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• Diagnosis
Weeks shy of my 11th birthday, my family and I trekked up the East Coast in July. Destination: Syracuse, NY. We had recently moved to sunny Georgia and were planning to visit family. That vacation did not go nearly as well as we had planned.
After a full week in the hospital, including several days in the ICU and a surgery to help me get rid of some kidney stones, I ventured back out into the world as a diabetic. Surely I would not have to worry about any other life-altering diseases anytime soon.
In the winter of my 7th grade year, I visited my endocrinologist for a routine diabetes check-up. Take my word for it, you never want to hear this uttered by your doctor:
Hmm. Now that’s interesting. What is that?
An example of someone with a thyroid tumor.
After some speculation and a referral, I found myself in a pediatric surgeon’s office, not knowing entirely what was happening.
Dr. Bleacher confirmed that there was an unusual growth on my thyroid gland. I was given two choices: have a biopsy performed on the tumor or have surgery to remove half the tumor. These were the only ways to find out if the tumor was malignant or benign. I was assured that in most cases, thyroid tumors pose no threat of malignancy. With the biopsy, however, there was a chance that surgery would still be necessary. I opted for the surgery. Why have two procedures done when I could have one surgery and be done with it?
• Treatment
Me with my little brother, Ian. I think this was only a few months post-surgery. The scar is directly above my necklace and hardly noticeable – my surgeon did an excellent job.
Unfortunately for me, the results of the first surgery showed that the tumor was, indeed, malignant. This threw my “Theory of Fewest Procedures” out the window. I was officially diagnosed with mixed papillary/follicular thyroid cancer. About two weeks later (on Valentine’s Day, no less), I went back under the knife to remove the rest of the tumor and my thyroid gland. Queue my oncologist, Dr. Rapkin, another new doctor.
Returning to school was a completely different beast. I had already missed a field trip (this upset me) and an earthworm dissection (this did not upset me at all), not to mention tons of general classwork and homework. And let’s not forget how cruel middle school students can be. People stared and gawked at the bandage on my neck. Some even laughed and made jokes. “What’d you do, fall down the stairs or something? HA!” Everyone else from school was extremely supportive, though. My teachers called me at home to check on me. The school nurse, Ms. Robin, made a “get well video” of all of my friends and classmates wishing me the best. Friends stopped by and sent flowers and cards. Those simple sentiments meant more to me than anything else.
The next few months consisted of scans, blood tests, follow-up appointments, and – my least favorite – radiation therapy. I had to swallow a gargantuan radioactive pill in order to kill off any cancer cells that might have still been in my body. That may not sound so bad, but when the pill is kept in a special room in the hospital and locked up in a 3-inch thick lead case, you think twice before swallowing it. What came next? Quarantine.
I had to stay in a room by myself, completely isolated from the outside world. This lasted a few days. Everything in the room was covered in plastic (friends I spoke with on the telephone recall the crinkling of the plastic). Everything I took into that room stayed in that room and was later disposed of as radioactive, hazardous material. Nurses that came in to give me food and take my vitals wore hazmat suits not unlike the ones that the people wore in the movie “E.T.” (reference to 1:18 – 1:21). Needless to say, complete and total isolation is absolutely no fun. My mom agrees – she told me that aside from hearing the diagnosis, having to watch her child go through complete isolation was the most heartbreaking part of the cancer experience.
• Relapse
I asked myself, “What else could possibly go wrong? I’m done now, right?”
Wrong! Two years later, in the spring of my first year in high school, doctors found some spots in my sternum after performing a routine full-body scan. My cancer had metastasized to my bones. Usually if papillary/follicular thyroid cancer metastasizes, it only does so locally and presents itself in the lymph nodes. Metastasis to the lungs and bone is far less common. Luckily the spots were small and caught early enough to only require another round of radiation (or radioactive ablation). And I could stay home for this radiation treatment! I was excited about this, but isolation in my own home proved even more torturous than at the hospital because of all the temptations outside my bedroom door. I couldn’t eat dinner with the family, I couldn’t play with my baby brother, and I couldn’t even give anyone a hug. I had to eat lemon drops because the doctors wanted me to salivate a lot in order to get out the radioactivity from my system. To this day, even thinking about those candies makes me nauseous.
• Remission
For the next few years, I had annual scans. Initially I had to take a pill of radioactive iodine. Though I did not have to be in isolation anymore, this was still an ablation procedure to kill off any remaining thyroid cells, whether they were cancerous or not. I then had to have a full-body scan to see if there were any remaining unusual cells in my body. I remember being on the table for an hour as the scanner passed over me, praying there would be no out-of-place green dots on the monitor.
The scans themselves were no big deal, but in preparation for the scan, I had to stop taking my synthroid for a few days. Synthroid is a synthetic replacement thyroid hormone. Without it, I become so fatigued I can hardly move, slightly depressed, and can’t concentrate on anything. And without for a few days, all I want to do is sleep. Needless to say, I was overjoyed when my doctor told me that I no longer had to come off my medication.
New treatment only required me to go into the hospital once a day for three days to receive an injection of Thyrogen®. After these injections, blood was drawn to test for any remaining cancer.
• Today
A few friends and I at the beginning of my party. Kudos to my sister Erin for taking the photo!
The only thing I have to worry about now are annual bone density scans. Because I have no thyroid gland and because I am a woman, I am at an increased risk for osteoporosis. But other than that…
I am finally cancer-free! In March 2009, my family threw a huge party in my honor. Friends and family celebrated and congratulated me. It was truly a night to remember. My best friend from Syracuse even flew down to Atlanta to celebrate with me.
And this year I have the distinct honor of speaking at the University of Georgia’s Relay for Life on April 23. I can’t wait to share my story and (hopefully) inspire others to keep up the fight!
Most importantly, though: I could not have done any of this without the incredible support from my family and friends. Medicine can only do so much. Having that support system is key to beating cancer, and I love my support system with all my heart.
