God Is Here For Me

Witnessing to Jack
Yesterday while Jack and I were driving home from my parents’ house after having a birthday dinner for my dad, I was moved to tell Jack how even though I have to have another surgery, I’ve never felt closer to God or more taken care of by Him or more comforted by Him, and that sometimes even when we might not think that what’s happening in our lives is good, it’s for our good, and God won’t let anything happen to us that He doesn’t have a reason for. I went into a little more detail, and I thought his eyes might have started to glaze over (I took a peek in the rearview mirror), and I asked him, “What do you think of that?” and he replied right away, “I think if I tried playing baseball again, I might like it better.”

And that was that.

So I switched to his topic and hoped my topic had sunk into his brain somehow, and we talked a little more about baseball and how yes, it was probably a good idea to try it again, maybe play Little League this time instead of Pony Baseball.

My dear friend, Diane, when I sent her an e-mail telling her about this exchange between me and Jack, had a pearl of wisdom to offer me that had not occurred to me: “This is so cute. But maybe he's interested in trying baseball because he feels God won't let anything happen to him (like being scared or self-conscious). Maybe it really did sink in.”

I hadn’t seen that Jack’s apparent subject change might not have been a subject change at all—just a continuation on the same theme—that God will protect you no matter what, and if you trust in Him, everything will be fine, and we don’t have to worry about things. If that’s the case, if that’s what Jack meant, I think it’s amazing that an 8-year-old can extrapolate like that—especially as it relates to God and His awesome power.

What’s more, my husband’s response to the anecdote about Jack/baseball/God was sweet and tender and thoughtful (and a little self-deprecating): “That is interesting. Last night I looked at the fridge and saw his baseball picture. It made me sad thinking of that whole ordeal and I felt like he was traumatized by the whole thing and the coach. If I was going to do that over again, I would have pulled him out at the first inkling. I moved the picture down and highlighted his soccer pictures cause seeing it makes me sad. The fact that he is considering playing baseball again after all that tells me something about his character. He has more character than I have ever had.”

While this may be a leap, I can’t help but think that Pommy is slowly coming to the Lord.

Dogs Sense Something?
The dogs are treating me differently. They are being extra sweet and loving and caring. I know that must sound weird, but I can feel it in my bones. They sense something different about me. It could be that they can smell the 2 mCi radioactive iodine I was given last Wednesday for the whole-body scan—it could be something physical and olfactory, and for dogs, this would be very interesting—a new smell. They are definitely sniffing me more--and more tentatively since last week.

I’ve read things about dogs sensing cancer and other illnesses in their owners. I saw a “Dog Whisperer” episode once where a dog could sense when his owner was going to have a seizure (or something like this), and the dog was able to let the owner know well in advance, and the owner could take their medicine to prevent it…something like that. So I do believe that dogs have a sense about these things.

Speaking of senses, my senses are all heightened in this stage. I wonder how hypothyroid I am. I’m going to check my “coming back from hypothyroid” notes from last year after my treatment dose of RAI and see how long it took me to get from super hypo (TSH>60) to suppressed (TSH <.10). In 6 weeks, I was down to a TSH of .06 on 125 mcg Synthroid. So it may take me 6 weeks to get suppressed on 112 mcg, which is the dose I am currently taking.

Wondering about vocal improvement
I love singing. I have always loved singing. My sisters and I have always enjoyed singing in the car, especially on road trips to San Francisco, which we did a few times as young adults. I have no idea if my voice is decent or even mediocre, but I know I love singing. I sang in choir in high school, I had to sing a capella in front of my debate class in 12th grade, I took a voice class after my separation from my first husband (during that period of time when I was of the mind that “I’m gonna do all the stuff I’ve always wanted to do”), and a few years before my thyroid cancer diagnosis, I had reconnected with singing in a more meaningful way—this time occasionally singing in the choir at church.

I have never felt such joy as I experience while singing in the choir. I feel a meaningfulness and a clarity of purpose and a purity when I am singing to my Savior—a feeling of oneness and truth that I haven’t experienced with any other type of singing, or with any other way of connecting to God, either. It’s when I’m singing the alto part of “I Will Rise” with the Easter choir that I feel the most connected to Jesus. It’s the purest joy I’ve ever felt.

Sunday night, April 19, 2009, was my rock bottom as far as feeling bad in my hypothyroid state. I’d taken a ½ of a 12 mg Cytomel, a fast-acting thyroid hormone with a short half-life, is prescribed to thyroid cancer patients to take while they are going hypothyroid and while they are coming back from hypothyroid, to ease the symptoms of fatigue and lethargy that sometimes come along with going hypo.

I found out Sunday night that I am a person who doesn’t tolerate Cytomel well at all. Even taking ½ a pill, which is ¼ the usual daily dose, it gave me heart palpitations, racing thoughts, anxiety, insomnia worse than I already had it in my hypo state, and my eyes were racing back and forth under my eyelids as I laid there in bed all night trying to sleep but unable. I almost felt like I was “on drugs.” Like the way you might feel if you took an overdose of something. It was an awful feeling, of being out of control of my body, of wishing I hadn’t taken the Cytomel (I think I took it in the afternoon, which is totally fine for most people, but not me), of wishing I could sleep.

However, over the last 2 weeks or so when my insomnia has been its worst, there have been a few positives come out of it. I think a lot more at night, and I plan to do nice things for people. I make long-range goals for myself, I plan to volunteer at nursing homes and help the poor and destitute. (In the past I have felt this way often when I exercise. Running on the treadmill often results in me planning to buy flowers for several people and tell them how much they mean to me. Sometimes I act on the plans I make, but often I do not.)

Back to Sunday night. One of the things I wondered while laying in bed, mind racing, is whether there has ever been anyone whose voice/vocal cords have actually improved as a result of neck/thyroid/thyroid cancer/neck dissection surgery. It’s not uncommon for thyroid surgeries to result in vocal cord damage or paralysis—temporary or permanent—and I always felt lucky to have dodged that bullet in my first surgery because I love singing so much. So there I lay, wondering if anyone’s voice had actually improved.

The next morning, while reading messages on the thyca listserv, I noticed a message titled “Vocal Cord Paralysis.” It was a thread that had been started by a woman whose husband had had both his vocal cords accidentally cut during a thyroidectomy, and she was reaching out to others in the group for advice and support. One of the responses said:

“Just to recount my experience with a thyroidechtomy [sic], it actually *expanded* my vocal range. I'm a music major, and I had to sing simple exercises for my classes, and I found I could sing easier.”

There was my answer. Sometimes neck surgery makes your voice better.

I’m amazed at how God works so quickly and so efficiently in our lives. I asked a question in the middle of the night, and God had someone somewhere answer it for me via the Internet the next morning. WOW. God is high-tech. God is fast. God is good.