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.

A lesson in patience

The theme of this summer is patience.

Oodles of patience.

Copious amounts of patience.
(Ok, I'll admit, redundant...but I just love the word copious)


Regardless, you get the idea.

I've always considered myself a reasonably patient person. I'm an elementary school teacher, I don't get upset in traffic and my father even occasionally asks to borrow a bit of my patience (this is a win:win situation, let me assure you).

All that being said, I am fairly certain that my "patient pants" are at the absolute bottom of my laundry basket and they need a major turn in the spin cycle.

When I think back to where I was in November-skeletal, unable to walk up a flight of stairs and totally lost as to what had gone wrong in my body-I have made tremendous progress. In fact, if you run into me today, I don't think you'd have any idea of the chaos that lies inside. I look normal, I sound normal and I can do relatively normal things. I have a couple of funny looking scars and a bedazzled frontal tail, but if you didn't know to look for those things, you may never even notice (unless of course, I start beeping and get escorted out of Target...details).

So yes, I am fully aware and incredibly grateful for the progress I have made and for the help I have had getting there.

It feels a bit like I decided to climb a giant mountain. I did a tremendous amount of research on what to bring, where to go and what to do in emergency situations. I set off at a sprint with my backpack full of everything I may need from the best climbing places in the world! I keep climbing and climbing and climbing and then OOF. I plant my feet firmly halfway up the mountain and take on the characteristics of a potted plant. (Ya know, needs to be watered and fed occasionally, but looks exactly the same and never moves a muscle).

And for the record, I would be an orchid. Or perhaps a gardenia.

So I'm waiting.

But what if this is it, my new and permanent normal?

I don't believe that it is. I can't believe that it is.

Besides, my good pal Dory always says to keep on swimming.

So I will.

I mean really, "I climbed half of the mountain and earned this bumper sticker!" is just much too long.

A classic case of organ rivalry...

Ladies and gentlemen, if you don't already wake up each morning and personally greet each and every one of your body parts, I suggest that you start doing so. As it turns out, body organs can get a little, well,  jealous if they aren't getting equal attention.

My thyroid was a little annoyed that my GI system had been getting so much attention and it staged a temper tantrum. A very large temper tantrum, I might add. I have Graves Disease (auto-immune disease that causes a hyperactive thyroid) but it had been in remission for a little over a year. Needless to say, it is no longer in remission and is back and means business.

In case you are unfamiliar with the workings of the thyroid, it controls how quickly the body uses energy (food) and makes proteins and it also determines how sensitive the body is to other hormones. The thyroid creates additional hormones that regulate your metabolism and affect the rate of function of many other systems in the body (how fast your heart beats, how many tears your eyes produce, etc).

As my dear pal Captain Obvious might add, when you already have significant "struggles" with metabolizing food, absorbing vitamins and getting your blood to flow...a thyroid issue isn't exactly ideal.

To say that my thyroid levels have reached hot-mess status is putting it mildly and my endocrinologist was a little aghast that I had not picked up on this sooner...until he realized that each and every symptom of Graves is a ramped up, yet plausible, symptom of something else going on in my body. Oops.

So for now, I wait (semi-patiently) and hope the medicine does its job in a timely fashion. In the mean-time, I get to spend some quality time with the Scorpion (my all-star dust buster....duh) as I suck up all of the hair that has fallen out of my head. Luckily for me, it is summer time and the ponytail is totally IN on the red carpet...phew.

I wonder if body organs can write a slip to meet with the counselor?

It might be time for conflict mediation...

Making a choice

Blog friends, I need to get something off of my chest.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.


I'm actually not a super hero.
(But if I was, I would have a fantastically long silver sequined cape. Just so we are clear.)


Throughout this entire health journey, I have been blown away by the outpouring of support from my family, friends, and people who read this blog who I have never even met. Absolutely, positively blown away. I have kept every single card I have received and as cheesy as it may sound, I read through them at least once a week. All of them. And what gets me every time, what really fills me up to the brim with awestruck and blessed emotion, is your faith in me.

