. I was raped and I should feel no more shame in saying that than saying that I had a miscarriage. Both are private and something I don’t want to talk about every day, but neither was my fault. Secrets have power, and this secret has had power over me for far too long. Not anymore.

I am a rape survivor. And I am working on all the crap that goes with that. But I am proud to say the rape doesn’t define me. Survivor does.

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Mitzvah Therapy

Yesterday was an amazing day.  A Hallelujah, sing in the car, have a super-cool dance party with the hubs and kids sort of a day.  Yesterday I got some incredible news- my Osteoporosis has not only stopped getting worse, it may actually be reversing itself!!!!  I also had a great meeting with the wonderful folks at Cancer Support Community of North Texas.  The work they do for people affected by and living with cancer is unbelievable.  If you or anyone you know are dealing with cancer, please check them out as a resource.  They have support groups, informational meetings, kid’s nights, social workers, counselors- you name it, all FREE to members (but that actually cost a lot of money, so if you have some extra cash laying around you might want to throw it their way!)

At this meeting I got invaluable ideas and support for Mommies In Need, and I also came away from it with my favorite new term: “Mitzvah Therapy”

When I explained the whole backstory of Mommies In Need coming from my struggles and said that it has really been a huge source of comfort and joy to me in my recovery, one of the women in the meeting said that was an example of Mitzvah Therapy.  In its casual usage a “Mitzvah” is an act of kindness that you do for a person without expecting anything in return.

When I got home I googled the term and found this video:

http://storiesofchangeandpossibility.com/tag/mitzvah-therapy/

The story told here made me cry in it’s simplicity and beauty.  In it, Bill O’Hanlon describes what the late Dr. Sol Gordon coined “Mitzvah Therapy” and tells a lovely story about how it changed one woman’s life.  Now, I am all for psychotherapy- I’m not canceling those appointments anytime soon!  But as he says in the video, psychotherapy is all about you and Mitzvah Therapy is all about giving.

And I have a confession to make here, I have kind of become a giving junkie.  Seriously, I am always looking around for my next fix.  I actually keep some of it a secret (I guess until now) from my family because it seems a little crazy- well, crazier than usual.  If I have extra cash I pay for the parking of the person behind me whenever I leave the hospital lot- someone did that for me once and it made me smile on a not-so-good diagnosis day!  I have blessing bags in my car with protein bars, tissues, soap, etc. to give to any homeless people I see.  We did a diaper drive for the twins birthday and I got a huge high when the woman picking up the donations was so excited about everything she was loading in the car to distribute to underserved families.  I even carry around $5 gift cards to Starbucks that I sometimes give to random moms when I see them carting 3 kids through Target or dealing with a toddler having a stage 5 meltdown.  I hand it over with just a few words, “One mom to another, you probably need to treat yourself” and walk away.

I tell you this, but please don’t go on about how awesome I am or anything like that.  I mean, I’m pretty cool, don’t get me wrong, but I am not writing this for compliments!  See for me, those acts are actually pretty selfish, because I get such a huge boost of happiness and even self-confidence from doing those things.  When I walk away from that mom who has a little light of hope in her eyes that someone gets what she is going through, I feel pretty darn good about myself.  And that feeling, really helps me get through the day sometimes.  I have been forced to deal with a lot in the past few years- see A Brief Timeline of Crazy.  And there are days when I can get pretty depressed or anxious or just plain mad that all of those crazy and terrible things happened to me.

And I need my psychotherapy to work on the root of that depression and anxiety and anger, it’s not something that just goes away when you ignore it- believe me, I tried that and wound up with panic attacks (which I really don’t recommend!) But for me, when I get in a dark place, being alone and thinking about myself is a surefire way to go even darker.  And the quickest fix? A little Mitzvah Therapy!

So maybe I have taken this to an extreme by starting my own non-profit, but seriously, try to insert a little random kindness into the days you are feeling like crap.  It’s hard to be grumpy when you are giving joy to someone else.  Even just holding the door open for someone with a genuine smile on your face, rather than grudgingly doing it with no eye contact can brighten a person’s day just a bit.

