I've been known to be a bit of a drama queen. Everything
comes falling down and I know I like to have a whinge. Yet when something quite
significant happened to me to really alter my perspective, I really found out
who I am & how I deal with things.
So the bottom line is that I was diagnosed with malignant
papillary thyroid carcinoma (cancer) at the end of June. The big C.
I have copped the brunt of (negative) public opinion on
triathlon forums this year. I have spent the past 2 years questioning a decline
in performance in both training and racing. I have had constant injuries that
never fully healed. I have been told by a coach that all my problems were
psychological and in my head & battled with my weight when being extremely
rigid with my diet. Papillary thyroid cancer is a slow growing cancer. At
diagnosis I had a 2cm primary tumour in my thyroid, a second 2cm mass in my
neck on the opposite side, extensive lymph node involvement, parathyroid
involvement, multiple cystic masses- two being 6cm in size. My doctors tell me that
this cancer has been in my body for years. For the past few years my body has
not only been under constant stress of training, an international race schedule
and balancing part to full time work as a physiotherapist, but also battling
cancer.
I am not writing this to evoke a pity party. These are the
cards I had been dealt and I get to choose how to play them. I have no doubt
that this will change who I am and how I see the world but that doesn't have to
be in a negative way. I am so bloody lucky this was found when it was. I’ve had
hormonal imbalances for 7 years- amenorrhea thought to be due to the high
volume/ intensity of training I do to compete in my beloved sport of triathlon.
In March I mentioned to my GP that my amenorrhea continued. She was concerned
that it had been an issue for far too long- ran bloods to check both my hormone
and thyroid levels. The hormones were low and the thyroid was normal.
With a lot of persuasion required my GP referred me to see
another endocrinologist locally. Unfortunately they work publically which meant
I had to wait until the end of May before an appointment came up. On the
physical examination the doctor noted a thyroid nodule in the right lower lobe
& I was referred to have this investigated by ultrasound.
95% of thyroid nodules turn out to be nothing so I stuffed
around a little. Booked the ultrasound about 2 weeks after my appointment and
went in for it on the 18th of June thinking it was overkill. The
sonographer took an extensive scan of my neck and finished up by telling me;
“There’s a lot going on in your neck. You can’t tell exactly what on ultrasound
but more investigation might be needed.” Thankfully I got in to see my GP the
next day. When I got there we read the report together: The nodule requires further investigation with contrast CT & fine
needle aspiration (FNA) as it is suggestive of neoplasm….. Cancer….F**k….
Which is exactly what my doc said.
Over the following days I had a nuclear scan (which showed a
cold nodule- still not good), then a contrast CT which coincidentally fell on my
29th birthday. On Tuesday I went back to QDI (Queensland diagnostic
imaging) for the FNA. When I got there they had found a second mass on the CT
on the left side of my neck extrinsic to the thyroid which was suspicious so
they biopsied both. On the 27th of June I went back to my GP to get
the results. That morning I had been up at 5am to swim 5km with my squad, then
went for an hour run/ walk (as I was recovering from a pelvic/leg injury), all
this before my 9am appointment. I heard the pathologist on the other end of the
phone give my GP the results from the biopsy, “papillary carcinoma”….. I had
done my extensive research on all possible outcomes…. This was not the outcome
I was expecting or the one I wanted… Cancer… I had cancer….Me…. But it’s the good one to have…. >95% five year
survival rate… and surely not being sick means we've caught it early….. didn't we???? Surgery is a certainty…. This was
everything that ran through my mind in the first 5 seconds. I went back for a
chest CT to check for secondaries (which eventually came back clear) and then I
took myself off to work. I told only a few people that day as I felt as though it wasn't really happening to me. It took me a really long time to come to grips
with the phase ‘I have cancer’.
Of course there was the ever so fresh memory of my wonderful
friend Katie who passed away on her 28th birthday in 2011 after a
short battle with cervical cancer. I remember when and where I was when she
told me she had been diagnosed and when I found out she had passed. She had not
won her battle but for me this was a war I would win.
Me & Katie on my 25th birthday
Of course I went on overdrive on researching treatment,
surgery, risks, complications, mortality and from this developed a long list of
questions for my surgeon. I shied away from those that were over the top with
pity and emotion and wanted to offer me advice on a thing they hadn't been
through themselves. Special mention here to Paige for being an awesome source
of information and encouragement through the initial stages of diagnosis and
lead up to surgery. I became intolerant of other people's reactions- why are
they crying when was holding my shit together. I didn't need those types
of people around me to assist me to beat it. Why did people say sorry- I
kept telling them they didn't cause this so what's there to be sorry about? I
needed to surround myself with people that showed support and strength, treated
me no differently to how they normally did and resisted the urge to smother me.