Please don't misunderstand, those cards and blog comments are what has kept me going on the rough days and I don't even have words to express my most sincere gratitude. But if someone were to read them out of context, they would think they belonged to a super hero. Someone who has literally leapt over skyscrapers, ended the unemployment crisis and casually found a cure for cancer...none of which I have done, and while I'm extraordinarily grateful for your words, I feel rather undeserving.

Here's the thing: I'm a positive person. I find the sunny side, it's just what I do. But regardless of my personality and regardless of the degree of hot-mess in which my health situation resides and regardless of the state of the current weather, I know that I have a choice. Every. Single. Day.

I could dwell on the negative. The obstacles and hardships that I didn't see coming, and even the ones that I did. I could easily spend my day filling up to the brim with all of the terrible things going on in the world or how I want a piece of pizza or how I think I'm coming down with a cold and the store was out of kleenex with lotion. It's painfully easy to find the negative, but honestly, that's just miserable.

Or I can find the positive. I can acknowledge the negative and move on. I can be grateful for what I have, instead of what I am missing.

I'm not saying this is easy, if it was easy, I would be wearing that fantastic silver sequined cape. All I'm saying is that it is a choice that I try to make.

I recently started a volunteer position at a therapeutic riding facility. I have been wanting to try a volunteer job for awhile and I finally got the "go ahead" from the medical powers that be, as long as it was only once a week. I just felt like there was no way for me to get a reading on how I was doing, without actually trying to do anything (crazy logic, I know).

So today I spent three hours surrounded by horses and helping people build their strength and self esteem. I loved every minute of it and felt fulfilled in a way that has been lacking, more than I even realized. I was complimented on my backpack (duh, I told you feeding-tube-wear was making a comeback!) and I came home covered in sweat and dirt, with black fingernails and a giant smile on my face.

After I semi-reluctantly showered away my horsey-stench and sat down to a gourmet lunch of yogurt, pureed carrots and bread, I will admit that I had a moment of negativity. I spent three blissful hours feeling useful and happy, only to come home feeling like I got run over by a giant semi. I hurt, and I was mad, and my lower lip may have been protruding.

But I got over it. Yes, I have been popping tylenol to deal with my raging fever and aching back and head. Yes, I may or may not have fallen asleep not one, not two, but three times during the formation of this blog...and yes, I had a fantastic day.

I'm not a super hero, not in the slightest, I'm just doing my best to make a choice.

Although that cape would really be fantastic...

A milestone to be found

It's really rather amazing to reflect on how much we can accomplish in one year. In some ways, a year flies by. I have several friends who have children who are either almost a year old, or recently turned one, and I absolutely cannot believe it is already time for a birthday. In other ways, when we think about waiting a year to do something, it seems like an eternity (I mean, come on, whenever the summer ends and you go home from camp, you cannot even fathom waiting an entire year to go back).

I recently hit a year milestone myself and I must admit that I struggled a bit with what to make of it all. A year ago, I ran my first half marathon with a good friend. Knowing what I do now, it makes sense why  the race itself was such a struggle. I mean, the word on the street is that blood flow is somewhat essential to life. Details. At the time, I couldn't understand why it was so hard and I spent most of the latter part of the race beating myself up mentally. I had trained and followed the plan, but I still barely made it. (Strong emphasis on barely...I'm not entirely sure that my mother breathed a single breath during the entire race).


In any event, exactly a year later, I received a letter congratulating me for qualifying for long term disability. Well yippee skippee, I'm disabled for the long term! Let's frame this sucker and hang it right next to my graduate degree!

Jokes aside, I know deep down that it is both a good thing and the right thing. I've made a lot of progress, but I'm in no shape to go back to work yet and being on long term disability allows me to take time to continue healing.

But how on earth do you go from training for a half marathon to receiving a letter stating that you are disabled in a matter of 365 days? It's mind boggling. To say that it humbles you to be told, in writing, that you are disabled is putting it mildly.

So here is my question: If my life can turn upside down, inside out and backwards in a year...then why can't it turn right-side up, right-side out and forwards in another year? Even in a matter of months, I have improved my strength tremendously and I don't plan on stopping here. I am on the continuous quest to add nutrition back into my restricted diet and mark my words, this lovely feeding accessory will not see the light of 2013. I'm not expecting miracles here and although it would be nice to wake up tomorrow completely healthy, it is not a thought I choose to dwell on.

