Throat Chakra Girl

The next few weeks went by in a blur. I fully immersed myself into meditation. Every morning began the same. I was meditating before I got out of bed, and the Barenaked Ladies had played their final encore. Each meditation was capped off with grounding in the backyard.

My mind was suddenly quiet at times. It was profound. I had never experienced that in my life. I was also getting up earlier, with intention. I was not a morning person, in fact when I talk about this with clients, I always tell the same story.

As a teenager, my Mom always insisted I shower in the morning. High school started at 8:20am, so that meant 6:30am wake-ups. My body was simply not having it. I was groggy, I was freezing. The last thing I wanted to do was shower.

I would turn on the water, and under the ruse of needing to wait for it to heat up, take a towel, curl up on the bathmat and cover myself up. This almost always led to me falling back to sleep.

My mom would eventually coming knocking, I would cup my hands over my mouth to make it sound like I was in the shower, and then rush to get washed as fast as possible. She eventually caught on and I was busted.

So now, as an adult, I was actually setting my alarm for 6:15am, and looking forward to getting up each day. Just 6 months ago, I was struggling to get out of bed by 7:30am. Surely I was going mad.

I was walking more, noticing things in nature. I rescued a few bumblebees, moths, and caterpillars from being squished. Carefully carrying them to safety, like I would have as a child. My heart was lighter, and mind didn’t feel so overwhelming. I was finding joy in the little things, literally.

Life seemed slower. I was carving out time for myself. I had been recommended to a little yoga studio that also offered breath work and meditation classes. It had been years, and years since I had attended yoga, and I can tell you it was quite humbling to try classes again. My flexibility, or lack of it, made me feel well beyond my years. I also discovered that breath work, while fulfilling, is really quite hard. Still working on enjoying the process of learning it.

My love of crystals was also growing. I was accumulating quite the collection, of mostly palm stones. I wanted to have one to place on each of the 7 chakras during meditation. I had tried meditating without them, but I quite enjoyed the sensation of them, the weight of them somehow felt comforting.

The biggest change I had noticed was my mindset. I wasn’t worried about my potential diagnosis, not really. That, in itself, was a testament to a change in my life. I had always been a worrier, my anxiety and overthinking only increasing with age. I often joked that I don’t seem like an anxious person, because I come across as an exhausted pigeon, and yet underneath that laidback facade, my feathers are almost always ruffled.

My closest guy friend, M, had shown up on my doorstep the day I told him about my biopsy findings. I had hardly registered who was at my door before I was enveloped by his bear hug. I was highly emotional, and yet trying to keep that under control.

Weeks later, when he called me to check in, it was very different.

“Hey buddy, just wanted to call and see how you are doing? Anymore news?”

“This is going to sound strange, but I am good. I have started meditating, and went to reiki, and my mind is in a much different place than when you saw me. I’m not worried, or making myself sick analyzing the shit out of this. I’m also not emotionally shut off either, because I know what that feels like, and this isn’t it. I should know more next month when I see the oncologist.”

I’m still struggling when I hear that word.

“Well, I’m glad you’ve found something that is helping you during this time.”

Me too, buddy, me too. I had found solace in the space between consciousness and unconsciousness. Peace in the swirls and orbs of colours, and images behind my eyes. The hum of energy moving up my limbs.

I felt like my old, desktop computer of a brain was starting to change. It had been long overdue for an upgrade. But like any upgrade, I hoped I wouldn’t regret it. With any change in life, sometimes we have to have faith, even if it might be met with failure. I was taking the leap.

The day of my reiki appointment had arrived. I walked into Kirsten’s lovely space with no expectations.

She was excited that it was my first time trying it. She explained that she hadn’t wanted to know much about my background, because a lot of what she experiences is intuitive, and she wanted it to be authentic.

She explained that prior to my treatment, she sat and thought about me, and was drawn to 3 things—an oracle deck, palm crystals for each hand, and an essential oil. Every part of that was optional. In addition, while touch during the treatment is minimal, you could opt out of that as well.

