Throat Chakra Girl

I had seen my biopsy results almost 2 weeks ago, and the scheduled phone appointment with my oncologist had arrived.

In the time I had viewed the benign report online, I had felt a sense of relief. I hadn’t given it much thought beyond that since I had my hands full with other things. The possibility of having Sjogren’s, the appointments and testing required for that, the unexpected diagnosis of ocular rosacea, and the appointments needed for that.

While I was at the optometrist’s office, awaiting what I thought would merely be some clarity about whether or not I had Sjogren’s, my phone rang. If you know me, you know my ringer is always on silent. The “hardest person to get ahold of”, according to my husband, I would literally toss it in the lake if it ever made a sound. I watched it ring, my doctor’s office, and go to voicemail.

I read the transcript. She was ordering a neck ultrasound. She didn’t say why. Minutes later the ultrasound clinic called to book an appointment. I watched them call. ‘Not today, Satan’, I thought. I was not booking anything without knowing why. She lags behind sometimes. Calls with test results we’ve already discussed. I called her office back and asked for clarity. They told me she would call me back.

“Do you remember the ultrasound you did back in October? The one for your face?”

“Yes, the one checking my blocked saliva gland for Sjogren’s.”

“Yes, that one. You had an enlarged lymph node. I wanted to revisit that in 3 months to see if it was something viral, or something abnormal.”

It was one of those moments. Not a coincidence. In fact, the ultrasound tech that day had gone above and beyond. When he found out I was there to investigate Sjogren’s he said the requisition request was inadequate.

“If we are testing for Sjogren’s, we can’t just check your right cheek, where the blocked gland is. We need to check your glands and both sides of your neck.”

He is the only reason this was found. The question was why.

So I guess today is the day, Satan. I have to have a follow up ultrasound. I had told myself this was the year I would have more time to do the things I felt passionate about. I am not at all passionate about having cold gel put on me.

Fast forward to the oncologist. The thing I felt really good about.

“Hi Amanda. So we reviewed your biopsy report and deemed the nodule benign. Now, that is a 95% certainty. There is a 5% risk that it is cancer. The only way to know for sure would be surgery to remove it. Some people want to know 100%.”

“Okay. Can you tell me about the discrepancy with the ultrasound. It was showing a level 4 out of 5 risk of cancer.”

“Yes. That is subjective. If you put 100 radiologists in a room, some would have differing opinions. I trust the ones here because they are highly skilled. We will lead with the biopsy findings, but you need to be monitored. I want you back out here for an ultrasound in 9 months.”

I felt my comfort levels sliding. I didn’t feel the answer to the ultrasound question was adequate. I know one of my lessons was to face uncertainty without fear, but I felt it creeping in.

“If it grows, will I need another biopsy?”

“Not if it grows. If the risk goes up to level 5, yes, you will need another biopsy. We will have you come out here twice. If nothing changes, we refer you back to your endocrinologist for monitoring of that, and your secondary nodule.”

I looked back on the lessons I am supposed to be learning from this. Focus on facts, without fear and speculation. Learn how to face uncertainty without fear, and to not let anxiety build in situations that lack control. I could control this situation by opting to have surgery, but right now, I know I would only be doing that out of fear.

The appointment notification popped up. November 12th, 2026. Exactly a year after the first one. Another belated birthday gift, a day after my birthday, to look forward to.

So I wasn’t done with PMH yet. At least they use warm gel there 😂

I began the drive to Hamilton to see the specialized optometrist. He specializes in dry eyes, and Sjogren’s, and he was going to be the first step towards a potential diagnosis.

Sjogren’s, an autoimmune disease, was discovered by an ophthalmologist. In terms of symptoms of the eye, it includes dryness, and higher instances of infections.

Driving through Hamilton is never fun. The traffic is horrendous, and the roads in the downtown core can make you nauseous from all the bumps. Aside from some of their restaurants, and hiking trails, there is very little I enjoy about navigating my way through there.

My appointment started off with a series of tests. Tests where they were checking how often I blinked, how long I could go without blinking, and inspecting the glands inside my lower eyelids.

Dr. P brought me into his office after he received the results.

“So Amanda, you have come to see me today so we can see if you have Sjogren’s.”

“Yes, I was one who prompted that. I noticed I had a lot of symptoms.”

I left out the spirit guide part.

“So, I can see you have rosacea.”

“Yes, a dermatologist told me that once.”