When the first thing the surgeon said to
me was ‘your tumours are quite large and one is occluding your internal jugular
vein’ the reality of it all started to set in. We talked about the possibility
of multiple incisions as a lot of lymph node clearance would be required,
parathyroid involvement, removal and re-implantation if she was able to salvage
any, which would probably require some calcium supplementation until it started
to work again. We talked of the extent to which the cancer had spread- into
multiple levels of lymph nodes in my neck, throat and into my chest & then
the possibility of it having invaded other structures such as nerve or blood
vessels. This was possibly the point at which the enormity of the situation
crashed down on me like a brick wall. And then came the post-op complications;
permanent voice changes or possible loss, potential for bilateral laryngeal
nerve damage resulting in a permanent tracheostomy (breathing tube in the neck)
or brachial plexus damage (nerves that supply your upper limb). Triathlon wasn't even on the mind, but brachial plexus damage was a huge concern for me
as I need my arms and hands to work to be a physio. Of course with any surgery
is also the mention of death. This was serious. Cancer is cancer and even when
it’s the good one there is always the
risk with surgery or cancer that something can go wrong. Dad’s only question
was ‘when?’ “Tuesday” said the surgeon. To me that wasn't soon enough- another
entire week- I wasn't quite sure I could mentally wait that long. The sooner
the better as it would have less chance to grow and spread.
But life went on and I needed some normality. The next
morning swam with Bec (my training partner). For a blissful hour I forgot all
that I was facing. I went to work where I had to pull myself together for a
busy day of work whilst trying to process all that had happened and all that
was going to. I gradually got around to telling friends as it was something
that would soon be public knowledge on the small Sunshine Coast and triathlon
world.
And then it was surgery day. I was admitted at 11am,
showered and waited and waited. A quick visit from the anaesthetist and surgeon
and around 2pm I was taken to the operating theatre. At this stage I was now
packing shit. I was no longer nervous, just plain scared. I was wheeled into
the theatre and transferred onto the operating table and the last thing I
remember is the surgeon walking over. Then I was awake asking if they had started
yet- “it’s over” said the nurse in recovery. Great I can talk!!!! No trachey.
Do I sound normal?? YES!! Can I move my hands- YES!!!! Brachial plexus intact.
The surgery had extended to 7 hours- not 4 as first expected and I was feeling
every second of it. I spent the first sleepless night in intensive care. All I
could think about was the nausea and the impending threats of vomiting with a
neck wound. Drainage tubes were hanging out of both sides of my neck and it
hurt to move my head, so I didn't The first night, as expected, was
horrendous. There was pain everywhere- the front of my neck at the incision,
the back of my neck from having my head in full extension for 7 hours, my throat
was raw, my gut was nauseous and my right heel had a pressure area. And to
think 24 hours beforehand I felt fine. I knew that this had to be done but when
you feel ok sometimes the logic doesn't add up.
The next day I was moved to the ward and my surgeon visited
to give a quick rundown on the surgery:
Another scare a week later after a high thyroglobulin level
came back that there was still macroscopic (large) cancer remaining meant a
full body scan which thankfully came back clear. I met with my oncologist in
Brisbane to organise radio-active iodine treatment for October. This should be
a one (or two) off treatment where I ingest a capsule that should kill off any
remaining microscopic cancer cells. And then essentially I should be CURED!
I am slowly returning to my normal life. I have of course
rushed this process. Having the first 10 days out of hospital at my parent place
90km north of the sunny coast kept me under some control. Since coming back
home to Mooloolaba I have worked myself up to a bit of swimming and biking but
the fatigue levels are high and I get breathless very quickly so my physical
limits are low. I am still having dramas with calcium levels and the thyroxine
levels will take time to get right. I will go back to part time work next week.
The emotional side of it is the biggest roller coaster. Some days I feel
fantastic as though nothing has happened and the next the cracks appear. One of
my biggest personal faults is my inability to ask for help. I have been
inundated with messages, calls, visits, flowers, cards, emails and texts from
all around the world which continues to pull on my heart strings. I am not yet
‘in the clear’ but will be making that fact well known when I get that call.
Jodie, Me & Meg 2010 (I was a red-head!)
To my parents; this wouldn't have even happened without you-
I owe you my life twice over now! My mother has been beyond incredible. Words
cannot express what she has done for me. She’s my best friend and I don’t know
if I would have been as stoic throughout this ordeal if she wasn’t by me taking
the majority of the stress of the situation.
Me & Mum at a wedding in April
To my brother Mark, he is a doctor
in Townsville and although a long way away, was the one person that managed to ease
my nerves and anxiety in the lead up to the operation. We haven’t been close
the past few years but something like this is what you need to put the past
behind you and realise that family is the most important thing in life and it
is imperative to repair these relationships. A huge apology to my folks to them
for having to cancel their overseas holiday as my timing couldn’t have been
worse.
Me & Mark (2009)
Meg, Jodie, Ilana, Vanessa, Lisa, Adam & Sophie, Ben & Nat, Mick,
Bec, Kirsten, Nat & Ray, Bel, Matt, Steve, Col & Pieter- thank-you for
treating me no different to how you normally do yet giving me the strength,
confidence, support, friendship and love that I have needed the past 5 weeks.
Kirsten's wedding- 12 days before diagnosis
And so triathlon? We will see. Health is currently the
number one priority. Things are all on hold at present: my coach (who’s been an
incredible friend though this), my pro licence, my goals and dreams. Now
knowing something quite significant has potentially been holding me back I am
very keen to see what I can do again. My fantastic sponsors; Mizuno,
Cannondale, Enervit, Orca, OSHE and Ryders eyewear have all been very
understanding and supportive during these circumstances and I look forward to
giving you all a superb comeback story.
3 weeks post-op- back to drinking coffee at Mooloolaba with Ilana
And with the most simple and eloquent mantra (thanks Brett!)
said to me 5 weeks ago; “This too shall pass” I sign off.
Rachie xo
My recovery spot