She showed me the oracle deck, and told me I could shuffle, or spread out the cards and choose one.

“I can’t shuffle, so should I just spread them out? Then I just pick one? I’ve never done this before.”

“Really?!”

“I’ve never dealt with oracle, or tarot cards, for that matter.”

“Well that is interesting. This isn’t a beginner’s deck that I was drawn too.”

I didn’t really know what to say to that. I spread the cards out, and chose one.

Next she presented me with the crystals I would be holding in each hand. One was a bluish turquoise colour, but the other, a mixture of pink with flecks of black and grey, stopped me in my tracks.

“What is that?”

“It’s rhodonite.”

“Well that’s interesting. My dad brought me home a stone rabbit from a business trip when I was a child, it looked like that.”

That rabbit had sat on my shelf for years. In fact, I was tucked away in a memory box at my home. I wondered if that was somehow significant.

The essential oil she was drawn to for me was lavender. Not my favourite, but I trusted the process.

I laid down on the table, covered with a blanket, with crystals in each hand. Kirsten had me inhale deeply and I closed my eyes.

She made her way to my toes and that was when it happened. I felt pressure between my eyes. It wasn’t painful, but it was intense. It was coupled with an almost blinding white light. It was so intense that I was struggling to keep my eyes fully closed. In fact, at several points I thought I was going to have to open them.

‘What the hell is happening’, I asked myself.

I had never felt anything like that before. I fought to keep my eyes closed, and eventually it lessened.

I was in and out of consciousness during the treatment. I wasn’t sleeping though. My crystals stayed firmed in my hands, pulsing. I felt my throat constrict a few times, and a guttural sound came out. Energy radiated throughout my body.

When the treatment was over, I was simply amazed that my Mother had tried this before and felt nothing. And I was the one that joked I was dead inside.

At that point I went to sit on the couch and Kirsten discussed what she had noticed.

“Is there a female in your life who has absolutely exhausted recently?”

I laughed. She was bang on. To avoid any further drama, I will keep that person’s name to myself.

“That was the first thing I noticed when I touched you. Your heart and solar plexus chakras were shuttered. I get the impression you have been making decisions purely with your mind, your third eye, and bypassing your heart and solar plexus, intuition centre, all together.”

Third eye. That was where I had seen the white light. I thought about her words and realized there had been many times recently where I had ignored my intuition, dove right in, and had to backtrack out again, slowly.

“Your crown chakra is completely closed. I’ve seen a lot of that lately. It is often open with people who are spiritual, or have a faith, or religion of some kind.”

“I am beginning to learn that I was taught something that has been a disservice to me. I was taught that being spiritual, and being religious, were one and the same, and I’m starting to realize that isn’t true.”

Without arguing religious beliefs here, I will simply say that I grew up going to church, and have no use for organized religion. The man made elements of churches, and places of worship, is not something I wish to be involved in, for a variety of reasons.

“You can certainly be spiritual, without being religious. You can have a relationship with yourself, and with Source, independent of the church.”

How freeing.

“I also feel your throat chakra is fine. It is open, and I saw a blue butterfly flying from it.”

Maybe this thyroid stuff was leading to some sort of transformation.

“I also see meditation being a big part of your journey.”

I scoffed at that. “I’m horrible at it. I tried recently and I couldn’t get my brain to be quiet.”

“Your mind is very powerful. The energy coming from your third eye was immense. Often that leads to frustration, because our mind is constantly going. You may only get moments of clarity from your sessions.”

Amongst suggesting meditation, she also suggested grounding. Going out and standing on the ground as much as possible. Apparently my feet are portals where energy exchange happens. My always cold feet were horrified at the idea.

She told me she saw something around Thanksgiving that was fun and full of fall colours. It hit me that I was planning a hiking trip with my oldest daughter that weekend.

