This has been QUITE the year–so many beginnings and endings, new chapters, old chapters. I can’t believe a year a go I still had a thyroid (hah), lived in southern California, was finishing school and beginning cycling training. An incredible amount of change has occurred in the last twelve months, and I have changed because of it.
This new year holds a lot of question in regards to job, school, location, health, etc. I am ready for the next chapter to take shape, whatever it may be. I am ready to make new connections, travel, venture into the unknown, no matter how fearful it may be.
I pray that I learn to listen harder and speak less. I pray that I learn to sacrifice more for the sake of others. I pray that I respond to the needs of the people around me more readily. I pray that I remain patient through the uncertainty and constant change. Above all, though, I pray that I learn to love more purely and that I can share this love with those around me.
Below marks some of the most influential and memorable moments of 2012. Seeing the progression of events throughout the year was pretty humbling for me.
JANUARY
Jan. 3: Began bike training with new bike and gear
Jan. 7-8: Wunderpit Reunion, Las Vegas
Jan. 15: Disneyland with Kim
FEBRUARY
Feb. 4: RCC 2012 Age Outs
Feb. 17-19: Syracuse Law School visit (Syracuse, New York)
MARCH
March 8-11: Visit Chicago
(John Marshall and Chicago-Kent law school visits;
Sean and Warren come up from Indy)
APRIL
April 9:Southern California Percussion Alliance (SCPA) Champions
April 13:RCC Potluck!
April 21: Became World Guard International (WGI)
Independent World Gold Medalists
(Dayton, Ohio)
April 29: La Jolla with Jenna and Nick
MAY
May 4: SMU “Passing the Baton” Dinner
May 5: Wunderchen party
May 10: RCC Banquet
(Gold drum head from Remo; “Outstanding Performer” 🙂 )
May 12: Matt and Jessica Regua’s Wedding
May 15: Senior Dinner
May 16: Presented our book The Dominican Dream,
to Albert Pujols and prayed with him before his game.
May 18: Cycled my first century (100 miles!)
May 19: Last SMU MarCom meeting, Downtown Disney
May 23: Epsilon Kappa Epsilon induction ceremony
(Less than the top 5% of our graduating class)
May 26: Graduated Summa Cum Laude from Biola University
B.A. in Journalism and minor in biblical and theological studies
May31: Last day working for
University Communications and Marketing at Biola.
JUNE
June 7: Disneyland’s Cars Land staff preview with roommate Kim!
June 8: San Diego Zoo with Jenna
June 9: Goodbye dinner with RCC friends
June 12-14: Drove my car with dad from Fullerton, California to Chicago, Illinois.
June 16: Amy and Luke’s wedding (Greenfield, Indiana)
June 20: Signed the lease to our apartment downtown Chicago!
June 23: Erik and Casey’s wedding (Gurnee, Illinois)
June 30: “Zoolander” on the lawn with Amanda.
Food trucks and free popcorn! (Los Angeles, CA)
JULY
July 1: Pam’s wedding, the older lady I watched Colt’s football with
every Sunday for three years (Fullerton, California)
July 12-23: IJM Freedom Tour
Cycled from Cincinnati, OH to Washington D.C. to raise awareness and support for
International Justice Mission (IJM) and their fight against modern-day slavery.
AUGUST
Aug. 7: Shelbey visits Chicago!
Aug. 11: Holly and Grant’s wedding (Big Bear, California)
Aug. 16: Diagnosed with thyroid cancer
Aug. 20: First day of law school orientation.
I sat down with the Dean and made the difficult decision to defer school for medical reasons.
Aug. 31: Complete thyroidectomy and neck dissection surgery.
Confirmed diagnosis of papillary carcinoma.
SEPTEMBER
Sept. 7: Stitches removed.
Sept: 28: Visited Melissa at school in Grand Rapids, Michigan:
watched the lanterns float over the river as part of Art Prize.
Sept 29: Fall activities, pumpkin carving and low-iodine cooking.
OCTOBER
Oct: 17-25: Radiation therapy.
Quarantined for eight days in Uncle Steve’s room with strict diet.
Oct. 21: Dad visits from California,
even though I am quarantined and not able to leave my room or be near people.
He eats dinner with me on the edge of my quarantine room.
Oct. 26: Free from quarantine and drive to Indianapolis!
I was able to see my mom, brother and sister-in-law for dinner.
Oct. 27: Reece and Marcie’s wedding.
Oct. 28-29: Hospitalized with difficulty breathing.
NOVEMBER
Nov. 22: Thanksgiving
DECEMBER
Dec. 19-21: Visit Joey, Sally and baby
Dec. 23-27: California Christmas with mom and dad
Dec. 30: Cheesie’s and downtown adventures with Craig
In his book Love Does, Bob Goff writes a short chapter about his experience hitchhiking from San Diego to San Francisco. He mentions the ease of his journey from San Diego to Santa Barbara, but then he was stuck there more than a day on the side of a highway.
