The c-word

The first time I saw the thyroid specialist, I felt a little uneasy. My father drove me a little under two hours to Frankston. "You'll be okay. It's nothing."

I zoned out, fell asleep, and woke up. We sat in the waiting room, and were lead into my professor's room. "You'll need to have another biopsy, and more in-depth blood tests." I nodded. I could handle the first biopsy. so the second would be a breeze.

It wasn't! Having a biopsy performed on my thyroid was the most painful experience ever. I was glad it was done just after Christmas, so that I didn't have to suffer during the festivities that ensued.

They did not numb the site. The doctor told me to say anything if I felt pain. Let's just say that I spoke, then, during the entire procedure. I felt everything. The pumping of the needle made me wonder whether it was really fine or not. The entire week and a half after it, I found it difficult to speak or swallow. If my thyroid was fine, after the roughness of the biopsy it certainly no longer would have been.

Back at the professor's office, we were a little late. I ran down to see him as my father parked the car. "Where's your father? Maybe we should wait for him." I was sent back into the waiting room. My father came in, and I told him. "Shit." He said.

"You have thyroid cancer!" The professor beamed at me. It was Friday the 13th of January, 2017. I knew I should have asked for another date. He smiled, like it was nothing to be worried about. "It's the best cancer to have."

He handed me fliers about thyroid cancer.

Everything else he said from that moment on was a blur.

The receptionist, on my way out, had me fill in surgery forms. You know those forms that ask you if you're diabetic, injured, etc.? That section that says, 'cancer'? I had to tick that. It was the most troubling thing I have done in my life.

My father, who is an adept driver, lost the way back home. He said nothing to me. He stared at the road for two hours, and I stared out the left window.