The fun–if that’s how you might perversely describe the last few weeks, and at times, I would–is over.
We got a bit of a physical and mental break once we decided to move forward with the radioactive iodine instead of surgery. Instead of recuperating from an operation, I’ve spent the last couple of weeks preparing for the RAI and checking in with my doctors, yes, but also going to the gym, reading and generally caring for my mental state.
Those luxuries are on hiatus this week. It’s my diagnostic week, full of trips to the hospital, blood work, $1,500 Thyrogen shots in my butt, gross glucose drinks, a mini-dose of RAI, and hours of testing inside space-age machines. By next week sometime, my doctors should have a good idea of whether the thyroid cancer is anywhere other than the small nodule we’ve already found in my neck, and that will help them decide how much of the “big” dose of radioactive iodine to give me on July 14.
I’ve been through most of this before, so I know what’s coming. I’m sure in some ways that makes this easier.
But this morning, as I get ready to drive to the hospital for my first Thyrogen shot with a chaser of glucose, I couldn’t tell you what those ways are.