“It is good you are going to have some fun because I sense an imbalance between your feminine and masculine sides. Your masculine side—your structure, and routine—is quite strong. The feminine side, the side that comes from nurturing, fun and self care, is stagnant.”

Once we finished talking, we flipped over my oracle card, and I laughed.

“What about that card makes you laugh?”

“It reminds me of my meditation journey. I am very new at it, and like I said before, not very good at it.”

“These things will come. I sense your curiosity. Keep trying the things that interest you, without getting overwhelmed, and give yourself some grace will doing it. A lot has happened to you in a short period of time.”

The next morning, I returned to meditation. Knowing which chakras were unbalanced gave me something to focus on. Afterwards, I went and stood in the grass. It was the true beginning of my practice.

This time I felt cold when I walked into his office. My nerves were shot. I had spent the last 6 days trying to make sense of my results. Chastising myself for only paying attention to the words I had been hoping to hear, and zoning out the rest.

“Amanda, I will be frank with you. These aren’t the results I was hoping for.”

You and me both, buddy.

“Your cancer risk with the discovery of a nodule is about 2-5%. With your results, it jumps to 20%.”

Say something. “Okay, so what is next?”

“Well we need to book you in for a follow up biopsy, and with a surgeon.”

“Why another biopsy? The sample was good. I don’t really want to go through that again if I don’t have to.”

“Well we could skip it, I understand the reasoning. Unfortunately, some surgeons require a second one before operating.”

I just wanted this thing gone.

“Of the people you have seen that presented like me, how many of them had cancer?”

“I don’t want to answer that. It won’t do you any good to be thinking ‘cancer, cancer, cancer’ over the next few months.”

He obviously didn’t know me. I would likely spend the next few weeks thinking “cancer” in several different languages.

That night I laid in bed. I felt my chest tighten, and my breathing become rapid and shallow. Anxiety was an old friend, but I could count the anxiety attacks I had in my life on one hand. I felt like I was teetering on the edge of one. My heart pounding, wondering if I should wake my husband. I closed my eyes and concentrated on my breath. I managed to keep it from becoming full blown. I knew I was in trouble though. My head was an absolute mess.

The next week was taxing. My boundaries were being tested. People wanted to talk to me, but I only had the energy to engage with a few. I knew who was good for me, and who wasn’t. I struggled to work. Sometimes cancelling home clients several times. My days were a blur, and I was exhausted.

I was lying by the pool when my endocrinologist’s receptionist called. She wanted to confirm my appointments. My biopsy wouldn’t be for 5 months.

“Your oncology appointment is scheduled for September 25th. Did you get that email.”

I froze.

“What did you say?”

“Your oncology appointment. Did you get the email?”

“Oncology? I was told I was seeing a surgeon.”

I didn’t understand. I didn’t definitively have cancer, did I?

“He is a head and neck microvascular reconstruction specialist.”

That little bastard. He hadn’t told me I was seeing an oncologist, he just kept saying surgeon. He had his receptionist do his dirty work, and now I felt like I’d been slapped across the face.”

It was starting to become a theme to have these encounters, and then call my husband to have him talk me down.

“It’s a good thing Amanda. He covers all the bases. This way, if it’s cancer, you have already met with an oncologist.”

I envied his level-headedness. If left to my own devices, I likely would have lit myself on fire, and jumped off a bridge. Not dramatic at all.

Now I was left waiting again, and I wasn’t sure my brain would survive it.

It was my daughter’s 12th birthday when I got the call. My physician had my results in her hand and was going to go through them with me the best she could. She emphasized that this was not her area of expertise, and ultimately my endocrinologist would provide the most clarity for me.

She started reading, and I found myself scanning her words.

“Abnormal cells…atypical appearance…irregular nuclei…crowded cells…sample was good…no signs of cancer.”

There. There it was. What I was waiting for.

“So it’s benign then?” I felt the rush of relief wash over me.

“No. It doesn’t say that anywhere.”

Buzzing started in my ears.

“I don’t understand. It says there are no signs of cancer.”