Now, Goff said before he would normally get in the car with anyone, he would ask them, “Where are you headed?” and decide from that answer if he would get in the car. After a day of waiting, however, he jumped in the first vehicle that pulled aside for him and failed to ask this vital question. He was too anxious to keep moving forward.
Long story short, the guy was creepy and even called himself “Satan.” Goff eventually got out of the car and waited for someone new to come along, though a bit skeptical now. He found a ride with a woman headed to San Francisco, and was put to rest when she said the black box in the back of her beat up station wagon was for her harp (she was playing music for a wedding).
Why do I tell you think story? Well, Goff continues:
We have a lot more power to decide who we do life with than some people think…What I’ve decided is a pretty good idea is to just ask people where they’re going before you get in with them. If they aren’t heading where you want to end up, just wait in the ice plant by the highway a little while longer. (p.118-119)
I think this is a beautiful reminder. As I get older, I find myself naturally asking the question, “Where are you headed?” before entering into any relationship, whether it be a friendship or romantic relationship. It may seem a little stifling, but I believe it is healthy to ask this question and to wait to invest your heart into relationships until you find those people(or that person) you can head in the same direction with.
If anything, I believe each of us can benefit from answering the question:
Sometimes I have so many thoughts and want to write eloquently about them, but get overwhelmed by all I wish to say, so I don’t write at all. Weeks will go by, and I’ll wish I had taken the time to sort through it all.
Normally I sleep like a baby on planes, but last night, even though I was completely exhausted, I couldn’t seem to rest, so I figured it was time to write.
I spend a lot of time alone these days. I have always enjoyed alone time, but I admit, it can be pretty isolating when you’re living in a new city and being alone is not chosen, but instead imparted on you. When you’re pushing through recovery, it can be overwhelming emotionally to be alone for long periods of time. You notice the details of how different your body feels, and it is an impressive mind-game not to obsess over each change.
I recently read somewhere that it is easy to look in retrospect and see how God moved in the past, but it is harder to take time to acknowledge how he’s moving now. However, I believe this has been my biggest hope and prayer over the last several months, since being diagnosed with cancer. With each day, I find myself reverting back to questions of how I see God moving in the littlest details, and I am reminded of His presence.
I feel so close to Him these days.
However, I have also realized the danger of glamorizing suffering, and downplaying it. Pain exists in the world, and it is a result of the broken world we live in. It reminds us that the world is not as it should be, and points to the need for a Redeemer.
With this in mind, I have learned the importance of calling suffering for what it is and not reverting to what Tullian Tchividjian in his book Glorious Ruin says is the “Oprah” approach—always recounting suffering only for the good that resulted.
While I agree that character is shaped and relationships can be strengthened through suffering, placing suffering in a category that states its existence is always for a greater good, is dangerous. Suffering is painful, and I pray we can approach suffering by first acknowledging that frankly, well, it hurts. This is something I have been learning.
I naturally want to showcase the good in what I am facing and sometimes forget to face these difficult situations honestly. Facing suffering head on and initially calling it for what it is, has been essential for my understanding of the world we live in and why I place my hope in Christ, the Redeemer. I am thankful for that.
I find this year I am humbled and overwhelmed by the season of Advent—the season of expectation—and Christmas. In the wake of suffering and this season of my life, the birth of Jesus, the Redeemer of all that is broken, holds a truer meaning.
While this seems to be a heavy post, I assure you that it is because I am so deeply impacted by Jesus’ presence and guidance during this season of my life. I can truly say he is walking beside me. There will come a day when pain and suffering will cease and all that is broken will be restored and made new. This is all I can think about heading into Christmas and the New Year, and it brings me great joy.
This week I met with two endocrinologists to begin regulation of my thyroid medication. I mentioned in the last post that I was concerned that I had reached a “new normal,” but this week gave me hope.
My blood work showed my TSH level at 3.389, which as I said before, is in the normal range of 0.5-5.0. When I received these results before going to the endocrinologists, I was very discouraged, because I still don’t feel “normal,” and I have several hypothyroid symptoms that remain. I didn’t think they would increase my medication like I’ve been praying for. Increased medication = more energy, higher metabolism, etc.
Below is a chart that explains a little bit better the difference between hypothyroidism and hyperthyroidism. Since I’ve had my thyroid removed, I was immediately hypothyroid and regulating medication is trying to get to the norm which is between hypo and hyper.
;
What I learned this week, however, is that even though this TSH level would be acceptable for anyone with good health history, it is not acceptable for anyone with thyroid cancer. The goal with any thyroid cancer patient is to get the TSH as low as possible so that the thyroid cells, cancerous or not, are not encouraged to grow. In order to lower a TSH level, thyroid hormone medication must increase. Which means victory! ha 🙂
Endocrinologist 1
I met with the first endocrinologist on Tuesday. I have not had a good experience with this doctor, and I have been seeing him since the day of surgery. Unfortunately, he has always left me feeling like more of an inconvenience than anything else. Every time I go to see him, I have to tell him why I am there and where we are in the process.
