Just keep on keeping on...

Well friends, after another round of extensive and wildly humiliating GI testing, I have both good news and...well...challenging news (it seems depressing to call it bad persay).

The good news? Physiologically, my tests come back normal.

Yes, normal! A word I haven't heard in a loooooong time.

Normal means that, albeit slowly, my body is healing. Technically speaking, no part of my GI system is actually paralyzed anymore and the damage from the virus is very slowly reversing itself.

The challenging news? My nervous system doesn't seem to care that physiologically, my body has resumed working.

Right. Extra special, as per usual.

Your GI system is actually fascinatingly complex. When we think of the GI system, we generally think of eating and, well, ridding ourselves of that food from the other end. Turns out, the GI system actually has its very own nervous system, that works on its own, without much assistance from the brain. 90% of your body's serotonin lies in your gut...hence you feel so satisfied and happy after a bite of your dessert of choice.

My body has gone through a lot and the combination of a debilitating virus, a bobo thyroid, malnutrition, tube feelings and a disgustingly long line of trial pharmaceuticals has left my body with one heck of a case of visceral hypersensitivity. As I've mentioned before, visceral hypersensitivity is kind of like PTSD of the nervous system. Basically when your body has gone through so much trauma, it shuts the doors in an attempt to protect itself from any further damage. This is just one of the many ways that our body is so amazing and on its own, decides to protect what had already been so compromised.

The tricky part, is convincing your body that it's safe to open the doors again, and that, my friends, is where I am stuck.

I'm stuck, because, it doesn't actually matter what I eat, my body doesn't want it. It doesn't want new medicine or new clothes or cleaning products. It doesn't want anything but to be left alone.

Minor problem that you actually need nutrients to survive. Details.

So while it's wonderfully heart warming and exciting that my system is healing, it's also a bit of a tease.

Bottom line is that I have to be patient. Like it or not, my body is going to heal on its own terms, and all I can do is continue to do everything in my power to be as healthy as possible. I'll continue to exercise daily and get enough rest. I'll continue to juice every fruit and vegetable I can get my hands on and track down to the most minute detail, every calorie that I ingest. I made the Olympic team for healthy living, but I don't have much to show for my hard work quite yet.

And above all, I'll continue to cross every finger and toe, that the eviction of my thyroid is the true reset button that my body has been waiting for. Seems a little bizarre to be semi-enthusiastic about recovering from losing a vital organ, but hey, I'm just spicing it up a bit.

Until then friends, just keep on keeping on...I'm not going to win the gold but I may just make the podium yet.

Eviction Notice Served

Well friends, I've only been here in Rochester for a little over 36 hours, but it didn't take long for my thyroid to be officially given notice of its future eviction. When we left Virginia, I warned my dear organ that it would likely not be making the return trip...turns out my thyroid outsmarted me, again. My thyroid will be evicted...but not until August 8th.

Ya know, just in case the hubby and I couldn't get enough of Minnesota this week.

Before you get rid of your thyroid, you have to basically prevent it from doing anything. Turns out the thyroid doesn't do well with surprises, and needs ten days of thrice-daily iodine before it will semi-willingly consent to eviction. Iodine slows the vascular capabilities of the thyroid and reduces the inflammation and amount of thyroid hormones in your body, thus preparing it for surgery.

So starting Monday, I'll be hanging out with a miniature bottle of iodine three times a day. Get. Excited.

In other news, my feeding tube decided to clog...but I must admit, it had excellent timing. If your feeding tube is going to break, 12 hours prior to its removal is probably the most ideal.

After our flight was delayed by 5 hours, I could only slow the tube so much and it loudly announced that it was finished with about 10 minutes left in our flight (cue massive turn of heads when loud beeping sound erupts from the window seat). Not wanting to scar the world by cleaning my frontal tail in the aiport sink, I headed into a stall with a bottle of water and a syringe, expecting a quick clean-up.

Instead, I opened the tube and formula exploded everywhere, leading to the hasty retreat of the feet on either side of my stall. Surprised, I figured I would finish the cleaning job before dealing with the floor...which sounded like a good plan, until the attempt to irrigate the tube with water yielded an even larger explosion. Typical of the bathroom closest to the arrival of passengers, there was a rather lengthy line by this point, which prompted several heads to peak under the stall and loudly express their confusion as to why my feet were, in fact, facing the toilet.

Yes, you are in the women's restroom, I promise.

