Yep, the B-word and C-word by proxy. In all the thyroid crap I ‘ve gone through the word cancer was said twice, as in “It’s Not”. Apparently doctors have magical ways of looking at test results and ultrasounds that mere mortals like us could never dream of understanding. With their magical mystery eyes, the doctors have said that because of they way my lumpy-lumps are shaped, have grown and had baby lumpy-lumps, they are not cancerous. Seven years of NOT CANCEROUS.
Bring in Doctor Doom. “I think we should biopsy these before we decide on any other course of treatment. There is always a possibility that they are malignant.” (Side note: Have you ever noticed that malignant is a very ugly word. I mean it sounds awful. The least they could do is give it a nicer name. I’d rather be killed by the flowery flower disease than the (dun dun duunn) malignant melanoma.)
I have to have a biopsy. I am thrilled. The doctor who does the thyroid biopsy is on vacation. So I get to wait. He’s supposed to be back Monday. I know I get backed up after a vacation so let’s see how long it takes to get an appointment.
I hate waiting.