When I unexpectedly was in the hospital for two days because I was having trouble breathing, the hospital told me to see my endocrinologist a couple days after I was released to tell him all that happened and see if he had any input. The office didn’t sense my urgency when I called to make an appointment, and I had to practically beg to have an appointment even five days after I was released. When I went to that appointment, my doctor started with, “so, it looks like I told you we would meet in four weeks, why did you come so early?” He made me feel very foolish for making an appointment with him addressing concerns of breathing difficulty before our next scheduled visit. He finished with, “You’ll be fine.”
This week, he didn’t remember that he had ordered blood work for me to start regulating my thyroid. I had to ask if he got the faxed results, which he somehow misplaced, and then tell him what they were. In any event, he gave me the first glimmer of hope by telling me he would increase my dosage from .125 to .137 mics. I was thankful for any sort of increase because I desperately want my energy back and to be seeing results from going to the gym daily, as opposed to working so hard to maintain the weight I have.
Endocrinologist 2
I had scheduled another endocrinologist appointment for the day after this one, in hopes of finding a doctor that I have a better rapport with and someone who I can trust. I am very happy to say that I had a great appointment with this new doctor, and I will be seeing him from this point on. He intently listened when I told him the hypothyroid symptoms I’m still having (which ideally will be solved with correct dosage) and responded to my concerns with grace.
The best part is that he didn’t believe the increase from .125 to .137 was sufficient for someone who has no thyroid, thyroid cancer and continuing hypothyroidism. So, he increased my dosage up to .150 mics and said he wouldn’t be surprised if I end up getting bumped all the way up to .175. I’m so thankful I chose to seek out another doctor, because this adjustment will be instrumental in getting closer and closer to feeling the way I did before surgery.
While it will take up to six weeks to see the complete effects of having higher medication, just the knowledge that my body is getting more help is giving me hope to press forward. I’ve been reading a lot lately about how God promises to make us new. He doesn’t look at us in shambles and shake his head in disappointment. He draws near, taking our brokenness, our pain, our sorrow and making something new, something beautiful.
“See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness
and streams in the wasteland.”
It’s been three months since my thyroid was completely removed and now I take a little pill in the morning to replace it. Science is pretty awesome, isn’t it?
I started the thyroid medication six weeks a go, after radiation treatment, and yesterday I had blood work done to check my levels.The goal now is to regulate the medication and make sure my body is getting the right amount of supplementation. Because it takes awhile for the drug to accumulate, they only check your blood every six weeks to make adjustments.
I’ve been anxiously waiting for this first blood draw so that we can get closer to regulation and closer to me feeling like I did before any of this started. I received the results today, and it was bitter-sweet to hear that my levels are directly in the middle of the “normal” range. Now, chemically this is a success, and I am not belittling this small victory. However, I admit that I was disheartened, because I still feel far from normal.
I was looking forward to getting the results back and seeing a high TSH level, so that they could increase my dosage. This would inherently increase my energy and decrease the side-effects of not having enough thyroid hormone (hypothyroid). However, since the levels came back “normal,” will they be able to do anything about these symptoms? Is this the new normal?
It’s hard to think that things may never fully return to the way they were before August 31, 2012. However, I know that it is still only three months post-surgery and only a month after radiation. I hope that my body still hasn’t fully accumulated the thyroid medication and that with a few more months, I’ll continue to see improvement. It’s so much more of a mental and emotional struggle now, because I’ve adapted to how I feel.
In any event, I’ve learned how to function in this state, and I don’t think anyone can ever really detect that anything is slightly obscure. I can put in a good hour and a half at the gym each morning and crank through what would be a normal business day with success. Most evenings I spend low-key, and I fall asleep pretty early and fast.
I’ve been applying to jobs and internships and truly looking forward to something panning out. I have been doing a lot of soul-searching the past few months, especially in regards to vocation. In any event, I can’t wait to learn in a work place again. I’m ready and eager mentally, and my body will follow suit eventually. All I know is that wherever I am the next year (or five), Jesus will be there, too. I am searching my heart to be closer to his, and in that sacred space, fear is relinquished and assurance is granted.
“And when each of us looks back at all the turns and folds God has allowed in our lives, I don’t think it looks like a series of folded-over mistakes and do-overs that have shaped our lives. Instead, I think we’ll conclude in the end that maybe we’re all a little like human origami and the more creases we have, the better.” Bob Goff, Love Does
If I’ve learned anything the past few months, it is that there is no way to plan life. This may seem like an obvious conclusion, but I believe to some degree we are all guilty of assuming it is possible. I had done a pretty excellent job believing I could pull off a fully planned early-twenties life until now. I spent two years of undergrad studying for the LSAT, applying to law schools, sifting through acceptances and planing every course of the next ten years of my life. I graduated from Biola University, packed my car and moved across the country to start school.
