BY Carly Flumer
PUBLISHED January 18, 2018
Editor’s Note: This piece was submitted by a contributing writer and does not represent the views of CURE Media Group.
I put on a brave smile when the radiologist told me that I had cancer, a diagnosis he reassuringly stated that less than 15 percent of his patients had a chance of receiving just a week prior when he had done my ultrasound. As he went over my next steps, I held back tears knowing that my life had changed forever. I walked out of the office, tears streaming down my face. I sat in my car wondering who I should call first. It had to be my mom. I asked her if she was sitting down, and her voice immediately changed tone. I said, "I have cancer," for the first time in my life. I couldn't believe the words that were escaping my mouth, but my mom, being the strong-willed woman that she is, reassured me that we were going to get through it.
I continued to share my diagnosis with my dad, my brothers, and a few close friends, each time uttering the words, "I have cancer," bringing my mental state down with it. I hesitated sharing on social media, even though I knew relatives would find out eventually. As a chronic sufferer of depression and anxiety, my main focus had not been on my cancer diagnosis but feeling like a burden on others once they found out. I felt like I already had so many other problems that I consistently "bothered" people with. I didn't want me having cancer to be the icing on the cake knowing that they now had to feel sorry for me.
I continued living my life as normal, seeing that I had no side effects. I did basic research on thyroid cancer, but questions normally asked when receiving such a serious diagnosis, such as, "What stage do I have?" "What's my prognosis?" and, "How did I even get cancer in the first place with no family history?" never crossed my mind. I was too focused on going through my next steps, including a partial thyroidectomy, to remove the side of my thyroid that had cancer. I was too focused on reaching the finish line where I could declare myself a cancer survivor.
I put on a brave smile when the radiologist told me that I had cancer, a diagnosis he reassuringly stated that less than 15 percent of his patients had a chance of receiving just a week prior when he had done my ultrasound. As he went over my next steps, I held back tears knowing that my life had changed forever. I walked out of the office, tears streaming down my face. I sat in my car wondering who I should call first. It had to be my mom. I asked her if she was sitting down, and her voice immediately changed tone. I said, "I have cancer," for the first time in my life. I couldn't believe the words that were escaping my mouth, but my mom, being the strong-willed woman that she is, reassured me that we were going to get through it.
I continued to share my diagnosis with my dad, my brothers, and a few close friends, each time uttering the words, "I have cancer," bringing my mental state down with it. I hesitated sharing on social media, even though I knew relatives would find out eventually. As a chronic sufferer of depression and anxiety, my main focus had not been on my cancer diagnosis but feeling like a burden on others once they found out. I felt like I already had so many other problems that I consistently "bothered" people with. I didn't want me having cancer to be the icing on the cake knowing that they now had to feel sorry for me.
I continued living my life as normal, seeing that I had no side effects. I did basic research on thyroid cancer, but questions normally asked when receiving such a serious diagnosis, such as, "What stage do I have?" "What's my prognosis?" and, "How did I even get cancer in the first place with no family history?" never crossed my mind. I was too focused on going through my next steps, including a partial thyroidectomy, to remove the side of my thyroid that had cancer. I was too focused on reaching the finish line where I could declare myself a cancer survivor.
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