A couple of weeks ago, I mentioned that my Jaxie doctor found and an ultrasound confirmed a 2.5 cm nodule on the right lobe of my thyroid. I was referred out to the only local endocrinologist. My appointment wasn’t until July 13th (6 weeks out from the date of my referral).
Well, I’ve been counting the days until my appointment, almost jumping out of my skin from anxiety. I hadn’t really noticed any symptoms before the nodule was found, except possibly some fatigue and mental fuzziness. Before the nodule, I put that down to the sauna that is a Georgia summer, or allergies, or being in grad school. Now, I wonder. For about a week after the nodule, I felt really rotten; extremely tired, headachy, and nauseated. Finally, the headache broke last Thursday, and since then, I have been exhausted, with extreme afternoon drowsiness. I almost fell asleep driving the other day, even; I just felt like I couldn’t keep my eyes open!
So, yesterday, I was fed up. What’s the deal with waiting six stinkin’ weeks to get a nodule biopsied—if they’ll even do that the first appointment? Why do we only have one endocrinologist in town? Surely, that’s not right?! So, I called the endo to be put on the waiting list for a sooner appointment. I was very polite, but perhaps my desperation came through because they called me back a few hours later to offer me an appointment this week. The squeaky wheel has gotten the oil, perhaps? Well, no matter. I go tomorrow, bag of meds and insurance card in hand. Hopefully, the doc will go ahead and do a biopsy, then, I can do whatever needs to be done.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Noduly Thyroid, Batman!
I am writing this instead of working. . .
Last Friday, I went to the Jaxie doctor for to get the yearly Jaxie check up, when what to her wandering hands should appear but a great big lump on the neck of your dear (blogger). I was referred in for an ultrasound, which I had yesterday. And it appears that I have a 2.5 cm (which, thanks to my knitting background, I know is approximately 1 inch) nodule on my thyroid. Off to the endocrinologist for yours truly, on July 13.
Yes, I’m writing all big and brave, but I tend to handle stress with humor (or attempted humor, anyway). Truth is, I’m scared and nervous. I’ve been 37 years on this glorious old mudball, and the worst health problem I’ve had to date is some broken toes when I was a kid. I’ve never been very sick. I had mono—but who didn’t? And that’s the extent of my personal brushes with illness and injury. Probably, this nodule is nothing, but, then again, it could be. . . you know. . .the “C” word (and not the “C” word that truckers and sailors like to shout, either).
Being the stone-cold researcher that I am, I’ve spent a lot of time looking up thyroid nodules on the Internet (you know, rather than, like, working). It’s a bad idea, I know. Most of the information is encouraging, yet some of it isn’t, and I don’t have enough information yet about my own thyroid nodule to judge if I should be encouraged or not. Better to write it out than research it and hyperventilate.
Sometimes, I must circle in on an idea, approach it obliquely, live with it awhile, own it--then I can let it go, or at least accept it. I don’t want to be negative and think this is definitely. . .the “C” word, but nor yet do I want to deny the possibility that it could be. Hope for the best and prepare for the worst, a clichéd motto that may or may not be advisable, but, well, at least it’s rational.
Last Friday, I went to the Jaxie doctor for to get the yearly Jaxie check up, when what to her wandering hands should appear but a great big lump on the neck of your dear (blogger). I was referred in for an ultrasound, which I had yesterday. And it appears that I have a 2.5 cm (which, thanks to my knitting background, I know is approximately 1 inch) nodule on my thyroid. Off to the endocrinologist for yours truly, on July 13.
Yes, I’m writing all big and brave, but I tend to handle stress with humor (or attempted humor, anyway). Truth is, I’m scared and nervous. I’ve been 37 years on this glorious old mudball, and the worst health problem I’ve had to date is some broken toes when I was a kid. I’ve never been very sick. I had mono—but who didn’t? And that’s the extent of my personal brushes with illness and injury. Probably, this nodule is nothing, but, then again, it could be. . . you know. . .the “C” word (and not the “C” word that truckers and sailors like to shout, either).
Being the stone-cold researcher that I am, I’ve spent a lot of time looking up thyroid nodules on the Internet (you know, rather than, like, working). It’s a bad idea, I know. Most of the information is encouraging, yet some of it isn’t, and I don’t have enough information yet about my own thyroid nodule to judge if I should be encouraged or not. Better to write it out than research it and hyperventilate.
Sometimes, I must circle in on an idea, approach it obliquely, live with it awhile, own it--then I can let it go, or at least accept it. I don’t want to be negative and think this is definitely. . .the “C” word, but nor yet do I want to deny the possibility that it could be. Hope for the best and prepare for the worst, a clichéd motto that may or may not be advisable, but, well, at least it’s rational.
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