“No, Amanda. I mean you have ocular rosacea. Rosacea of the eye, and your case is severe.”

My brain started humming. Humming over all the medical terms he started throwing out. I hadn’t even heard of this before. That wasn’t why I was here.

“How long have your eyes been dry?”

“I have no idea.”

This had become normal to me.

“By my estimate, you have had this 15 years or so. We took imaging of the glands in your lower eyelid. Do you see how the ones in the picture on the wall look long and tubular? Yours, the ones that haven’t died at least, look like little teeth.”

Inner dialogue had started. I hadn’t had to treat facial rosacea. This one probably wasn’t a big deal either.

“Can the damage be reversed?”

“Unfortunately, no. The glands that have died, have been lost. What we can do is treat the rosacea to prevent it from becoming worse, and help improve the health of the glands that remain.”

My brain was processing this slowly. 15 years. No one had ever caught it. Now the damage was permanent.

“I know you were having frequent eye infections in the past, right?”

“Yes, sometimes monthly. I was told they were either styes or blepharitis.”

“Was it an optometrist that told you that?”

“No. I only ever went to the walk-in for them.”

“And they never once said you should go see an optometrist?”

“No.”

He shook his head.

“I wish I was surprised. Look, I can tell you have had styes, I can even pinpoint where you’ve had them because of the glands that have died. Like here, the right eye, lower quadrant.”

They were almost always exclusively on my right eye.

“Physicians only spend about 10 minutes learning about the eyes. They are taught the ABCs of assessment. A being acute angle-closure glaucoma, B being blepharitis, and C being conjunctivitis. A is emergent, so you will almost always be diagnosed with B, or C.”

He decided to administer a tear test while we discussed treatment. The tear test collected tears for 5 minutes to assess your production levels. This was a test for Sjogren’s. My previous tests were not all aligned with a positive diagnosis, so he wanted to do something more extensive.

“I am assuming your tear numbers will be average.”

He stuck the paper strips in place, and instructed me to look up.

“The treatment is multifaceted. We will start with eye wash and moisturizer for the lids to tackle the inflammation. Eye drops and a compound I have created will round that part out. After that we began the bulk of the treatment. IPL laser mixed with 2 other treatments. One is to reduce lid dryness, and another to glandular health. That portion is about $2200 with taxes.”

Sir, this test certainly won’t be accurate now. That price is making me want to cry.

“Most insurance plans don’t cover this. We take 50% at the first appointment, and can split the remaining 50% across the 2nd and 3rd appointments. I want you to get in here as soon as possible. This treatment isn’t optional. You could end up cornea damage of this isn’t treated.”

My tear test was complete, and it turned out my tear production was 3 times below average. This meant Sjogren’s couldn’t be ruled out.

He ended our appointment by adding a day into his schedule to accommodate me. I would be expected to have one appointment a month for the next 3 months, and both of my girls would need to be tested.

I called my husband when I got outside. I told him what had happened and how I was still processing it.

“I feel like crying right now, and the irony is, I probably fucking can’t!”

I headed back to work, going back and forth feeling sorry for myself. It had been 6 days since I had found out I didn’t have cancer. I was expecting a longer reprieve from the medical stuff.

It suddenly hit me that none of this would be happening if I hadn’t been prompted to investigate Sjogren’s. My guides prompted this and my intuition caused me to follow through. Every moment, every test, and every doctor had led here. Yes, I wasn’t thrilled to have something new on my plate, but I was still in awe of the process.

It took 302 days to hear the word benign without the word “but”, at the end.

My oncologist had called almost 3 weeks prior to say his team was going to have to examine my biopsy slides to determine the pathology.

2 weeks passed, and it approached 3, I almost called. My patience was paper thin.

“How does it take so long to put a slide under a microscope?!”

I almost called, but I remembered the lessons this was supposed to be teaching me. Be patient, focus on the facts, and face uncertainty without fear.

In my darkest moments, I knew I might have cancer. I knew that from the moment the nodule was found. Nodules are not uncommon, but most don’t need to be biopsied. Most lead to obviously benign diagnosis if you do progress beyond needing an ultrasound. With each muddled step, I knew I was potentially approaching the 2-3% that have their lives changed in an instant.

302 days of being patient. 302 days of struggling to be patient. Looking back to count those days, I couldn’t help but laugh at the irony. The nodule had been found on April 1st.

I’m not out of the woods yet. The ultrasound showed a second nodule. One that was smaller, too small to biopsy yet, and in a higher cancer risk category to the one I’ve had checked.