“Yes, but it also doesn’t clearly say benign anywhere. It says the pathology is undetermined.”

Good sample, pathology undetermined. The cells don’t look normal.

“So it’s not cancer, but it’s not-not cancer?”

She laughed a little.

“I guess you could say that. You will have to wait and see what your endocrinologist says.”

I felt myself travelling back to 13 years prior, the worst time of my life. I had miscarried 6 weeks before my Mother died, 4 days after my oldest daughter turned 2. It muddled her birthdays from then on. A dark cloud overhead.

I found myself feeling the same way now. Distracted. Putting on a happy front so I could celebrate with my child. Feeling the chill at the idea that now it could be my mortality staring back at me.

I called my husband as my heart pounded in my ears.

“Why couldn’t it have been benign? What does this even mean?”

I had been manifesting the word. Wasn’t that shit supposed to work? Had I not believed it hard enough?

I was crying. My gut was telling me that having a good sample that came back with undefined pathology, meant I was leaning towards something precancerous.

“Don’t worry. We need more information. Don’t get yourself upset.”

On the other side of my door was a girl who was excited about her birthday plans. It was going to be a long day.

Waiting 6 more days for more information was going to feel like a lifetime.

I felt like M had planted a seed. In those weeks I spent waiting for my results, I found myself trying to meditate, and searching for a reiki provider.

I relied on good old Facebook for something useful, for once. I posted in a local Moms group asking for reiki recommendations. My knowledge of reiki had been limited. I knew a few practitioners, I knew it was as about energy work, but that was about it. My mother had been given a recommendation to try it when she was diagnosed with cancer, but she got nothing from her treatment.

Several recommendations came through, and I ended up choosing one, and booking an appointment for the beginning of August.

In the meantime, I had decided to try meditation. I had a slew of holistic things on my list to narrow down. I had decided that if I might be sick, it was time to focus more on my emotional and mental wellbeing. I had been focused on physical health for so long, and had simply lost sight of anything else.

I put a pillow under my knees, laid down on my bed, and placed my lapis lazuli in the hollow of my throat. Closed my eyes, and focused on my breath, as the intrusive thoughts rolled in.

‘Should I be breathing deeply, or normally?’

‘Bob is sniffing at the door’

‘Focus on your results being benign. Almost everyone you’ve talked to had benign results, but someone makes up that 3-5%’

‘I don’t feel like making dinner’

‘I wonder if Trump has said anything stupid today. Of course he has, that is a guarantee’

Thoughts pinging off of each other like a ball in a pinball machine, all set to a singular track.

“It’s been one week since you looked at me Cocked your head to the side and said “I’m angry”

Hmmm hmmm hmmm

But it will still be two days till I say “I’m sorry””

I couldn’t remember all the words, and yet that Barenaked Ladies song played like a broken record. I opened my eyes and decided to end the session.

This wasn’t the first time my brain had betrayed me. I describe it as an obsolete desk top computer. 400 open tabs, likely a few viruses. The kind of computer you have to hold the off button down hard on, and force a manual shut off. When you turn it on the next day, you get a warning message letting you know it was shut down improperly. The added bonus is the midnight DJ with some very interesting song choices.

I’m a 40 something woman with anxiety, depression, and likely undiagnosed ADHD. Overly analytical with a side of intrusive thoughts to round out the madness. My brain is never silent. Not even for a moment. Why would I expect something different now?

As I walked out of my room, I spoke to my husband.

“Well that was awful.”

“What happened?”

“I tried meditating and a song wouldn’t stop playing in my head.”

“What was the song? Maybe it had lyrical significance.”

“Man, it was a Barenaked Ladies song. None of their songs have any lyrical significance.”

A few days later I decided to try again. Got myself comfortable and tried to concentrate on my breath.

“It’s been one week since you looked at me…”

“Don’t you dare!”