Mind you, throughout this entire procedure, the darling automated flusher on the toilet did some toilet cleansing about every ten seconds, further confusing the line of ladies crossing their legs. Suffice to say, when I finally emerged covered in sprays of formula and clutching a dripping IV bag, everyone cleared out of my path to the sink. So attractive.

Fear not, this moment of formula-spewing disaster did not prevent me from greeting the paparazzi. The next morning, I delighted the crowds with a photo shoot of my tail, before and after tube change. You may recall that I'm allergic to silver nitrate, the typical cautery agent used around tubes, so when I get a new tube, they use an electric cautery tool to burn the skin around my stoma (God bless anesthesia). Turns out the medical fashion experts like the results better and are looking to switch to this method for every lucky tube owner. Don't worry, I already inquired about my royalties.

In the meantime, while I wait for my face on the cover of Fortune Magazine, the next few days will be filled with an assortment of GI tests and appointments. The hubs and I will head home on Tuesday and then return again a week later for some neck sculpting and organ feng shui work.

Does 12 weeks in Minnesota during one year qualify you as a resident?

Perhaps I should run for mayor.

Arnold said it best...

With respect to Arnold Schwarzenegger...

"It's not a tumah"

Ok fine, technically it is still a tumor, but you can't hear the word "tumor" and NOT take the opportunity to quote Kindergarten Cop. I mean, come on.

More importantly, it's not a malignant tumor.

I went in for my needle biopsy with ultrasound this afternoon. I wouldn't rank the experience as something I would like to repeat, but it certainly could have been worse. First I met the pathologist and radiologist who admired my "largely heterogeneous" thyroid via ultrasound (hey, I'm just trying to diversify the place). Then they asked me if I was ready, did their needle thing and left me for the five longest minutes of my life to determine the adjective that would describe my tumor.

Sidenote: Why, oh why, do medical professionals insist on asking if you are ready or even worse, why do they break out the backwards counting? I mean, come on, no one will ever be willingly ready for a giant needle to plunge into his/her neck. So please, I beg of you, don't count or feel the need to assess my preparedness. If I'm lying on the table, I know what's coming. Smooches!


So I lay on the table applying pressure to my neck and waiting for the pathologist to return. Five excruciating minutes later, he opened the door and said, "It looks benign."

He said some other things too about inflammation and good gracious Graves disease...but I was just hanging on the word BENIGN.

Now, I have to be honest friends. I am, obviously, relieved beyond compare that I don't have cancer...but there is also a heavy sense of guilt. How did I get so lucky when countless fabulously wonderful deserving people are not given similar news? I feel a bit like I cheated on a test and got away with it.

Yes, I've spent the last two days worrying my face off (but trying to pretend that I wasn't) and researching treatments for thyroid cancer. Sure, it hasn't been what I would call enjoyable...but it was only two days. People spend YEARS with that worry and I want to take a moment to honor their strength and perseverance.

In any event, my darling thyroid is not exactly attractive-it has been causing major problems, and growing Timmy the Tumor didn't help its reputation...so it is likely going to be given a permanent time-out shortly. My growing fan base in Minnesota has requested a return trip, so I will be heading out to Mayo in a little over a week for some deep cleansing (new feeding tube), cocktails (anesthesia), social events (doctors appointments) and likely, some body art (thyroid surgery). What a vacation!

Fear not Mayo, again Arnold says it best, "I'll be back."

Welp, didn't see THAT coming...

I always envisioned that the first time I came home with my very own ultrasound pictures, they would hold images of an adorable little baby-to-be and I would gleefully post them on the fridge.

Welp, scratch that.

In fairness, before I scratch that idea entirely, I must admit that I did get about a third of what I envisioned. I did come home with my very own ultrasound pictures. However, they don't show a baby and the glee factor was seriously lacking. 

In fact, all they show is my very own tumor. Just hanging out, waiting to be noticed.

Yep, a tumor. A tumor in my thyroid. 

Ya know, just in case I was getting bored...

I will have a needle biopsy of the tumor later this week and then my doctors and I will plan my treatment from there. The good news is that about 90% of thyroid tumors are benign and thyroid surgery is relatively routine. I will definitely have to have my thyroid removed regardless of the outcome, but any additional treatment depends on the biopsy results.

I better add "giant needle coming at my neck" to my bucket list so I can cross it off later this week. And on the bright side, the scar on my neck is pumped, because now there will be another neck slasher scar for it to hang out with. Most importantly, it will increase my ability to tell "I fought off a ninja" stories. Sweet.

So there you have it friends, out of left field and into the starting lineup.

I mean, sheesh, if you wanted more blog posts, all you had to do was ask.