Ugh, sorry if this whole post is a little Pollyanna, but I am coasting on a major high right now.  Mommies In Need has officially accepted TWO new families to help!  I am overwhelmed by the amount of support that this cause has gotten in such a short amount of time.  Don’t get me wrong, my heart hurts for the women we are helping.  I have been in situations like theirs and I know the kind of rough road they are going down.  But I am filled with joy knowing that Mommies In Need is taking a huge burden off of them by making sure their children are well taken care of.

If you feel like doing a little Mitzvah Therapy of your own today, please consider donating to our campaign to support these Mommies in their journeys through cancer.

The kids of the first Mommies In Need family.  Knowing we helped them have stability while their mom was sick is the ultimate Mitzvah Therapy!
The kids of the first Mommies In Need family. Knowing we helped them have stability while their mom was sick is the ultimate Mitzvah Therapy!

I Have A Lot Of Feelings

Those of you who have seen me recently probably have no idea, but this has been a tough couple of weeks.  Most of the time I hear that I look great (aw, thanks!) and seem so much better.  And that’s true, I am so much better… except when I’m not.  Unfortunately recovery is not a linear thing, physically it is very up and down, and emotionally…well, I’m sort of like- I don’t even go to this school, “I just have a lot of feelings.”

If you didn't get this reference, I'm not sure we can be friends anymore!
If you didn’t get this reference, I’m not sure we can be friends anymore!

I have been doing well lately- my energy is up, I feel motivated by all of the things I am doing with Mommies In Need and Best Buddies, and I actually physically feel better than I have in a very long time.  So I should be elated and grateful and happy all the time, and I am- a lot- but then I have days when the enormity of what I have been through kind of ties my shoelaces together and trips me up.

I went to my GI doctor last week.  I haven’t seen him since last December when he told me that we could continue trying a variety of treatments for my Ulcerative Colitis, but that he was not hopeful that we would be able to find one that worked and he wanted me to consider having my colon removed. So here I am, about 10 months after getting my colon removed and I can honestly say that without question I am better off without that organ that was making me sick.

Maybe because I was getting progressively worse around the holidays last year, right now, I am able to acutely remember the hours I missed on Thanksgiving and Christmas because I was in the bathroom or lying on my mom’s bed upstairs in so much pain that I could not go down and participate in the celebrations.  So it’s good to know I am better than that.  I am at a place now where, while I have not-so-great days digestively, at least I am not in that kind of pain.

But my visit with the GI was hard.  Because we discussed a bunch of things that made me realize that I actually don’t have a colon.  Which is a big deal.  It means that for the rest of my life, my body will function very differently than everyone else’s and that I will have ongoing worries that others don’t have.  For example, Curly got a stomach bug recently.  Thankfully, I did not get it, which is truly a miracle since she literally vomited in my hair.  For most people, getting a bug or food poisoning would be an unpleasant few days, but if I were to get one, there is a very real chance I would be hospitalized.  Because without a colon, I can easily become dangerously dehydrated in a matter of hours.

I knew all of the possible long-term effects when I went in for the surgery, but they are a lot more real to me now.  At that appointment, my doctor said to me that he was glad we had taken my colon out because if not I would be “extremely sick or dead right now.”

He said it casually but that statement knocked the wind out of me.  I couldn’t even repeat it to my husband when he called to check in after the appointment without crying.  I had to get off the phone suddenly so as to not have a panic attack while driving.  I guess because I am past the “might die” part, my doctor was sort of casual in saying that.  I just don’t think I understood how sick I was.  I spent so much time in the past few years pretending that I was fine when there was this devastating disease tearing up my colon, that I think a part of me actually believed that I was over-reacting and I could just live with it.

What scared me so much about my doctor’s statement was realizing just how much I had convinced myself of this delusion that my UC wasn’t really that bad.  He was worried that if we didn’t take my colon out I COULD DIE.  And yet, days before my colon surgery one of my biggest fears was that they would take it out and do a pathology report and find out there was nothing wrong with it.  That I had taken out a perfectly healthy organ and would have to live with the consequences.

I was clearly nuts- I have since become slightly less nuts.  I had been having horrible bleeding, pain, and pretty much constant diarrhea almost every day for close to 2 years and I worked myself into a frenzy thinking that maybe I was making it all up.  WTF, Natalie?