For now I feel the rush of relief. I’m staying in this moment, knowing that in future moments of uncertainty, I can pull from this experience. This experience changed my life. For that reason I simply can’t regret a moment of it.

I was the product of a marriage of domestic violence. My earliest memory was around the age of 2. My mom and I were living on the 7th floor of an apartment building. She opened the door when we got home, and screamed bloody murder. There, on the balcony, was my father. A crane operator, when he felt like going to work, he had decided to scale down from the roof, to our balcony to get my mom to speak to him.

She had left when I was 10 months old. She hadn’t wanted children with him, but relented in an attempt to make the abuse stop. As nearly every victim of abuse will tell you, having children doesn’t stop the cycle.

She had a rough go of things. Raising a child alone, without child support. I was bounced around in my earliest years. Sometimes I lived with her, sometimes I lived with my grandparents. She struggled financially, but she also struggled to connect with me.

Imagine having a child with someone you had grown to hate. Now imagine that child looking like a doppelgänger of that person. There wasn’t a square inch of me that resembled her.

“My god, you even walk like him!”

I remember hearing that on occasion.

She coped the best she could, but I remember being a sad child. I always felt different, lonely. I was constantly looking for something soft to land on, at home, at school, and I just never really found it.

When I was really young, if I misbehaved, I was often threatened to be sent to live with bio Dad out in Newfoundland. I remember the cold icy fear of it. She never bad mouthed him, but I knew enough to know he wasn’t a good person, and he was a total stranger to me.

She remarried when I was 4, and our family blended with the man I would call Dad. He had a son, my step brother, who was less than a year younger than me. He became my companion every other weekend.

By the time I was 7, they had welcomed my sister, and then my brother, shortly thereafter. That was also the time my Mom started going to therapy, in part because she felt she struggled to get along with me. I was brought along to a few sessions. I don’t remember much beyond it being the end of threats of being sent to Newfoundland.

Having siblings eased some of the loneliness, but also served as a reminder that I was somewhat of an outsider looking in. The girl with a different last name, who didn’t look like anyone around her. The reason we got pulled aside when we travelled. The complicated explanation of who was related to whom.

As an adult, I started going to therapy as well. I began to realize that I had developed some coping mechanisms brought on by things that happened in my youth. Fear of abandonment issues, mixed with always trying to fix things myself, so that I wouldn’t get in trouble for any bumps in the road.

My therapist explained to me that most of our emotional responses for things are formed in our early youth. She recommended a type of therapy to me called brainspotting. It is the idea that certain eye positions, or brain spots, connect to specific emotional experiences we have had.

I finally warmed to idea of trying it, and booked an appointment. I was nervous. I didn’t know what to expect. It was also my first time meeting my therapist in person. Prior to that, we had only had phone appointments.

I was driving there when I noticed the Barenaked Ladies ‘One Week’ was playing on the radio. The same song that haunted my early meditation experiences. I took it as a sign. A reminder of how far I had come with something I was simply awful in the beginning. A nudge to give this a real try.

I was told to get comfortable and she pulled out a pointer. After deciding I wanted to focus on inner child, specifically my earlier years, she had me look at the pointer. She moved it in various positions until I felt something. I told her to stop moving when I felt a band of warmth from my sacral to my heart chakra.

With brainspotting, you are meant to fixate on the pointer for an extended period of time. I alternated looking at it, with closing my eyes. In many ways it felt similar to active mediation. I saw colours and shapes. Then I found myself thinking about my childhood. The sadness I felt. The loneliness. I thought about how much time I spent alone I had spent a lot of time being my only companion, and had been quite aware of it.

I felt tears stinging behind my eyes. Next thing I knew, they were running down my cheeks.

“Well this is strange.”

My therapist didn’t speak.

I felt reassurances coming into my mind. My inner voice speaking as you would speak to a child.

‘You weren’t always alone. You took skating lessons, and swimming lessons. You and your dad would watch your favourite tv shows together.’

I remembered the times my stepbrother was around. Looking back on it now, we kept each other from feeling lonely. It was funny though, I simply hadn’t recalled what I did when he wasn’t around, and I had to entertain myself. I started digging in my mind. Plucking out the things I could remember and reassuring her with them.

I settled on one thing. Being in the backyard with an old pot. Gathering up flowers, dirt, sticks, whatever I could find, and making a witch’s stew. I could see myself in the sun, smiling. I left my younger self there. Not alone, because when I think of her, I am there with her.