The plan was to go to law school and after some years of experience, land my dream job at International Justice Mission to fight global human trafficking at a legal level.
Then I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer.
Four days before school started.
Really?
For this Type-A, passionate life-planner, the worst part of dealing with cancer has been the inconvenience of it. Life stopped. Lame.
I talked with my professors and doctors about what it would look like to be in school and go through surgery and treatment. I think they were all a little confused as to why I was even considering doing both. To me, however, it was the only option. After all, it was the plan!
One of my favorite “welcome to reality” conversations was over the phone with my ENT after I met with him to talk about surgery. Anyone who has talked to me during this process knows that my ENT is now one of my favorite people. His Indian accent and no-nonsense, yet compassionate spirit makes me happy. He rocks.
He called me and said (in his fantastic accent):
Lydia, my secretary said you scheduled surgery on Friday so you would have the weekend to recover and be back in school on Monday?! Lydia, that is not going to happen. I don’t think you understand how invasive this surgery is. You’re not going to school three days after surgery!
I laughed thinking, “But he doesn’t know me.I’ll be back on my feet in no time!” Looking back at the last three months, I can’t help but laugh at myself. Seriously, Lydia? The number of appointments, trips to various hospitals, radiation treatment and emotional strain my body has been through, and I seriously thought I could tackle my first year of law school in the midst of this chaos? I’m all for optimism, but that was beyond unrealistic.
Commitment
One of the things my dad taught me growing up was the importance of commitment and seeing things through to the end. I distinctly remember one time when I was little, and I didn’t want to go to soccer practice. My dad nearly dragged me to practice. He calmly told me:
Lydia, you committed to this team. You gave them your word you’d be there and you’re going to finish this season with them.
While I’m sure there were many other occasions where we had similar conversations, I can vividly remember that moment. There was a moment of clarity and understanding that followed. I grew up to understand and value the importance of following through and committing fully, whether it be activities, projects, school or relationships, I am thankful for my dad’s influence in making commitment a priority.
However, with this mindset, one of the hardest parts of walking through cancer and taking a step back from school is dealing with feeling like a failure. There are days I get sick to my stomach thinking about the fact that I’m not in school. I committed to it, and I struggle justifying not being there. I know this may seem a little bizarre, but it’s true. I haven’t said “no” to anything that I’ve committed myself to, and I don’t back out of things that I’ve carefully chosen to participate in. It’s even more difficult now that I’m done with treatment for now and in the job hunt. Not being in school and not having a job makes me feel like I’ve messed up somewhere. Spending hours upon hours alone has its benefits, but it can also lend itself to some pretty intense internal turmoil. The struggle lately has been mental and emotional.
Changing the plan–Love Does
In my mind, setting into action a ten-year plan was my way of ensuring that I was impacting the world for good the best I knew how. However, I am beginning to think that I undermined the impact of love in action on a daily basis. I’ve been married to the idea of a plan of grandeur and dangit, I was going to see it through to the end. But, what if it’s the little acts of love that create a story of grandeur that impact the world beyond what we could have ever planned for?
Bob Goff said it beautifully in his new book, Love Does:
We need to stop plotting the course and instead just land the plane on our plans to make a difference by getting to the ‘do’ part of faith. That’s because love is never stationary. In the end, love doesn’t just keep thinking about it or keep planning for it. Simply put: love does.
This slight shift in thinking has started to make a dent in my steadfast law school plans. If I had started law school this fall without cancer’s interruption, I would have without a doubt, completed the three years without thinking twice. Again, I committed to it, so in my mind, the only option is to follow through. However, life stopped for a year, and I have nothing but time to reevaluate my aspirations and motives.
Don’t get me wrong, my heart is still very broken by the issue of modern-slavery and my dream is still to work for International Justice Mission one day. However, much to my surprise, I have been slowly digesting the idea that the means to this end might be different than I initially thought.
What if I capitalize on my passion for writing, visual media, marketing, public relations, etc. to make an impact? Would this be less impactful than obtaining a law degree to fight human trafficking on a legal level? What gave me the idea that using the gifts and passions I have already obtained would not make an impact? If I learned to adapt the idea of love does into whatever profession I end up in, how could I fail?
I am certainly not saying I am walking away from law school, but I am also not saying that I will be returning to my “blessed” ten-year plan come next fall. I am saying that I have cancer to thank for forcing me to “land the plane on my plans,” and take a step back. I am looking for a job in the interim (and beyond, depending), and remaining in prayer over this time and my future. The “plan” right now is simply: love does.