So here is my pledge, typed out for all to see. In May of 2013, I'm going to set a new milestone. I don't really know what I'll do or how I'll get there, but I am going to give new meaning to the month of May, no matter if I am disabled or not.

All I'm really saying is that I think I can turn this ship around. I'll never be able to return to the same port, but I know there is an equally lovely dock to be found.

Adding a little color

Since my confirmation of gastroparesis in April, I have been on a mission to improve my diet. As a complete health nut, spending over a year eating mostly white carbohydrates and sugar was more than long enough, and I am ready to have some color back in my diet (and no, the variety pack of gummy bears doesn't count...rats). As I have embarked upon this giant scavenger hunt, I keep reluctantly returning to one staple ingredient: baby food. Yes friends, despite the fact that I am now closer to 50 than I am to infancy, I can't seem to escape the miniature jars of puree.

I do a pretty decent job of incorporating fruit into my diet with applesauce and smoothies, but veggies are another matter. I do make a mean green smoothie, but even that gets old after awhile and I have finally come to terms with the fact that carrot juice and I are just NOT meant to be friends...which leads me back to the little jars. I mean, if you think about it, at one point in time, the green goop in the jar really was fresh, ripe peas off the vine...right?

Let me assure you that I cannot eat the stuff right out of the jar. I mean, I haven't completely lost ALL of my dignity (ya know, just 99.9% or so). However...apple-carrot puree in yogurt? Pureed spinach on toast? Either they are really not that bad, or my taste buds are really that much out of practice. (More likely the latter, based on my husband's terrified expressions, but I choose not to analyze.) Oh and a note to my future children: If you ever look back and read this post, feel free to thank me for completely taste-testing the entire organic baby food section of the grocery store. I promise I will never feed you sweet pea and potato. It's disgusting. Smooches.

In any event, my quest for color has taken me galavanting around to several grocery stores this week, which has provided for some, well, colorful commentary.

Take, for example, my first trip to Safeway:

Check out lady (eyeing my basket full of miniature jars): "Oh! How old is your little one?"

(See, if I was smart, this is where I would say "6 months!" or however old kids are when they start electively eating green goop, but alas, no such luck.)


Me: "Oh, actually they are for me. I have some pretty strict dietary restrictions."

Check out lady: "Oh...well...that's kind of a weird fetish, but whatever makes you happy!"

Me: "Um...right?"


Moving on, I took a trip to Wegmans later in the week:

Teenage bagger: "WOW! Is that a feeding tube?! I've never seen one before, that is SO cool!!!"

Me: "Um...thanks?"

(I mean, I don't want to deny myself a compliment, and he could have been reacting to my overwhelming celebrity status I suppose...)




Last, but not least, no scavenger hunt of any kind is complete without a trip to Target:

Check out lady: "Hi, did you find everything you needed today?"

Me: "Yes, thanks so much."

[Cue loud and obnoxious beeping alarm that causes every single person in the check out area of Target to jump, turn and stare at me. The security guard appears and heads my way.]

(Again, if I was smart, I would calmly turn off my tube alarm and proceed as if nothing happened. Instead, I feel the need to state the exact cause of the problem.)


Me: "Oops, nothing to worry about, it's just an air bubble!"

(Right, because clearly the general public knows exactly how feeding tubes work)


[Cue increase in terrified expressions that someone could actually have alarm-inducing flatulence.]

Me: "I mean in my tube! My feeding tube! The bubble is IN the tube!" (and other such panicked ramblings)

Security Guard: "Everything ok here ma'am?"

Me: "Yes sir, everything is fine. My feeding tube alarm just went off."

Security Guard: "I see." (But just to be sure, I'll follow you down the aisle and out the door. I mean, can't be too sure with those suspicious looking tube-feeders.)


Fear not, my jars and I made it home just fine.

According to the package, I can start incorporating the vegetable puree into my diet when I am sitting independently and showing excitement when presented with food.

Gerber, a word with you about that excitement part?