By the end of the session I felt calm, peaceful even. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but something had happened. I’ve revisiting her a few times, just to see if the image has remained the same, and it has.

I’ve yet to book my next session, but I plan to. I am curious to see if piece by piece I can heal the old wounds. The wounds that keep us from fully being who we were meant to be. To take the lessons from them, and move forward without looking back.

I used to believe in coincidences, but I don’t anymore. That doesn’t mean that I always recognize the signs right away.

I mentioned earlier in this blog that during a pendulum session with my spirit guides, I received an acknowledgment that I had another autoimmune disease besides hypothyroidism.

Upon doing research, and dropping into another pendulum session, it was confirmed that the suspected autoimmune disease was a connective tissue disorder called Sjogrens.

I met with my doctor in the fall to pursue a diagnosis. All of the bloodwork came back clear. It was disheartening. I didn’t want to have the condition, but I wanted to trust the legitimacy of my guides. I was questioning whether or not I was even communicating with them at all.

My intuition told me to take a step back. My friend Megan recommended the same thing. I was becoming reliant on my pendulum, and my guides, for predictive work. Predictive work that was mostly rooted in fear.

I put my pendulum aside, and haven’t returned to it yet. Instead, I spent time deepening my trust in myself and my intuition.

When my test results came back negative, my doctor told me she was still going to refer me to a rheumatologist, if I wanted. I was surprised. She had initially told me she wouldn’t do that without positive testing.

My appointment was scheduled during my busy season, and I moved it around a few times because I wasn’t making time for it. I figured it would go nowhere, and I was incredibly busy. That kind of deep exhausted that you can feel in your bones.

When I called and left a message to reschedule, they ended up sending back my referral when they couldn’t reach me right away to rebook. My physician reached out about it, and while I would have told her to just forget about it, the referral had already been resent.

When the appointment was a few days away I decided it cancel. Outright cancel, no rescheduling. I was tired of my days off being filled with specialists and tests, and I really felt this particular appointment was pointless.

I looked up the number to call and realized that it was less than 2 business days before the appointment, and I would be charged $75 if I canceled. So I sucked it up and decided I would go, and then be done with it.

The appointment was today, and I made the 30 minute drive, somewhat begrudgingly.

“We are going to start the appointment by acknowledging there is a microphone in the room for AI scribe. It doesn’t record your voice and store it, it just provides a record of the appointment. Are you okay with that?”

Man, AI really is everywhere nowadays, isn’t it?

“Sure, that’s fine.” I hate work notes just as much as the next guy.

We discussed my symptoms:

Dry eyes, chronic eye infections, blocked salivary gland, joint pain, chronic dry skin and fissures on right fingertips, canker sores, dry mouth, and the connection to hypothyroidism.

“Amanda, I think we have something here. Some people come in with some possible signs, and some people come in with probable signs. I am going to send you to an eye specialist, and for some extensive blood work. This condition is rare. We are still learning about it, and actively doing clinical trials. It is a good thing you came to investigate this, because it has been found to be linked to lymphoma. It is better to know if you have it.”

I sat in my car for a bit thinking about what he said. I almost canceled this appointment. I had been nudged in this direction and I almost didn’t see it through because I thought it was a waste of time. Everything that has happened led up to this. The events played out like they were meant to. It was a clarifying moment. A reminder of what I had now come to believe—there are no coincidences. The only question is, what would I learn from this?

I had done a tarot reading a few days before the appointment about my health. The 6 cards I pulled asked that I focus on facts as clarity, instead of fear, and overthinking. I was being asked to be patient, and to allow my perspective shift. Lastly, the lesson to learn was how to respond to uncertainty. To not resort to patterns of fear, anxiety, and desire to control the outcome. To focus on reality over anticipation.

The cards can give you guidance, but sometimes our brains are our own worst enemy. Every day I wake up and just focus on taking a step forward, looking for signs along the way. They are always there if you pay attention.

I sort of stumbled into January. My busy season was over, and I was having a hard time adjusting to having to head back to work after such a short break. Each busy season working a physical job, just chips away at you.

Over the holidays, one of my husband’s relatives had passed away. He had been a fire captain, who was diagnosed with thyroid cancer while still on the job. The circumstances meant it was deemed occupational. It also meant he was considered to have died in the line of duty.