Breathing has gotten much better. There are still times I have to catch my breath and stop for a moment. It’s particularly difficult to breathe in the car, but overall, things are improving. I’m hoping my body is just still recovering from the last few months of surgery/treatment/meds, and it’ll just take a little time. The good news is, it hasn’t stopped me from going to the gym daily and while it’s not making much of a difference on the scale, my muscles feel great, and it has given me a little more energy for the front half of the day! It has also made me feel somewhat productive. 🙂
The past few days have been difficult. I’ve been interacting with a lot of strangers and answering the questions:
“So, why did you move to Chicago?” “What do you do?” “What are your plans?”
There is no easy way to answer those questions. I obviously don’t want to offer up the answer, “Well, you see, I moved across the country to start law school because I am passionate about international human rights, but four days before school started, I was diagnosed with cancer, so, now I am do nothing. I am not healthy, I am not in school and I do not have a job.” Something tells me that’s not a quick way to make friends or to continue conversation.
Few things have been more difficult for me than reliving the chain of events of the past few months and having to offer up the brief answer, “Well, I moved to start school, but I had to defer a year, so I am currently looking for a job.” It over-simplifies the past few months; it minimizes the struggle. Sharing the bullet points, without the context of my story, is almost more painful than my story itself.
I am such a passionate, driven person, and I’m having a really difficult time not being able to channel this energy into school or a job. I have been job hunting since I started radiation, praying for an opportunity to be able to support myself (especially now that marching band season is over and teaching is done) and to be able to learn and challenge myself in some way. If anyone has any connections in the Chicago area for jobs, especially in writing/editing/marketing, please let me know.
I just finished the book Glorious Ruin by Tullian Tchividjian. I could have finished it in a day, but I have been pacing myself through it since I started treatment, savoring each chapter. During my senior year at Biola University, I wrote an in-depth capstone project on why suffering exists in the world. I researched articles, books, verses, etc. and wrote this paper. However, when life threw cancer my way, this knowledge and understanding was not what I wanted to hear or review. This book met me where I am and gave such a different look at suffering than any other publication I had read. I could go on and on about how it has shaped my mentality on approaching suffering, but instead, I just want to encourage you to read it.
This is the inside cover introduction:
In this world, one thing is certain: everybody hurts. Suffering may take the form of tragedy, heartbreak, or addiction. Or it could be something more mundane (but no less real), like resentment, loneliness, or disappointment. But there’s unfortunately no such thing as a painless life. In Glorious Ruin, Tchividjian takes an honest and refreshing look at the reality of suffering, the ways we tie ourselves in knots as we try to deal with it, and the comfort of the gospel for those who can’t seem to fix themselves–or others. This is not so much a book about Why God allows suffering or even How we should approach suffering–it is a book about the tremendously liberating and gloriously counterintuitive truth of a God who suffers with you and for you. It is a book, in other words, about the kind of hope that takes the shape of a cross.
It’s hard to believe I’ve been out of quarantine for a week and a half. I had such high expectations of how fantastic it was going to be, escaping from quarantine, and jumping back into life at full force. Once again, I was proven naive. 😉
“Just Breathe” is harder than it sounds
I spent every business day last week in and out of hospitals, doctors offices, stuck with several needles and in/out of various machines, trying to get some answers for why my breathing is so bizarre. I never gained any answers, just ruled some dangerous options out, which is good, but nevertheless, it was pretty defeating.
The hardest part about the week was the lack of compassion and lack of communication shown by several of the medical professionals I interacted with. By Friday, I was having trouble getting phone calls returned and there seemed to be no sense of urgency with each doctor. When you’re dealing with difficulty breathing, it’s hard to hear on Friday morning that these doctors are unreachable, and it’s best to try and call back on Monday.
I don’t know if my breathing is getting any better, or if I’m just learning to adapt very well. I’ve kind of learned how to circular breathe while talking and singing, which makes me think I should consider picking up the bagpipes or didgeridoo. 😉 Still, there are still plenty of times I have to pause and take a deep breath, especially in the car.
Advice from friends, allowing community in
As I’ve mentioned before, it’s often hard for me to admit when I’m struggling, and it’s hard for me to accept help, because I feel like I’m burdening those I love by sharing how much I’m struggling. I received one of the best pieces of advice this week from my friend Kristen, from my cycling tour:
Lydia, I am praying that you find the courage to reach out sooner to those who are near. You are not a burden to people who love you. Your season of need is an opportunity for them to love you extravagantly. Do not take that from them.
I have been continually thinking about this advice. I had never thought I was being selfish with my prideful attitude of “keeping it together” and minimizing mental/physical/emotional breakdowns people witness, but now I can see there is great value in allowing people to step in, and love in a language that they know how. Yet again, it comes back to community and the importance of allowing people to be there, to walk with me, to cry with me, as well as laugh, sing and be joyous with me.
