A sus thyroid nodule had us reevaluating a few priorities…
Little backstory here. Almost a decade ago, I had a nodule develop on my thyroid. I had it biopsied, after so many fascinating selfies with my neck bulge and asking people to watch me swallow, and the results were benign. But some family history and recent swelling prompted testing and anxieties surrounding a possible cancer scare.
Surprisingly enough, I wasn’t REALLY all that worried about it actually being cancer. The swelling was more noticeable, but in truth, it felt easily explained. We were in a season of severe stress on all fronts. Holidays. Birthdays. Teenager drama. Taking care of business. Hanging on by a thread.
Made perfectly rational sense that some autoimmune inflammatory reaction would take place.
Pair all that with brutal Texas allergies, and all bets are off.
So, there I was, for weeks, having my focus drawn to this annoying sensation of having a pill lodged in my throat. Constantly. Or feeling as if I had a light wrist or ankle weight draped over my neck whilst lying back in bed at night. But a cancer scare? Nahhh…
I don’t have the time for a cancer scare.
But what if it’s a cancer scare?
In spite of my generalized OCPD anxiety, I really wasn’t that worried. Growth! (The benign kind.) I know Nathan was, though. ‘Cause he’s into me. And he turns 40 this year, so obviously he’s supposed to kick it first. Wink, JK. Love you, Nathan!
Anyway, the more we discussed it, I kept circling back to the idea that an actual cancer scare would feel like just one more thing to squeeze into an already packed agenda. And with everything that was going on, it didn’t even feel like the most stressful issue with which we’d be dealing.
Fortunately, we’d had a convenient family medicine practice open up just minutes away, and I had already scheduled initial visits for us to get established months prior to my aggravated symptoms.
It lined up that the allergies hit really bad after Orson’s 4th birthday, flaring up increased swelling in my thyroid, and my initial appointment was a week or two later. One thing led to another, concerns were raised, and after an ultrasound and referral, I scheduled a visit to Pathology Reference Laboratory…
Soonest appointment about 5 weeks later. Cool, cool. No biggie.
Primary thinks it might be a cancer scare, but no urgency.
Who’s got the time anyway in the midst of birthdays and Christmas and in-laws and New Year’s and family crises….?
Do the Throaty-Pokey
Yeah, I do not like needles in my neck. Not the highlight of this past week by a long shot. And, funny as it is, for as long as I worked in healthcare, pretty sure I’m developing some “White Coat Syndrome” to boot. Office visits, pathology tests, blood work… Very much over the associated blood pressure headache I get now.
But we got the results back. Fast. Next-day fast. Lo and behold, it’s still benign. Uneventful, noncancerous cancer scare.
I’m not writing this to share the good news of that, though. Not really. It’s more to share some perspective the macabre musings about maybe malignancy gave me.
Buying Back Time
During one of our discussions about the cancer scare, Nathan and I were talking about what we’d do if we found out it was cancer. Like “worst case”, bucket-list daydreaming. As one does.
I said something, though, that made us both stop and say “huh”.
“Y’know, if I found out I had cancer, especially terminal, I’d likely never reach for my phone again”.
Yeah, yeah. Sure. It’s easy to say it when faced with harrowing potential, but once you get the all-clear… SWEET! Back to comment consumption and doom-scrolling dissociation. A veritable comfort zone of escape. Until I do die. Much, much later.
But that’s a telling metric, isn’t it? The data shows, when push comes to shove, and back’s against the wall, I’d throw my phone in the fire for more connection and time with my family. My husband. My children.
I’m not saying that self-care isn’t important, if scrolling serves you in that way. For me, if I use it as a dissociative tool, it’s far more prison than escape. Screen slavery. And I feel it in a visceral way.
Hard days with the kids, phone comes out. “Mama, mama, look at me!”
“Yeah, baby, one sec.” Scroll. “Mama’s trying to find a lamp for Nova’s room. Just a minute.”
But internally?
STOP.
You are pointlessly scrolling. You’re not buying a lamp today. You’re escaping right now. And Orson is talking to you.
And that lag gets me. It takes a stern lecture from my conscience and a solid 30-second lag to be like, my phone needs to go away. Now.
I’m not virtue signaling here. I’m just testifying my struggle. I fail a lot when it comes to giving my kids full, undivided attention. Then, I get frustrated when they won’t listen to me. They’re just reflecting back what I model; they just don’t have convenient pocket computers with which to shut me out.
First step to fixing a problem is admitting that there is one. Took a cancer scare to get here, but here we are. Now what? Can we buy back lost time that we’ve sold to our screens?
Before the Next Cancer Scare…
Knock on wood. Hopefully, there won’t be one. But it shouldn’t take a morbid threat of cancer to keep us self-aware. We’re making changes NOW. Knowing that what time we’ve lost is gone, but tomorrow still promises hope.
We’re lobotomizing our phones! As of April this year, if all goes according to plan, Nathan and I are making the switch to “dumb” phones. Everything will require more intentionality. Be a touch more inconvenient. But our focus will be where it belongs.
Progress. Parenting. Time. Meaning. Legacy.
Functional productivity.
Maybe it’s a big ask from the Light Phone III, but freedom is worth the sacrifice.
It’s not the only change we’re looking to make, but it’s certainly a big one.
We’re also hoping to find a great, local Parents’ Day Out program where the kiddos can socialize and make friends a couple days a week while we get some focused work done. Guilt-free. Without much of a support system, we’ve considered the possibility that in this season of burn-out, if we’re desperate for a little break, they may be as well.
I may have the luxury of staying home with my feral, little angels full-time, but I can’t help feeling that it would be an amazing gift for them to have more time to develop social skills with kids their own ages. Even if daycare isn’t a necessity for us. We may all end up much healthier for it.
Maybe the neurotic, OCD-like tics that NOVA is now showing are just manifestations of cabin fever? Fingers crossed, for the LOVE!
Ch-Ch-Changes
Ultimately, time is changing me, and I wanna be here for it. I’ve been in burn-out stalls for so long, and we’re all starving for transition and change. A new season. One marked by more intention. Meditation. Acceptance. Letting go of pointless things I don’t know, and developing the knowledge of things that I should.
This past year… fuck, I’m glad it’s over… was undoubtedly the hardest year of our marriage. We’re stronger than we’ve ever been, but “so very tired, Audrey”. (RIP, David Lynch).
We’ve had so many scares this past year. Nova nearly biffing it at Morningside Park. My thyroid cancer scare. Even the week of writing this, Walmart tried to kill my daughter.
Context: kid’s birthday party. Well-hidden, thin, metal wire skewers STILL ON the edible cake decorations buried in the cupcakes. And Nova just happened to get one. By God’s grace, some well-timed jaw-prying by Nathan, and finger-sweeping by yours truly, we got it out of our terrified toddler’s mouth.
Check your fucking cakes, Walmart.
ANYWAY… It’s been a week.
Going into 2025. Embracing change. There’s so much unknown, but there’s so much hope. Obviously, anything could happen at any time, and we’re given no guarantees. But I don’t just WANT to live my life to the fullest.
I’m actively taking steps to ensure I do.
Carpe-fucking-diem.