While I was getting ready to attend, I found myself contemplating the oddness of it. The feeling in my gut of how strange it was to be attending a funeral for someone who died from the type of cancer you might have. The irony. The solemnness of it all. My last conversation with his wife had been comparing oncologists.

I mentioned it to my husband as we drove over there. It triggered a memory of my Mother. Just over a year before she passed from breast cancer, my grandpa, my dad’s father, passed away. She had taken my Grandma out to help her find an acceptable urn for his ashes, and she said something to me about it.

“It’s strange to think that I am helping someone do something, that in a short time from now, someone will be helping with after I die.”

Now, in my gut I have held the belief that I don’t have cancer. Maybe in the quiet moments, on occasion, I tell myself I should at least be prepared for it.

We arrived at the service and it was like nothing I had ever seen. A full procession, a vintage fire truck, and bagpipes. What felt like 300 firefighters were in the rows behind the family. The traditions were touching. His daughters’ speeches were moving. Hearing grown men swallow tears made it hard to maintain composure.

I grounded myself. I told myself that I was rooted, grounded and protected. I imagined roots tunnelling from my feet. I imagined them spreading across the large room in all directions, and I felt my heart rate settle.

Afterwards we made our way past the news cameras, televising the funeral and interviewing some of the guests, and greeted my husband’s cousin. A lovely woman, cute and friendly, with the air of deep sadness that comes from losing your spouse. She turned to me:

“Don’t be worried about this okay.”

I instantly knew what she meant. It was like she had read my mind.

“What he had, was different than you. Remember that.”

“I’m trying.”

Honestly, I feel like those 2 words sum up a lot of this experience for me. I’m trying. Trying to be positive, trying to be patient.

Days later my phone rang while I was at work. It was my oncologist. He was calling 5 days before our scheduled phone appointment.

“Oh hi Amanda, it’s doctor G.”

“Oh hi!”

“So we got your biopsy results.”

This I knew. My endocrinologist got them first, before Christmas. My physician called second, after Christmas. I didn’t know the details beyond atypical cells being found again.

“The hospital wasn’t much help, and couldn’t determine the pathology.”

0/2 Joseph Brant, 0/2.

“So, I am having the report sent here for my team to review it. Then I will schedule an appointment for you to come in and we can decide whether you need surgery or not.”

My mind was reeling. Come in? He told me he would schedule a phone call last time so we didn’t have to deal with Toronto’s nightmarish traffic. Surgery? He told me last time that he wouldn’t suggest surgery for a possibly benign mass since the risks outweighed the reward.

“Okay but we have a phone appointment on Tuesday.”

“Oh that will have to be bumped. This will take about 2 weeks. I will have my receptionist schedule you in.”

Baffled and only 8 minutes before I need to slap on my work face and get back to it.

I called my husband and told him what happened. I said that either he knew something he wasn’t telling me, or he didn’t have the previous information from our appointment in front of him when he called, and he was just spewing standard medical jargon.

“What the fuck is going on? I’m freaked out a bit.”

“Don’t be.”

“I’m trying.”

That’s all I’ve got right now. The ability to try. To focus on my inner peace, and try to maintain it.

The last few months have felt like a building momentum. My meditations have intensified, and dream work has started to occur. A form a meditation that happens while we sleep. The thoughts, and residue lingering in the air when I wake. Lessons of shadow work, letting go of old emotional wounds, and soothing my inner child.

All of this has been a work in progress. My younger self is painful to revisit. A sad, and lonely girl, who used to ask if she was adopted because she felt different. Felt like she didn’t belong. A child who developed tactics to only be seen, but not heard. Cleaning up the mess before she got in trouble for it, and never truly feeling believed.

I wish I could go back and shelter her. Protect her little heart from the adult feelings she felt. The adult lessons she learned before she could truly make sense of them.

It is funny how experiencing pain can sometimes feel like healing. Maybe it is why I have always loved tattoos. Pain therapy. It makes me think of the expression of walking into the fire. Healing past wounds doesn’t come without discomfort. Often you are facing things, head on, that you would rather bury in the sand. Reflecting on things you used to avoid.

From that discomfort, and rediscovering myself, a newfound passion has emerged. I’ve worked as a massage therapist for 18 years. It probably look me 10, to realize I am really good at what I do. But being good at something, isn’t the same as being passionate about it.