My roommate has been teaching me this as well. She has such a sensitive spirit and an empathetic heart. Through much of this process, we have joked that she has felt more weight and cried more than I have regarding my struggles. I am lucky to have this support at home, and I have been loosening up to sharing with her my difficulties as they come, and she has remained empathetic and kindhearted, which has strengthened my desire to follow Kristen’s advice to allow people in.
I’ve been challenged to put my pride aside and become much more transparent, especially with my physical difficulties–which is the hardest for me to own up to. I am less hesitant to reach out to my doctors when I feel like something is off. I’ve been readily calling and texting my dear friend Una (also from my cycling tour), to ask her medical advice and letting her know what exactly I’m dealing with on a day-to-day basis. She has been a steadfast encourager and voice of reason, and I am so thankful for her.
Rediscovering identity
One of my deepest struggles these past few months is not having any control over my physical fitness. For the past few years, exercising daily and keeping in shape has been a staple portion of my day. Because most of my undergrad studies and work revolved around staring at a computer screen, working out every morning became such an important way to make sure I could remain focused and energized throughout the day. I have grown to appreciate being fit and staying active.
Also, living in southern California for four years influenced this. In a state that is essentially summer year-round, there is an expectation to have a beach body. One of the biggest reasons I wanted to leave Orange County was because I really did not like the instilled pressure I felt as a woman, and the way that it had influenced my self-worth. It took four years for me to realize that the culture had seeped into my thought process without me even knowing.
One of the biggest struggles people tell you when you’re diagnosed with thyroid cancer is that you will struggle the most with feeling tired all the time and with your weight. Having my thyroid completely removed and going through radiation left my body without a metabolism and no thyroid hormone for a couple months. I have done my best to keep a running/cycling schedule in the midst of it all, but the hardest idea to digest is that it doesn’t make much of a difference right now. With zero metabolism, there’s only so much you can do.
I had not realized the amount of my identity that I placed on being fit, busy and active, and how much value I placed in those things to define myself. I am confident in who I am, and I always have been, but I’m learning how to remain confident in who I am, even when I have no control over my fitness and my appearance. It’s hard to admit and it’s a lot more difficult than it sounds! It’s the age-old reminder that my identity is found in Christ alone.
Thankfully, I am now two weeks into my new thyroid medication, which once regulated, will act as my thyroid for the rest of my life. It will take up to six weeks for it to accumulate enough to check to see if I have the right dose, and then my endocrinologist will decide if I need a different level.
I’m feeling more and more “normal” each day (even with the breathing issues) and tackling each day thankful to be here and able to do so. I’m excited for the immediate future, applying to jobs, meeting new people and having fantastic conversations. While I don’t really know what the next step is in this cancer process, I know God will continue to be here with me–in Spirit and through the voices of friends, family and strangers. It’s truly a beautiful story.
“I got circumstances. You guys understand it. I understand it. It’s already been beat.” Chuck Pagano, 2012 Indianapolis Colts coach, diagnosed with Leukemia
Oh boy, what a roller coaster it has been since being released from quarantine last Friday morning. When I was released, I received a full-body scan to see an initial reading of iodine activity still in my body. They wanted something to compare to when I do a follow-up scan in several months to see if I need another round of radiation. Well, after two and half hours under the machine, they said there was still too much radiation in my chest for them to get the read they need, so I had to come back for another scan.
After this scan, I hopped in my car and drove to Indianapolis and spent a couple days catching up with family, old friends and truly enjoying some freedom. It was wonderful seeing familiar faces, going to Reece’s wedding and forgetting for a few days all of the medical issues that have been going on the last couple months.
My friend Hannah and I at the wedding.
Unfortunately, freedom didn’t last as long as I hoped. When I was driving back to Chicago on Sunday, I was having a really difficult time trying to find a temperature that was comfortable in my car, because no matter how hot or cold it was, I was having a very difficult time breathing. I stopped a couple times, hoping that getting out of the car and getting some fresh air would help, but it didn’t seem to make a difference.
By the last hour of my trip, it was getting much worse–I was trying to sing along with the radio and ran out of breath every couple words and had to take a deep breath. I made it to my apartment and called the hospital where all of my records are (about an hour from my apartment) and they told me I needed to go to the ER.
I recently started my thyroid medication, so I quickly grabbed the info sheet on the medication and read the side-effects, and saw shortness of breath was on there. So, I hoped that this was just the matter of adjusting my medication.
I quickly researched a hospital near my apartment that happened to be in the same medical group as the hospital I’m used to, got in the car and drove myself to the ER. When I got there, I was very overwhelmed because I didn’t understand why I was feeling this way. Even though it was a possible side effect of the medication, for some reason, I wasn’t convinced the extent of what I was feeling was a result of the meds–because they started me on a low dosage. This quickly overwhelmed me, and by the time I parked my car and got myself inside, I was hyperventilating and my hands and feet were tingling and my muscles were spasming.