My brain was mocking me. Thinking about how I couldn’t get that song out of head before, prompted it to start up again. I decided to take a hiatus and see if I could find a solution. I had a determination to make it work, but I also believed I wouldn’t be able to do it.

My husband took the information about the throat chakra, and ran with it.

“There is a crystal that is affiliated with your throat chakra that I was reading about. It is blue, and is called lapis lazuli. Maybe we should get you some.”

“Where would we go to get something like that?”

Neither of us had a clue.

I went into work a few days later, and a regular of mine came in. A lovely lady from Mauritius, who I hadn’t realized was spiritual. I shared with her some of what was going on with me. I had seen her through some dark times. I told her about the crystal and that I wasn’t sure where to even start looking for them.

She lifted her head up off the table.

“Akasha’s Den”.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Akasha’s Den! It’s here in Oakville. It’s the only place I go to for crystals because their stuff is legitimate.”

I told my husband about it, and that weekend we drove over. I wasn’t sure what to expect. The store was quite large. In the back portion they had rooms for services and workshops. The store was filled with crystals, some on open display, others under lock and key. Oracle cards, incense, journals, and sound bowls lined the shelves. The place had a very distinctive, and pleasant smell.

We looked through the open displays, before heading to the counter. Behind the counter was Jess, with a vibrancy about her that was matched by the coloured streaks in her hair.

“H there. We are looking for a particular crystal called lapis lazuli. I am wanting it for throat chakra, particularly. Do you have any?”

Yes they did. Jess launched into all the different crystals that could aid the throat chakra, all of them in lovely shades of blue. She showed us them before taking us to the cabinet with the lapis.

I was looking for a round, smaller size that I pictured resting in hollow at base of my throat.

She pulled that size out and spread them across the counter for me to see which I was drawn to. I selected one to place on my body, and one to keep beside my bed.

We ended up taking home a few tumbles for ourselves and our daughters. Each having characteristics we thought would be helpful.

When we got home, I told my husband that I was intrigued by the crystals. He ended up buying me a crystal guide to learn about them more. That curiosity lead to signing up for a crystals course at the Den, and taking another step along the path I had suddenly found myself on.

The day I had my biopsy, I found myself thinking about my Nan, my grandmother. She had been diagnosed at 30 with hypothyroidism, just like I had been. She had had her thyroid removed at some point, just like I was now facing. In some ways, I felt like I was living out part of her medical history. She passed last November, which meant I was going into this blindly. She was a plethora of medical knowledge, and it felt like a cold irony that she wasn’t here to guide me. I knew she would have been all over this. That was the selfish side of my thoughts. On the other hand, I knew she had been reunited with my mother, her Shelley, who had passed 13 years prior. She struggled every day with the grief of losing a child, and now her suffering was over.

My husband had brought me to the hospital for my appointment. With the thyroid, you are given a needle biopsy that involves an ultrasound technician guiding a radiologist. A needle with a long tube is used, along with a needle for freezing.

The ultrasound technician pulled up an image of my thyroid for the radiologist to see. The radiologist laughed a little.

“Well, there is no mistaking this one, is there?”

I knew what she was referring to. This thing was big. The smaller the nodule, the less likely they can obtain a good sample. That wouldn’t be a concern this time.

Maybe she could sense my apprehension. The way my glasses were overheating because my anxiety was kicking in.

“Are you the one that found this?”

“No, my endocrinologist did.”

“Well that’s a good endo. Okay hun, we are going to start by freezing the area. That is going to be the worst part. Once that is done, I insert this needle, the sample comes down this tube and into the specimen jar. You may notice me sliding the needle back and forth while taking the sample. You won’t feel that but it is what I do to make sure I am getting as many cells as possible. I will be taking three samples. Any questions?”

I shook my head no.

“Okay let’s get started. Freezing first. You will feel a poke and some burning, okay? Remember that is the worst part.”

And it was.

“Now I am going to take the first sample. No talking or swallowing while I am doing this.”

