The Surgery

The date of the surgery to remove my thyroid cancer and the whole thyroid gland was scheduled within a week. I had to mentally prepare myself, get organized, have my parents fly in from India to help and wind up my affairs at office to go on  extended leave.
At the pre surgery tests, I was a bundle of nerves, nervous, anxious and still unaccepting.  It was my calm, level headed, immensely knowledgeable father, who calmed me down to face the reality. His wisdom and calm reassurances were the turning point in this journey.
8th February 2017 dawned with messy freezing rain which left dangerously slippery sidewalks and roads all over the city. The night before was extremely emotional. I cried for the days before my diagnosis, I cried for fear of the unknown, I cried wondering if life as I knew it would ever be the same again. I cried not knowing what the doctors would find and the repercussions it ment for my family. I cried like I never had before, I prayed like never before. With every fibre of my being, all i wished for was to get better and be there for my daughter.
The hospital admissions went smoothly, I was the first surgery for the day. I changed into the sterile hospital gown, covered my hair with the hospital cap, and gave my father and husband an emotional hug goodbye before being wheeled into the OR. The nurse pushing me in told me to pray to whatever force I believed in to be able to overcome this. Eyes closed, sweaty palmed and with a ball of fear knotted in my stomach, I prayed with all my might.
I said hello to my doctor, the discussion all around me was of the messy, icy rain and treacherous driving conditions. I was told to walk into the OR,the anaesthesiologists introduced themselves. The monitors were plugged into to the stickers on my chest. The last thing I remember was extending my right arm for the intravenous line before I went into a deep sleep.
A few hours later, I woke up to intense jaw splitting bone crushing pain. Nausea threatened every move, and I could not speak more than a whisper. It was done, my thyroid was gone. The pain was intense, unbearable. A nurse came and gave me anti nausea medication as I lay there, bruised and blue, but relieved that step one was done. The next few hours were a blur. I could not swallow, I wanted water but I would choke. I wanted to speak, but it was agony. After an intense afternoon of pain and many attempts at trying to take pain medication orally, I finally managed to take one.
The sheer helplessness that you feel after a major surgery is truly humbling. The human body suffers a blow when things go out of balance, but it has a remarkable tendency to realign and adjust itself to this blow. Once the pain medication and the nausea medicines kicked in, I was able to sit up.  late that evening, in the bathroom, I finally looked into the mirror at the new me, blotched, swollen face and neck and a white bandage at the base of my neck, where my normal carefree life one was...

The Cancer Chronicles

It took me quite sometime to accept the diagnosis. At night I would lay awake, trying to think of what signs I had missed. Was there something I had done? Was it something I could have done differently to avoid this? Why me, I asked repeatedly? I couldn't understand, I didnt want to understand. I read a few websites, got even more depressed at words like life expectancy and long term prognosis. I couldn't even go a few hours without crying.
A week later, I went to my doctor who very matter of factory gave me details of the surgery and the tests I would need. She was efficient and professional but she was not the kind who would give me a hug and reassurance. In my mind, no one could understand what I was feeling. I was angry one minute, devasted the next. I wanted to go on feeling normal but the normal did not exist anymore. My husband told me to think of it as a bump in the road. His way of dealing with this was completely different.
My everyday tasks became monumental. I had to talk myself into getting dressed in the morning. I was trying my hardest to put on a brave face for my daughter, dropping her to school each day, helping her with her homework, helping mer make a science project, where tears threatened my every move. I hated seeing my friends go on with normal lives. I was envious of people who didn't have to go through the motions with a dead weight on their heart.
People around me, those who loved me, kept telling me to be positive, some kept telling me that it was nothing and I would overcome it. I hated to hear this. Hated the patronizing tone, the be positive lecture, the "it could have been worse" talk. I could not see the positive. Where was this? How could they tell me to be positive when my body was being ravaged by the unknown? Did they understand how hard it is to cook for the family I love, knowing I have a dreaded disease. Did anyone understand that I was terrified? That every hug my daughter gave me opened up floodgates in my heart? How did they know that things would be alright? They all attempted to make normal conversation around me, when all I wanted to do was scream out my frustration of not being "normal" anymore.
I felt alone and alienated from everyone. They all wanted me to be normal and accept this, when all I wanted to do was cry. I did'nt want to hear scientific facts, medical prognosis, website references, patronizing lectures or even reassurances. I didn't want sympathy, or anything at all. I just wanted to cry.
I cried everyday, every hour the first couple of days. I would manage to compose myself in spurts, but suddenly the gates would open again and I would fall apart. My husband did not understand why I was so down. He kept telling me to pick myself up but that only made me angry. He tried his best, but I didn't to speak to him, didn't want to acknowledge that he was the normal one, while cancer was eating away not only at my body, but my heart and my mind too.