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Experiencing feelings of isolation? My Story for You:

Today, I resolved to tell you about myself.

This is the story of an experience that left an indelible impression on me, left me frightened, and served as the first significant concern I had ever encountered. Therefore, I resolved to compose this piece in order to provide assistance to all individuals who have experienced or are currently experiencing the same thing as I have. I am referring to the hemithyroidectomy operation that was performed in 2018 and involved the removal of half of the thyroid after a Thyroid exam. Additionally, one of the most frequently asked questions by friends and acquaintances is, “How did you discover you had a problem?”

This query is entirely coincidental.

I typically conduct numerous annual examinations, including ultrasounds and bloodwork. However, I am interested in understanding the reason for consistently postponing these examinations.

Therefore, the fateful day arrived when I underwent my first ultrasound after years, and I was able to do so with fortitude and courage. I recall that moment vividly, as well as the doctor’s demeanor. “Benedetta, you have a vascularized nodule that measures 2 cm.” Who am I? I was uncertain as to its precise meaning. Also, I was unaware of the next step that lay ahead.

I will allow you to envision my thoughts at that time and in the days that follow.

During the same week, I successfully performed the initial needle aspiration. The outcome was a “borderline” nodule that necessitated ongoing management.

I exhaled an exhalation of relief and celebrated Easter at that juncture (yes, everything transpired in close proximity to that time). I initiated drug therapy to prevent the nodule from growing after consulting with an endocrinologist. (Ah, I neglected to inform you that the hormone and antibody values have consistently been satisfactory.)

The second needle was administered six months later.

Result: The dimensions remained unchanged, but the overall condition had marginally deteriorated. The possibility of continuing with the operation was contemplated after consulting with multiple physicians, as the nodule’s expansion could have resulted in swallowing difficulties.

Anxiety, concern, awareness, and uncertainty were all sensations that accompanied me during those months.

I subsequently sought treatment at one of the Naples institutions that was most appropriate for my circumstances. I was placed on the waiting list and underwent all of the necessary testing. Four months later, I received a phone call informing me that I would be operated on the following week.

And if the individual who was near to me during that period survived, he could survive anything!

The operation was successful, and the tumor was benign, as was the recovery. I experienced weakness in the days that followed, but this was to be expected.

So, gradually, I reestablished my routines. I resumed my social activities, donning a scarf around my neck to shield the scar from the sun’s beams. That is, why is it true? The sole reminder of that particular year that I possess is a scar on the lower portion of my neck. However, are you aware of the fact that? I have no difficulty displaying it. Although I acknowledge that the gaze of those who converse with me frequently coincides with that indication, I am not ashamed of it.

Therefore, I desired to share this small aspect of my existence with you.

I was lucky despite everything. My situation was straightforward; however, it is not always the case. To date, the sole alteration in my life has been the consumption of small quantities of replacement medication.

They were also in the studio because their thyroids were completely removed, and I had the opportunity to meet a young woman who had a thyroid result. She is resilient and content with life, despite the fact that she bears scars that are larger than mine.

Perform investigations and testing annually, particularly if you are acquainted with them. There are no justifications. Practice prevention; it has the potential to transform your life.

Valentina’s Story

I had been experiencing malaise, fatigue, anxiety, and lethargy for approximately one year. I was becoming fed up with that trend, which was occasionally detrimental. Additionally, I experienced a decline in energy and vitality, which further diminished my mood. My physician, who has never been particularly attentive to my symptoms, attributed them to a variety of seasonal maladies or fatigue resulting from the demands of my work and family life with a young child.

Consequently, he typically recommended rest, tachykinin, and bloodwork, none of which were within the expected range. At the umpteenth “I feel sick, strange, down” that I reported to my cousin, a doctor in Sicily, I was advised to have an ultrasound on my thyroid; the symptoms made her think of a malfunctioning butterfly gland.

In October 2017, I underwent an ultrasound.

The unforgettable doctor commences his task with a “Uh, mum, it’s great!” as soon as he begins. I am helpless and my anxiety is at its peak as I settle down and inquire, “What is so significant?” She may have come to the realization that her behavior was unprofessional and somewhat eccentric, and she informs me that there is no problem; it is possible that the issue is inflammation.

What are you discussing?

Once the ultrasound was over, she told me that there was a lump, large, very large and that she thought I should haven’t seen it. I leave the hospital in disbelief, without having understood anything, and I immediately call my cousin, my long-distance doctor.