I gained some control of my breathing and mentally talked myself down from hyperventilating and managed to be back to the difficulty breathing state. I have to admit though, for the first time in this whole process… I was very scared. Everything up to this point I knew was going to happen–every way my body has responded, to surgery, treatment, meds, etc., has all been anticipated and nothing has come as a surprise, but this was uncharted territory. And I was alone.
I was taken to an ER room where a bunch of rude nurses “took care” of me every 45 minutes or so, as I sat there alone. My extended family lives more than an hour north of where I am, so I didn’t want them to make a drive down if I was just going to be released in a matter of a couple hours, so I waited to inform people with what was going on until I knew more.
Eventually they told me my potassium was low, so that’s why I was having muscle spasms (gotta get some more bananas in my system). They gave me a pill for that and my legs, neck and shoulders stopped spasming. However, they couldn’t figure out why I was having breathing issues. They did an EKG, chest X-ray and listened to my lungs, and everything was fine. Several doctors and med students came in asking me all the same questions and asking if I’m just a naturally anxious person who has “episodes.” The nurses made me feel like such an inconvenience for being there.
As much as I hate to admit it, I had my first break-down since being diagnosed two and a half months a go. I sat in this little room alone and scared, feeling foolish for being in the ER and saddened by the lack of understanding from the doctors. I just sat there and quietly wept. My eyes were closed, and it just seemed like an endless faucet.
Eventually, I redirected my focus. Between deep breaths and tears, I hummed to myself a song by All Sons and Daughters called Reason to Sing. It’s a kind of lament, and it was the first song that came to mind.
I need a reason to sing I need a reason to sing I need to know that You’re still holding The whole world in Your hands I need a reason to sing
…
Will there be a victory? Will You sing it over me now? Your peace is the melody You sing it over me now
While it was difficult to muster out any tone, this exercise calmed me down and put my heart in a posture of prayer.
The rest of my hospital visit was more tolerable and the people I met from this point on where much more accommodating and shared more in my concern than making me feel dumb for being there.
Eventually someone came in and said they wanted to draw more blood to check my thyroid levels and they wanted to keep me overnight for observation and more testing. Because of the cancer and radiation treatment, I am at a higher risk of blood clots, so they thought that could be the cause. They had already checked for blood clots in my heart, but they decided to do an ultrasound of my legs to make sure they were fine. They were.
After about 7 hours in the ER, I told my roommate KK what was going on (she wasn’t happy that I waited that long…haha. Sorry!), and she immediately dropped what she was doing, went home and grabbed some things for me and brought me food. I was so happy to see her.
They transported me to the 7th floor, which according to my hilarious transporter, has the second best view of the city. It was stunning.
KK stayed with me for several hours that evening. I hadn’t seen her since before I was quarantined, so we had a lot to catch up on. It was a wonderful distraction and a very memorable night. She left a little before midnight, and I tried to sleep. I think I managed to sleep about two hours. The location of the IV and all of the things attached to me, didn’t really allow me to move much, so I just kind of sat there.
The next day, they were able to tell me that my TSH (thyroid stimulating hormone) came back at 71.850, when the normal range is 0.35-5.0. However, this is not surprising because of my surgery and treatment. I thought this was the case, and I thought this could be causing my breathing issues, but their on-site endocrinologist said that’s not the case. She told me that she was concerned, because even with all of the health struggles I’ve had in the last couple months, nothing should cause shortness of breath. Even though a side-effect is listed on the meds, the extent of what I’m dealing with is not normal.
They eventually allowed me to be released, even though nothing really has changed. I just wanted to go home–and they agreed since they knew I was having my follow up full-body scan today, and that could give even more answers. They also released me with the understanding that I’ll follow up with MY endocrinologist in the next couple days to get his opinion.
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FUNNY STORY: When the nurse finally told me I could change and get ready to leave, I grabbed the plastic bag that they put all of clothes in when I changed into the gown and dumped it on the bed. It didn’t take long for me to see that they had managed to lose my shirt in the process. So, I had skinny jeans, boots, and a cropped leather jacket that I had to sneak out of the hospital in.
Below shows the highest I could pull up my pants and the lowest I could pull down my jacket. When I walked, however, it definitely didn’t stay this close together and most of my midriff was showing. When I walked outside in the 40 degree weather to find my car, I was getting quite a number of looks with my attire and especially with the bottom of my rib tattoo sticking out on the right side. hah. Classy.
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Today I had the full body scan and they were able to get a decent enough view of everything–though there was still a lot of “activity” in my neck, which isn’t surprising, considering that’s obviously where the thyroid cancer initiated.
The radiologist did tell me something interesting, though. She said that my pre-radiation blood work showed a high level of thyroglobulin, which tends to be a “tumor marker.” Meaning, there’s a good chance of a tumor that wasn’t removed in surgery. However, this was before radiation, so we’re hoping the radiation took care of it. We have no way of knowing at this point.
