I sat in the doctor’s waiting room, wringing my hands and staring at the door. Not even reading a book could distract me and settle my nerves. When I finally got into the doctor’s office, I was given the results of my tests and they confirmed that there are several masses on my thyroid and parathyroid, which is the reason I’ve been feeling so rotten. My thyroid is also enlarged and I have a low red blood cell count – not a great sign. I’ve been put on half days at work, and if you can remember how I stir crazy I got after my knee surgery, you know that I go insane when I have that much time off.
I’ve had more bloodwork done this month than seeems humanly possible, and my arms are rapidly becoming comparable to a intravenous drug addict’s. But when I received the news, you would probably have looked at me and thought I was fine. Seconds later, I cracked.
I’ve been booked in with a surgeon and endochrinologist on May 30th and from there, surgery will be arranged to remove the troublesome little organ. Only then will we know if it’s cancerous or not. But as I deal with this, and as I got back into my car from the doctor’s office, I’m reminded that I am alone. This fact was only reiterated by the doctor, who said, “Kelly, this would be much easier if you stayed back home with your family and postponed this move to deal with your health first.”
I should like to reiterate that had I known that my thyroid would be using my body as it’s own personal punching bag, I would have thought twice about leaving my whole life behind. At the time, it hadn’t been that out of whack. I was functioning well and working hard. And to be honest, I thought that I was just pushing myself too hard with school, work, blogging, leaving the military, moving across the country, leaving my family…you know, all that easy stuff.
As usual, when I am worried or upset, I call my family. I listened to the practical and medical advice from my mom, a nurse, who detailed the process of the surgery and the recovery time. I listened to my dad, who assured me that he would be here in a second if his “Moo” needed him. And to call as soon as I hear any more updates (and when I say ‘as soon as’, he literally means as I’m walking out the door from the appointment – yes, my parents are wonderful). I listened to Mark, whose silence was both reassuring yet scary. I dislike the distance – I want him here to help me, to hold me and make me feel better. I want my family and friends. I don’t want to be alone. Most of all, I don’t want to be sick.
My long weekend is going to be spent with friends. We’re going out for a great dinner and some drinks. Maybe dance to a song or two if I can muster up the energy. I’m going to a spa for a manicure and pedicure on Sunday and then probably, a laze on my balcony with a glass of wine, basking in the sun. For one weekend, I’m going to try and pretend that none of this is happening, and this isn’t my life. But I also realize that I have a great family that I can call when I’m hurting, and I realize that being me isn’t so bad after all.