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.