I could really use prayer right now, friends. I still have trouble breathing off and on throughout the day, especially in the car, when talking/singing and when lying down. The worst part of this has been continued frustration when it comes to getting in touch with doctors, my endocrinologist, etc. to talk to them, get my results and schedule appointments. It’s been discouraging to feel as though there is no sense of urgency or care to press forward in figuring this out. It’s also pretty isolating.
I have been learning the importance of facing suffering head-on, articulating it for what it is and remembering that it is a result of living in a broken world. The tendency to downplay suffering and see every serious struggle as a part of a process of “becoming” a better version of myself is a twisted understanding of the gospel and lacks the need for a Redeemer. When I stop thinking about how I’m going to better myself through this process, I can then focus on the beauty of grace and God’s promise to be there through the suffering. It’s a mental, spiritual and emotional paradigm shift that brings freedom.
“There’s nothing like suffering to remind us how not in control we actually are, how little power we ultimately have, and how much we ultimately need God.” Tullian Tchividjian, Glorious Ruin
I have been making wagers with my friends on what super-power I will acquire through radiation, and I think I’ve figured it out. I’ve always had incredibly vivid and bizarre dreams, but this week has taken that to an entirely new level. Not only have I cycled with Justin Bieber on top of water and through the rainforest, dug marimbas out of several feet of mud with him (in his stunna shades), house hunted for a multi-billion dollar home, watched as Batman took down a gang that had been after me for watching a crime they committed outside a shoe store, but I actually had two nights of incredibly meaningful dreams.
I had two nights of very lengthy encounters with people who have passed away in my life that I miss dearly. The first dream was my first night of quarantine. My friend Travis, who passed away just over a year a go, showed up at my apartment and in this dream I knew he was no longer with us, and he basically said, “Just kidding! I’m here!”
I was so overwhelmed, upset that we had been lied to for the last year and just beyond myself in excitement (and tears) that he was still here. After I slapped him a few times for deceiving us, he laughed hysterically and then gave me an incredibly long hug. We then spent the day exploring Chicago, and I could actually hear his voice and laughter. At the end of the dream, I could tell he was having to say goodbye, and then I knew it really was a dream and that none of this was real. He hugged me, and I woke up.
I was so thankful for that time, even if it wasn’t real. It brought him back vividly if only for a night of dreaming. I miss you, Travis.
Travis Lee Whitaker (May 22, 1990-Oct. 1, 2011)
Last night I had an extensive dream that started out with me riding my bike on 91 E in southern California, easily the worst freeway in the country, and then realizing about ten miles in that I had two flats, so I pulled off the freeway, conveniently to find my car waiting for me (I love that about dreams). I drove to a high school gym that I was going to sleep in for the night, because of course, life is like drum corps and people don’t actually sleep in houses or hotels…just gym floors.
Anyway, I got there and the gym actually had apartments inside and my roommate was Sam Tindall (a wonderful friend that I met in high school from the Indiana indoor percussion circuit). Well, we were grabbing food in the drum corps buffet-style food line, and all of a sudden John Dybdall walked up. In this dream, I was not shocked by this, I did not have any inkling that he has been gone now for over three and a half years.
He showed up in his red plaid shirt that he so infamously wore (the shirt in the photo below) and I gave him a huge hug. He spent the day there with us and at one point he and I went to the grocery store (Piggly Wiggly, of all places?) and ran some errands. My favorite part of this dream was grabbing coffee and sitting down and talking.
When I was in high school, John and I frequently met at the Starbucks in my home town, and he patiently listened to all my petty talk about boys and high school drama that no recent grad wants to hear about. Looking back, I feel really sorry that I did that to him, hah–but it just shows how self-less and caring he was. He would give me advice and most visits ended with him sharing with me some new music I needed to listen to.
As my brother’s best friend, he had been around my life for a long time, and I always really looked up to him and sought his approval, especially when my brother wasn’t around much during college, and John was still in town. I always feel guilty talking about missing John, because he was my brother’s best friend, so I feel it isn’t my place to say anything. In any event, I do miss him, and I’m especially thankful for all of the years that I got to see the two of them interact, play music in their band together, poke fun at me and “allow me” to listen to music with them.
So last night, I got to spend time with him, and as with Travis’ dream, I could actually hear his voice and laughter and for eight hours, I forgot that he is no longer a phone call or Starbucks visit away. I am very thankful for these two nights of vivid dreams of friends who have passed on. They were so tangible and real.
John Dybdall (January 2, 1986-January 24, 2009)
If this is my super-power, I welcome it fully (though I’d rather not have another gang chase after me). I’m hoping soon to have dinner with Zach Levi maybe? I’m sure I’d make an impression. 😉
Lydia Joy Sharp 