So now that I am not in immediate danger and my doctor just casually says something like that, I freak a little.  Maybe I had to be a little delusional to get through the last few years.  I know that my scale of “feeling good” is drastically warped.  And even now, I probably seem perfectly healthy to everyone because I am operating at about 80%.  I was operating at like 10-20% for most of the last year, so that jump is pretty significant.  But I am still so anemic that I have to get IV iron infusions once a week, and my digestive system is still healing and very fragile.  I can go out and have fun and feel great for short periods of time but then get so tired that I have to nap because too much activity is truly exhausting for me.  And my thyroid medication is still not balanced, so every time we adjust the dosage my system goes a little wacky.

Which leads me to the thyroid cancer.  For the last 7 or so months I have been operating under the assumption that my thyroid cancer was a thing of the past and I didn’t have to worry about it anymore, the thyroidectomy got it all and all I have to do is go in for a blood test once a year.  I could box that up and put those worries on a shelf and focus on other things.  Then I went to my endocrinologist (again a referring doctor I hadn’t seen since surgery) and she said, “I guess it was benign, huh?”  Um…what?  Turns out she never got the path report from my surgeon and had no idea I had cancer.  Lesson learned, doctors never talk to each other when they should, you need to be on top of that shit.  So I had to wait while she got the report, looked it over, and then told me that the margins were not as clear as she would like them to be and we needed to schedule some tests to see if there is any remaining thyroid tissue and if anything has grown back in the months since surgery.  If so, I will need to get a radioactive iodine treatment.

Now, if I had gotten this news right after I first found out about the cancer, I could have dealt with it and understood that it was a part of my cancer treatment.  But now, I find myself realizing that my cancer has a threat of coming back, so even if I don’t have to get radiation this year, I will have to continue getting an ultrasound every year forever and just praying that it always comes back negative.

Oh and did I mention that this type of radiation treatment has relatively few nasty side effects (which is great) but that if you take it (it comes in pill form) you are RADIOACTIVE for about 10 days.  Like legitimately radioactive, like you can’t be around any humans for the first 5 days and no where near children for the first 10.  Please remember at this point that I have twin 2 year olds.  And you have to throw away all towels and sheets used during that time, and wear plastic gloves when touching anything.  So I would basically have to go into a full quarantine for 10 days.  Again something that would have been good to know SEVEN MONTHS AGO!

I got my blood results back and found that I do have at least a small amount of thyroid tissue left and now have to wait for the results of a scan that I am getting done on Tuesday to find out if I need to turn into a walking Biohazard.  Just after that call, I went into CVS to pick up an RX and when the woman at the counter told me it wasn’t ready I had a full blown meltdown.  Tears streaming down my face, sobbing- oh btw I was getting my anti-depressant, so I guess CVS lady realized just how much I need it! Because sometmes it is those little things that prove to be just too much.  And as a friend recently said to me, “It’s ok, you don’t have to be strong all the time.”  Oh right, that is the whole reason, I started this blog in the first place.  To have a place where I could let it out, to share with the world that even when I seem to be doing great sometimes on the inside I am keeping it together with chewing gum and scotch tape. I have already dealt with too much.  It’s not fair and it’s not fun.  And at that moment I needed my stupid medicine so I could go home, pop a Xanax, and take to my bed for awhile.  I just have a lot of feelings!

On the plus side, Sebastian has said that if I have to get the Radioactive Iodine, he would like me to bite him to see if he gets superpowers.  I’m hoping for the superpower of getting our kids to finally sleep through the night on a regular basis- fingers crossed!

Poltergeist Panic Attack

The most terrifying tree in the world!!!
The most terrifying tree in the world!!!

Have you ever had a panic attack?  If not, then imagine being absolutely terrified- heart racing, palms sweating, breathing heavily, feeling certain that something terrible is going to happen and that you could die at any moment.  Then, imagine that there is nothing around you to be scared of, that you are just in your room on a regular day and that this feeling came out of nowhere.  Sounds fun, right?

Everyone I have talked to who suffers from extreme anxiety or panic attacks has different experiences, but the one thing that we all seem to have in common is that horrible feeling of dread, of …well, panic.  It’s something about adrenaline releasing into the body and producing a “fight or flight” response.  Basically, your body thinks that a bear or a dinosaur or something is chasing you, so every instinct you have is screaming at you to run away.  But when there’s nothing to run from it really screws with your head.

