Then I asked myself, how would this apply to my life? What would be my “not enough”? Hiking the Swiss Alps when I was 18?
Sailing the turquoise waters of Alaska? Eating steak frites in that hidden gem Parisian cafe? Without provocation, my mind turned to cancer, a diagnosis I have had twice.
Apparently once wasn’t enough. In 2004, after my internist found a suspicious nodule on my thyroid, I was diagnosed with early-stage thyroid cancer. When I met with the surgeon, he placed a comforting hand on my shoulder.
In that moment I felt unacknowledged but I now understand why the doctor trivialized my 99% curable condition. Papillary carcinoma was, compared to other cancers, a piece of cake. It belonged in that bakery.
My thyroid was surgically removed. I was put on thyroid hormone replacement. A year later, I had one round of radioactive iodine followed by seven days of isolation.
I was bereft, seasick, and the treatment triggered extreme menopausal symptoms. Still, the doctors were right. Mine was the cancer to choose.
Extract — continue reading at the source.