I took a second crystals course a few months ago. It touched upon crystal healing. That is the act of placing crystals on certain chakras to help with energy flow, and blockages. When I tried reiki, it was centred around energy flow of the 7 main chakras. Opening up ones that may be partially, or even fully closed.

Consider love, for example, the primary energy in our heart chakra. When we struggle to love ourselves, or have experienced heartbreak, that chakra can become shuttered. We will guard ourselves against any vulnerability that could lead to more pain, and become closed off.

When I encounter people with physical tension, there is often an underlying emotional element to it. Clients talk of stress, too much work, illnesses, or loss of relationships. They feel the physical pain of having tight muscles, but most of what they describe is emotional.

I’ve realized that was what is missing from my practice. It was also what was missing from my own life. For so long I had focused only on physical health, like I focused on the anatomy, and muscles at work. Now I have a desire to integrate. Working with my own energy, building my meditation practice has changed my life. It has changed my anxiety levels, my overly analytical brain. It has opened my heart in a way that is palpable. I want that for others.

I have decided, in the new year, I will focus taking reiki courses until I achieve my master level. I am also planning a course on crystal healing. Crystals have brought me so much joy. I feel as though they are a tool that can help soften emotional blockages, and encourage healthy energy flow throughout the body.

Integrating massage with reiki and crystals would be such a well rounded approach to wellness. I see it as a way to relieve physical tension, and pain, while also addressing the underlying energetic, and emotional elements contributing to it.

I already know when I will be taking these courses, and am just patiently waiting for those dates to arrive. In the meantime, I am focused on my own practice, as well as tapping into channeling energy, instead of solely using my own energy during my massage work.

I’m paying attention to the signs I am receiving, trusting my intuition, and working on strengthening my inner voice.

2025 has been the wildest year of my life, and yet I wouldn’t trade it. It has brought me to a place of peace I didn’t think was obtainable. It’s a gift I am hoping to share with others. Wishing everyone a blessed New Year!

This time it was decided that I would go to my biopsy on my own. They fall on Tuesdays, when I am off, and my husband had already taken many days off for my appointments, at this point.

My anxiety was a bit high as I headed out the door. It’s the logistics that get me. Parking, finding where I need to go, traffic, getting out of the house on time.

My appointment was at 8:45am, so I was leaving my house earlier than I normally would. Repeating instructions for my youngest, over and over, because I wasn’t going to be home to see her off to school.

“Don’t be late. Leave on time. Don’t forget to lock the door. Pay attention to the ice while walking.”

I pulled into the parking lot, and began the process of figuring out their parking. Back and forth between ticket machines, and the ticket booth. One of those logistical nightmares I had been dreading. It seems like it should be illegal to have to pay for parking at the hospital. People under the stress of testing for serious diseases, or visiting dying loved ones, worrying over testy technology.

There is a general check-in area for all types of imaging. Doris, the 90 something year old volunteer, will guide you where to go to grab a number, and wait your turn.

I got called up and the nervous humour started.

“Have you been in contact with anyone who has measles in the last 3 weeks?”

“I sure as hell hope not!” I laughed.

She just stared at me.

I got my form and headed down the hall to the waiting room. I was barely in a seat for a moment before I got called into the changing area.

I knew the rundown. Top and bra off, gown open to the front. Belongings all go in the locker, lock the lock and take the key.

Before I went to the room, I grounded myself. Closed my eyes, felt my feet and told myself I was grounded, safe and protected. Rooted, stable and secure.

I had the ultrasound component first before the radiologist came in. He told me he would be freezing my neck and taking 3 samples.

First they clean your neck with a pink solution that stains your skin. I was thinking about how I had gone to a garden centre right after the first biopsy. Today I would be going to finish up my Christmas shopping. Let people stare. There is no easy way to get this stuff off.

“Okay I am going to freeze you now. Just a little prick, and some burning.”

A little worse than last time. I took this time to call in my spirit guides, guardian angel, Archangel Raphael, my Mom and my Nan. I felt a twinge behind my eyes when I thought of my Mom and Nan. I almost thought I might cry for a second.

“I am going to take the first sample now.”

Where the first radiologist had been slow and methodical with sliding the needle back and forth to gather cells, this guy was a jiggler. Rapid up and down, back and forth. I was glad I couldn’t feel more than just the initial pressure. Think of it like getting blood drawn. Which each replacement vile, you feel pressure. That is what I felt in my throat. I just laid there with my neck extended, and turned to the left.

Before I knew it, it was over. My neck already starting to feel a bit sore.