She doesn’t put me down. Knowing me, she tells me that most people have thyroid nodules and to stay calm as much as possible. Then, she told me to go and have the needle aspirated, which exceeds the measurement of 1.50 cm.

Practice is compulsory. And mine was 3 cm.

Thus began one of the darkest periods of my life, in which moments of anxiety, fear and tears followed one another without stopping, which I had to hold back when my daughter, only 3 years old, was next to me.

On December 5, 2017, I went for needle aspiration, which was not a very pleasant test, but the fear I had was far worse; it went beyond the fear of the pain of that day. A simple Thyroid check is so simple in comparison. I asked the doctor if I would have to wait 15 days for the result and if, in his opinion.

There was something strange or abnormal.

n short, if, in his opinion, it could be a tumour, my greatest fear. He doesn’t comment; we await the outcome. If I am not contacted before 15 days, it is just a lump to be evaluated, and I got a report and a batch of others.

The days pass, and so do the nights, albeit with difficulty because I begin to sleep no longer, a nerve-racking waiting period. I continue to work, and I pretend nothing is happening. There is a Christmas atmosphere all around. With every phone call that comes to my cell phone, I panic.

The days pass, and we are on December 20, and I still haven’t been contacted.

I think I’m out of danger, and instead, around 11 in the morning, while exchanging gifts between panettone and pandoro with colleagues, the call arrives from an anonymous number. “Good morning, Mrs Valentina. I am the endocrinologist, and the result of the needle aspiration is positive;

It was confirmed that I have a disease”.

I will remember his sentence for my whole life, which I hope will be as long as possible. And I find myself on the phone in a small, isolated room; my legs give out. I sit down and ask what I should do. And I feel like I’m melting with that tumour inside me. The doctor reassured me that the solution was an operation and that I could spend the holidays peacefully.

Thyroid cancer is one of the slowest, and therefore, in January, I will be operated on with peace of mind. I call my husband, and I start to cry. Also, I am afraid, more afraid than before, afraid of dying, afraid of the tumour, afraid of leaving everything that life has given me so far.

I ran to my doctor to communicate the outcome and write the prescriptions

And they were demanding, and all the bureaucracy was involved in these cases. I am incredulous, “why me?” “What did I do wrong?”. “How could this happen?” and “I was happy” are the thoughts that bounce around in my head non-stop.

The hard part is communicating it to my family, with whom we can spend the Christmas holidays, my daughter’s birthday, and the happiest time of the year together. With them, I minimise it. I try to give the impression that it’s small, but inside, I’m wearing myself out.

Still, I’m so good that the word tumour never comes out of my mouth to the point that even my mother, until after the operation, doesn’t understand exactly what’s happening to me.

The days pass

Today, I see the photos of that Christmas in which my husband and I smiled from ear to ear, pretending to be happy, but the dark circles under our eyes are so deep that you can see all our fear in them.

Finally, the day of the operation arrives, preceded by the usual routine tests and interviews with doctors, surgeons and anaesthetists. With every visit to the waiting room, I feel like I’m going crazy; now, an itty always reigns supreme.

I enter the operating room on February 6, cold and raining. The surgery went well. I have a huge plaster on my neck, but I start talking straight away. One of the risks related to this type of surgery is that the vocal cords are damaged by losing your voice.

The surgeon who operates on me is one of the best.

They call him the best, and I must say that I can only confirm what is said about him. Upon resigning, I was told that, as per practice, I would have to undergo a cycle of radiotherapy. This doesn’t excite me, but the surgery went well. And I feel more positive, and I will also face the forced withdrawal of radioiodine.

I do radioiodine therapy in mid-April at the Institute.

The first time I entered there, the reaction was one of immense sadness, a liberating cry welcomed with warmth by the head nurse, a person who, like all the staff of the cancer institute, I carry in my heart.

The place is bad, and being isolated for five days is unpleasant.

Still, I sincerely thank all the people around me in those days, from a distance, obviously because they know how to make everything more pleasant and familiar.

At the Cancer Institute, despite being in a bunker, in a single room, without knowing what happens outside, whether it rains or sunny.

I never really perceive being abandoned.

The nurses are all very precious, with their jokes, explanations, chats, and some hugs they make these days pass almost without hearing them.

And I will never stop thanking them for what they did for me and for what they do for all the patients who pass through that bunker every day. We returned home after 15 days without seeing my daughter, who, given my superpowers, as I defined radioactivity, was on holiday with her grandparents.

Since then, my life has been made up of checks every year, not without anxiety and apprehension.