It hit me earlier: today makes one full year that I've been a cancer survivor.
It's no small potatoes.
I met with my new endocrinologist today, and I think I'm really going to like her. We drew another tumor marker to see if it's still going up. I told her that I've been feeling a new lump in my throat when I swallow, but thankfully she couldn't feel anything when she mashed around.
We should hear about the lab we drew today (thyroglobulin) early next week. After that comes back we will start to plan towards my third radioactive Iodine treatment (RAI). We'll schedule another PET scan. I'll be going off of my Synthroid and moving to the shorter-acting thyroid supplementation for four weeks before going cold turkey for a couple of weeks before the RAI dose. You'll again get to read about the horrors of eating the low Iodine diet and hypothyroid constipation. Try to hold your enthusiasm; there's plenty of poo to write about until then.
The third time is a charm. Even as a kid I waited until at least "2 1/2" to stop whatever I was doing that prompted Dad to count to three. So I'm thinking that these stubborn cells will get zapped and not know what hit them this time. If, after the third treatment, my thyroglobulin does not go down to zero, The Hater and I will have to go see the big-wigs at MD Anderson. We don't particularly want to do that, so when the time comes we'll mobilize the prayer troupes and call forth the healing powers of good vibrations.
It's been a year, and I wish I could say that it's over, but we're just not there yet. Tonight I'm celebrating with chocolate.
Enjoying: One Painted Hand
10 hours ago