As I sit in front of my computer monitor on the eve of Thanksgiving, I want to say that I am thankful that I am alive. There were two pivotal points in my life within the past 8 years in which dying was a real possiblity.
In the Fall of 2004 in the examination room, my primary care doctor could have not continued to listen to me after I pointed my finger at him and told him he had to figure out what was wrong with me and that I didn't care what the results of the tests were. I could not continue my life the way it was. Unbeknownst to everyone, the cancer was growing front to back and starting to infiltrate bone. My thyroid was riddled with it and because of that I was gaining weight, my hair was falling out, my skin was a mess, I slept through my weekends, and was in a brain fog. He ordered an ultrasound and voila!
Last year around this time I could have believed my original endocrinologist that the cancer was not growing even though the annual testing said otherwise. It could have multiplied past the 12 lymph nodes removed in May of this year and become inoperable. My new endocrinologist had it right. And so did the surgeon.
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