I never thought I would hear the word "cancer" applied to myself, and certainly not at age 23. Now, as a woman in my 30s, it's my reality.
It was a chilly January day. My mom and I waited for the endocrinologist in the harsh fluorescent lighting of his office. It was 2019, a year before the world would shut down. People nowadays tend to think of life as before and after covid. I think of my life as before and after this day.
This was now my third appointment with him. My family was the history of thyroid issues. My cousin had hyperthyroidism in her late teens. My dad had Hashimoto's disease, an autoimmune disease where your body literally destroys your thyroid. My mom had hypothyroidism. My great grandmother had Graves disease so badly that my grandmother described her as "skeleton-like" at one point. I'd already been diagnosed with hypothyroidism, underactive thyroid, and attributed my persistent fatigue to a thyroid issue.
I wasn't prepared two weeks earlier when, during a routine ultrasound of my thyroid, the tech started going over the same spot on the left side of my neck over and over again. She left the room and called in the doctor, a kindly older Asian gentleman with a slight accent and small, thin physique. She showed him the scan and talked outside the hallway. The worry on his face was evident as he asked me which doctor referred me and why. He informed me that they saw two nodules on my thyroid gland, but didn't elaborate. He increased my thyroid medication dosage, but immediately had me return the following week for a biopsy.
The biopsy involved that same doctor sticking fourteen long needles in my neck to gather samples from each nodule. I had the good sense to have my mom drive me, and partway home, I was white-knuckling the car's handle.
My neck after the biopsy
Two days earlier, I had gotten a call asking if I could come in the following day. I couldn't, but I made time for the next day. I knew when they called that it was not to deliver good news, and my suspicions were confirmed when the same kindly doctor sat down and informed me that one of the nodules was positive for papillary thyroid cancer. The other nodule was inconclusive, but he recommended removing my entire thyroid to be safe.
I sat in his office crying while my mother took notes and asked questions. Fortunately, papillary thyroid cancer is one of the most treatable cancers out there, and it was very slow growing and caught early. We were able to still take out vacation a few weeks later, but I was scheduled for surgery immediately after.
The surgeon, a fantastic woman out of Johns Hopkins in Maryland, took my thyroid on a Friday. She informed us that she also had performed a partial neck dissection as the nodules were partially invading my neck tissue. Fortunately, I had no complications from the procedure, although since the second nodule came back positive for cancer and it had spread into one lymph node and my neck, my endocrinologist and surgeon recommended radioactive iodine. The thyroid is basically a sponge for iodine. For two weeks prior, patients go on a low iodine diet. You're given a pill that's exactly what it sounds like - radioactive iodine, along with a medication that artificially raises your thyroid stimulating hormone (TSH) levels. Any remaining thyroid cells suck the radioactive iodine and are killed.
About two weeks post op - the bandage covered my scar
I thought that was the end of it. I'd escaped chemo. I was being monitored. My progress was good.
Four years later, a different endocrinologist called me into her office to discuss results of bloodwork. One level that they test is called thyroglobulin. In a patient who has had successfully treated thyroid cancer, this level should never come up, she explained. My thyroid medication had been off, and the thyroglobulin had come up. This meant that there were still thyroid cancer cells hanging out. She explained that we would just need to monitor to make sure they didn't go anywhere. Still, I was devastated. Instead of getting to the five year point and being considered "cured", I would now forever be living with the cloud of cancer over my head.
I decided, though, that the important thing was that I was living. I was going to take that trip to Hawaii. Several years later, I took my first solo trip to California. I started going everywhere, from Boston to Charleston, and if I had to do it alone, I was going to. I have a passport, still yet to be used, but someday, I want to use it to see Spain, France, and Japan.
Seven years post-op - the scar is very faint at this point
That's why this March 2026, I'm participating in the Photo a Day Challenge on Facebook to raise money for the American Cancer Society. These photos aren't showing the dim aspects of cancer; they're celebrating life. From seeing the world to exploring my backyard to just enjoying a quiet evening with my cats, I relish every moment lived. Additionally, these photos will be part of the Fighting Cancer collection, where I celebrate the life lived in spite of cancer. 50% of proceeds for these products will be donated to the American Cancer Society.
I realize I'm luckier than many. The worst part of my cancer has been being thrown into artificial hypothyroidism due to life without a thyroid. Many cancer patients don't survive, or have way worse treatment programs than I did (I am still forever grateful that I did not need chemotherapy). Still, getting that diagnosis was a hard thing to hear and a harder thing to live with. Now, my hope is to raise money and awareness so that others can have better outcomes in the future.