“I wish all of my patients were like you.”

“Are your patients not usually like me?”

“You are very calm.”

Little did he know that I had called in an angelic army to calm me.

“Well, I have been through this before. That, and I grounded myself before we got started. That helped.”

Fingers crossed that this test will provide the clarity I am after. I should have the results by mid January.

The day had arrived and I was a mess. My anxiety was high and Toronto driving was not helping. Packing hematite in both pockets, because I needed all the grounding I could get.

We barely found parking. The clock was ticking down. At one point my husband told me I should just head in without him and he would circle around.

By the time we got out of the car, I was on the brink of having a panic attack. He stopped me in the street and told me to breathe. It was cold, unseasonably cold. I should have worn a jacket. My muscles were cramping and we weren’t going to make it on time. We had committed the tragic mistake of parking at the Mars building, and coming out the wrong side of the underground. We had so far to go to get to where I needed to be.

I made it to my waiting area with 6 minutes to spare. My husband had rushed back to pay for parking, after forgetting to do it.

I scanned the waiting room. Maybe a dozen other people filled the room. Some masked, some not. Some old, and some young. I noticed the woman there with her husband and toddler. Something about that tugged at my heart.

My husband rejoined me and I got called into a waiting room. In the hallway, I could see my oncologist verbally dictating notes. My husband and I made small talk, with the occasional medical terms floating around in the background.

I could hear the nurse in the next room with a patient.

“Has your voice changed at all since surgery?”

“Oh ya, I sound a lot different.”

“Have you noticed any other side effects?”

“Well, everything I eat tastes the same. Last week I had coffee and it tasted like salt.”

I cringed.

“That does sometimes happen with radiation. It likely won’t last. Okay, we are going to scope you now. That’s it, you’re doing great.”

The scope, as it turned out, was the device that was hanging in our room that kept hitting my husband in the head. Call it a foreshadowing of sorts.

Then it was my turn. A nurse came in the room first and asked me some questions.

“Are you having any symptoms? Trouble swallowing?”

The million dollar question.

“Yes, actually. There are certain things I am struggling with. Dry things, like bread, and chewy things, like my protein bars.”

“Okay we are going to scope you.”

I froze. I wasn’t expecting that.

“I am going to insert this tube up your nose, and down your throat. The hardest part is the nose. It feels like getting a Covid swab.”

Turns out she was a liar, and a sadist. The nose was easy compared to the throat. I swallowed.

“Oh no, try not to swallow, and breathe through your nose.”

Mind over matter I told myself. Relax. Nope. Swallow.

“Try not to swallow.”

Swallow. Swallow. Swallow. It was all I could do now. I was panicking. I went into fight or flight mode. I no longer saw her, it was just blind fear. Arms flailing, I’m surprised I didn’t hit her.

“Okay, okay. All done. You did great.”

Liar.

I was coughing, tears running down my face. Nose burning, and the feeling of something lingering in my throat. I quickly tried to gather myself.

Dr.G came in shortly after. He was a tiny man in black plastic rimmed glasses, and scrubs. He wore rubber shoes that looked like clogs. He stood on the outside of his feet the entire time he spoke to me. He was like a leprechaun, and I hoped he had a pot of gold at the end of his rainbow, because my patience was getting really thin.

“Okay Amanda, so our team reviewed your pathology and it came back as benign.”

“Oh great!”

“Yeah, but, the ultrasound you had done here last week, showed a 4 out of 5 risk of this being cancer.”

Here we go again. Not cancer, but not-not cancer either.

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, we aren’t sure about the discrepancy between the two. My suggestion would be to repeat the biopsy.”

“Don’t biopsy results normally trump ultrasound results?”

“Usually, yes. That is why I figure if we get one more benign biopsy result, we will conclude that it is the case.”

“I have a secondary biopsy booked for December 9th. My endo booked it thinking it might be necessary.”

“That’s great. Have the report sent here and we will call you with the results just before the holidays, so you don’t have to come out all this way again.”

“Or, if the results are bad, wait until after the holidays.” lol

My nervous habit of making jokes, even bad ones, was making an appearance.

He also mentioned he wouldn’t opt for surgery with a benign mass. I had received differing information on that. It can injure the vocal cords, and since thyroid nodules are slow growing, our esophagus usually adapts around them. He had patients with 8 to 9cm masses still in their throats. Mine was 3.2.

“From there, you would just be monitored.”