In the past few years I have been through a lot (this is kind of an understatement, see A Brief Timeline of Crazy if you need the CliffsNotes) but my first panic attack was one of the most frightening things I have ever experienced.

I was between surgeries and having a pretty good day, so my mom decided to take me out to lunch.  We were driving and I started feeling nauseous (which I now know can be a panic attack precursor for me.)  I thought I was just hungry and asked her to pull over to the first place she could find.  We stopped at a La Madeline, with it’s pseudo-French décor and soft music- not really the type of place you see in horror movies.  While we were waiting, I started to get this terrible sense of dread.  It’s hard to explain other than that all of the sudden I was sure that something horrible (like a terrorist attack, or earthquake, or Zombie apocalypse) would be going down soon at this Dallas strip mall and that we needed to get out NOW!

I communicated this to my mom and while she looked at me a bit funny, she humored me and we grabbed the food and hopped back in the car.  On the 5 minute ride home my heart was pounding, and I began thinking that I might be having a heart attack or stroke- cue the “stroke symptoms” Google.  I got in the house and ran to my room.  Then I looked out the window and saw a tree.  I looked again and it was moving (like probably because of the wind.)  I then realized that it looked like the tree that comes alive and grabs the kid in Poltergeist and I told my mom to quickly shut the curtains before it “got me.”

I think it was at this point that she started to realize there was something really strange going on and she encouraged me to take one of my Xanax and call my therapist.  No answer, so I left a message and continued to freak out.  I could still see the tree through the sheer curtain and it looked even more menacing. I soon came to the conclusion that there was a distinct possibility I was going to die, like in the next few minutes.

I would like to pause here and note that there was still a small rational part of my brain that was thinking that perhaps the tree was not really going to come to life and strangle me with its branches, but it didn’t stop the panic.  I kept leaping up like I wanted to run, realizing I didn’t know where to go, and lying back down.  It was about this time that Sebastian came home and relieved my mother of crazy-person watching duty.

He suggested that I breathe into a paper bag.   So I did- I breathed into a Whole Foods brown paper wine bag for like 5 minutes.  I did not feel any better, but eventually I just felt stupid.  Like I was in some unimaginative rom-com and the girl gets so nervous before the big date that she starts hyperventilating and her sassy (but not as attractive because she wears glasses) BFF gives her a bag to breathe into!

Eventually we got my doctor on the phone and she helped me identify what was going on. With a combination of a licensed professional talking me down and a few more Xanax, the terror eventually faded.  Leaving me feeling exhausted and ridiculous.

See, that’s the thing, I remember the whole series of events and what I was thinking.  In hindsight it seems absurd and even a little funny, (I was scared of a tree!) but at the time the feelings I was having were real.  I can totally understand how a lot of people with panic attacks go to the emergency room.  And I think there is a sort of stigma to that, “Oh, it was just a panic attack.”  Like the person overreacted and the whole thing was no big deal.  But if it happens to you, believe me, it is a huge deal.

That’s why I wanted to share my story, so that if you have never had a panic attack, maybe you will be able to be a little more understanding to a friend or family member who is suffering from anxiety.  Also, if you are someone who has gone through this, you are not alone.  I’ll get it when you say that the crowds in a subway set you off, or a certain fabric stripe made you dizzy and fearful.  But don’t call me if a tree in your yard ever comes to life…that shit is freaky!

Thyroid Cancer Sucks Too! (Part 2)

First of all, if you want to get caught up please read Thyroid Cancer Sucks Too (Part 1)  I’ll wait, if you want to grab a cocktail also,  go ahead, I’m sure it’s 5 o’clock somewhere… so picking up with my surgery to remove the tumor:

The surgery itself was a cakewalk, but I am probably a terrible judge because I have had 5 major surgeries in the past 2 and 1/2 years and this was the only one that did not include an overnight hospital stay.  My neck was really sore and I felt crappy for a few days, but my surgeon was wonderful and only a few months later I barely have any scar at all.