We would keep an eye on thing 1, and biopsy thing 2 once it was large enough.

Some of the information was a relief, but I was tired. Tired of the back and forth, and the not knowing. Tired of the tests, procedures and appointments. Access to healthcare is a privilege, and yet I longed for the days where a day off meant doing something I enjoyed. Maybe that will be the case again soon.

The day of the retreat had arrived. I headed over tentatively. I was still contemplating the significance of this. I knew there had to be a reason I ended up connecting with S.

When I first heard from her as a response to my Facebook post, it seemed to just be a nice coincidence that she had a meditation and sound bath planned for the day of my oncology appointment. When she told me she also had a throat chakra retreat planned, well, that was when I found it hard to believe she hadn’t intentionally been placed on my path.

The retreat was half a day, taking place in her home studio. We would be spending the day meditating, journaling, sharing and eating. All of this would be capped off with a sound bath.

It was a small group of ladies. We went through our introductions and started talking about what had brought us to the retreat, and our connection to the throat chakra.

Our throat chakra is the energy centre in our throat. It is responsible for communication and truth. Many of the women had felt silenced as children, the idea of kids being seen, but not heard. For many that had created anxiety issues around public speaking, or simply stopped them from using their voices.

The lady who spoke before me had been crying. I took note of it. I didn’t judge her but it made me feel a bit squeamish, the idea of being so open with people we mostly didn’t know.

My turn came to share. I had been rehearsing it in my head.

“My journey started as something health related that lead me to meditation. I ended up meeting S & L through a Facebook post while looking for meditation classes.

I mentioned the events S had told me about, and how this one hardly felt like a coincidence to me.

As I started to get into my health issues, and the fact that I might have cancer, I felt a burning in my throat. That constricting and swallowing that starts before you cry. I was horrified. I tried to trample it down, but I couldn’t.

I was ugly crying. Sobbing, gulping and gasping. I couldn’t speak. I just cried. Whispering “sorry”, inbetween gasps as I tried to collect myself. They sat in silence while I gathered myself. It wasn’t rushed, or uncomfortable, it just was.

I realized then that I hadn’t cried throughout this whole process, not really. I cried for a moment when I got my biopsy report. It almost felt like crying was omission of belief. The belief that I did have cancer. I felt my mind go into those dark corners as I lay awake in bed sometimes, but I also felt that thinking it, becomes living it.

When I stopped crying, I managed to continue speaking. I spoke of the fear I had around my possible diagnosis. The fact that I should have some answers soon. I noticed that I didn’t feel that heavy, emotional drain that I normally would after crying like that. The kind that leaves you yearning for a nap. I just felt lighter.

The rest of the day passed by peacefully. We ate lots of brie and baguettes, journaled some prompts about the throat chakra, and did some breath work and meditation.

It takes a lot for me to feel comfortable with people, and yet I was at ease. I was starting to encounter people who were aligned with the new path I was on. A path that was entirely different than any path I had yet to venture on. A path that makes you feel vulnerable at times, and yet it was also rewarding. Peeling away the layers of yourself that had left you numb.

L, who ran the sound bath component of these events, and I had connected over crystals. She had told me about an amazing wholesaler out in Fergus that will be visiting soon. She also gifted us each a beautiful piece of raw kyanite, which is connected to the throat chakra.

S knew of my love of crystals as well. She even asked if I taught a crystal classes. During our conversation she mentioned being drawn to moss agate. I decided that I would get her one, her first crystal, for when I saw her next. She had found herself drawn to it, and I know how special that feeling can be. Though, if you asked my husband, he would tell you that I have been drawn to far too many crystals 😅.

After our journaling we were asked if we would like to share anything else. A lot of the prompts during our journaling were about speaking your truth. I have come to realize that for many, speaking the truth is the easy part. It is living your truth that can be most difficult. Often, people believe that if they unburden themselves with words, that is enough to move forward. If we speak, and never learn, never change our behaviours, our words have just been empty. That is something I realized during my time with the group.

I ended up buying S a tree agate. It reminded me of the trees in her backyard that I experienced during my first sound bath meditation with her and L. It felt really nice to be the one to give her the first crystal, and she was touched that I remembered her mentioning it.

Tree agate is the sister to both dendritic agate, and moss agate. It helps you connect with nature, and to reconnect with your inner child. A gift from my heart to a new friend, to help connect her to her heart chakra. A token of appreciation for helping me communicate my emotions around my cancer scare, for the first time.