What no one was prepared for was my reaction afterwards.  See, my surgeon had never removed the thyroid of a patient whose colon was so recently yanked out (I’m special) and so did not realize that when my parathyroid (which processes calcium) went to sleep when it was separated from the thyroid (very common) I would go into severe calcium depletion.  The symptoms of this include sudden numbness and tingling in the hands, feet, and face.  When this started happening, the Dr. said to take some calcium pills and I would get better.  But without a colon I was not absorbing enough of the calcium and it got worse.  And then I had a full on freak out.

I have had some minor anxiety issues my entire life, but basically since I found out I had to have my colon removed it has (understandably I think) been getting much worse.  When my hands and feet started tingling, I knew in the back of my head it was just the calcium but then my anxiety kicked in and I started panicking that I was actually having a stroke, ignoring it, and would be dead in minutes.   Then my whole face went completely numb, and the top of my head, and I couldn’t feel my legs.  I became absolutely certain that I was dying and that I needed to get up and run to safety, but was scared to stand up on my tingly legs.  Luckily I already had a therapist on board at this point and had a slight moment of lucidity in which I recognized the signs of a panic attack and called her.  One long phone call and an ass-ton of Xanax later, I was finally able to sleep and the next day my surgeon got me on some calcium that worked and I was feeling much better.  Basically, my mind took some very real symptoms I was having and expanded them to my whole body causing a full blown panic attack, which those of you who have experienced them know is pretty much the scariest thing ever.  (Pretty soon I’ll tell you all about the one when I thought the tree from Poltergeist was attacking me- good times!)

Once the calcium thing got sorted out, there was my medicine to deal with.  I no longer produce any thyroid hormone at all so I have to take Synthroid and it can be tricky to get the dosage just right.  Too little and you are exhausted and too much can cause major jitters, anxiety and sleeplessness (all of which are things I have just fine on my own.)  It took some trial and error but now I have my dose at a pretty good level and am doing ok.  Long term I just have to stay on my Synthroid forever and get checked once a year to make sure my levels are stable and no thyroid tissue has grown back.

The strange thing is that I went through all of this without knowing if I actually had cancer or not, we had to wait a few weeks for all the pathology to come back.  When I got the news that it was in fact Stage 2 cancer ( a follicular papillary variant, which is why it could not be diagnosed in biopsies) I had some really mixed feelings.  First of all I was grateful that it was encapsulated and my surgeon was reasonably certain that she got all the nasty cancer cells and that no radiation or chemo was needed.  I also had a weird feeling of relief that we didn’t take out a perfectly healthy organ for no reason.  But I didn’t really have time to process the Cancer part of the whole thing because my next colon surgery was scheduled in a few weeks and I had to focus on that.

It is only now that I am starting to get some of the deep realization that I did in fact have Cancer.  For a long time, I felt that I couldn’t really even identify myself as a cancer survivor because I didn’t have to do chemo or anything.  My cancer suffering was not as bad as it is for many people, so who was I to complain about it?  But then I realized that Thyroid Cancer is a real cancer and it is ok that I feel frightened that I had it and pissed off that my body betrayed me and let those cancer cells grow.  It is normal that now every time I feel a strange ache or a lump somewhere in my body I worry that it might be cancer.  Once that C word is attached to you, it changes your way of thinking.  Cancer is no longer something that only happens to other people, that you do a run/walk to support, or that you eat well to try and avoid, it is a real to you in a way it never was before.

All that said, I do realize how lucky I am.  I have no idea how long that cancer was growing but it was big enough to be felt by a Dr.’s touch to my neck.  I had no identifiable symptoms and would never have known it was there if not for that body scan and a really smart doctor who looked twice at a little blip.  That could have kept growing until it became a much bigger problem.  Of course, the timing was not ideal (being sandwiched in between two other major surgeries,) but I was happy to get that thing out of me as soon as possible so that I could move forward.

I have often felt that I need to do something to acknowledge that I survived, to celebrate that I am doing so well and to mourn the loss of my thyroid who treated me well for 33 years.  So today at 3pm Central time I am getting my hair chopped off and donating it to Pantene’s Beautiful Lengths which makes wigs for women who have lost their hair due to cancer treatment.  So keep an eye out for tomorrow’s post with before and after pics!