I felt scared. I knew my heart was beating a mile a minute. It wasn’t the process so much as it was not knowing what the outcome would be. Would this be benign like it had been for so many others I knew of, or would I fall into the 3-5% who get bad news?

M had taught me to call on whomever I believed in to clear myself and my space. In that hospital room that day, I called on my spirit guides. I asked them to bring my Mom and Nan in with them, if they could. I asked that if my Mom and Nan were present, could both of them hold one of my hands. I felt a wave of emotion. I didn’t know if they were there, but I hoped they were.

She took my last sample, and made sure every last drop made it into that jar.

“Anyone who knows me, knows I am OCD about getting the best sample possible.”

I got dressed and went back to the waiting room to see my husband.

“Well this has been the worst date ever. 0 out of 10, will not be putting out.” I rubbed the little mark on my neck, that would eventually become a scar.

“Don’t worry, babe” he laughed, “I will take you on a better date next time. Everything will be fine.”

M returned a week later like she said she would. She was buzzing with energy. Her lessons started as soon as I came back into the room.

“What is going on with your thyroid is not hereditary. You don’t need to worry about passing it along to your children. Do you know that your thyroid is in your throat chakra?”

“No.”

“Well it is. The throat chakra is associated with the colour blue. Have you tried reiki before?”

“No.”

“Do you meditate?”

“No. I tried before, but I fell asleep so I thought I was doing it wrong.”

“If you fell asleep, it just meant you were going to wherever it is you need to go. It might have been to the hallway of knowledge, or even the healing beds.”

I often felt like she was speaking another language.

“I am receiving a message for you. That message is ‘boundaries’. It can apply in many ways. Boundaries in relationships, and boundaries with your energy, and who you give it to. Take this world, for example, so many horrible things are happening, and people get consumed by them. They don’t maintain their boundaries. We have a job here on Earth. Our job is to teach, to learn, to observe without absorbing, and to observe without judgement. If you judge you receive. So set boundaries in your life, and control what you consume.”

I knew what she meant on many levels. Watching the political divides, the genocides and climate crisis. It was in your face every time you went online. I wasn’t sure how to observe without absorbing.

As a people pleaser, I knew I needed to stop saying yes to things I didn’t want to, simply to avoid disappointing others, because it was taking a toll on me.

“We are given lessons in life we are meant to learn from. That is our primary purpose here. If you don’t learn the lesson the first time, it comes back again tenfold. If you continue to not learn, that is when people can end up ill. If you are ill, it forces you to slow down and listen to yourself. Listen to what the universe is trying to teach you.”

My father always said I had to learn things the hard way. Was I facing consequences for that? I had very recently turned a positive corner in my life, but maybe it had more closely resembled someone erratically veering off a highway before they miss their exit.

When her appointment was over, she lingered in my room.

“A message came through for you several times. I am meant to tell you that you are very loved.”

Me, the by-product of domestic violence. The girl who resembled no one else her family, and used to ask if she was adopted. The girl who always had felt a little sad, and never quite like she fit in. Feeling loved was, and will always be a struggle for me.

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“I love you,” she said. Then M walked out the door, and out of my life.

As a child, my experiences with the metaphysical world were limited to playing Bloody Mary in my mirror, and religiously watching psychic Silvia Browne each week on the Montel Williams Show.

On June 30th, I was getting ready to head into work. Much like any other Monday, I felt the weekend had been too short, and I was envious that both my husband, and daughters were going to get to stay at home.

I had a cancellation in my day that had come in the day before. I was preparing myself to have to kill some time if it didn’t fill, when I saw that it had been booked.

I didn’t think anything of it, until my client walked in, let’s call her M. M was vivacious, early seventies, with a strong grandmotherly energy, and bright red lipstick. Hipster Grandma with an air of no nonsense about her.

I asked her what brought her to see me. She told me she had been to my clinic once before for massage, and in passing, my receptionist had told her that glutes and lower back were my specialty.

“I woke up this morning and my hip hurt. My guides told me ‘today is the day to go and see Amanda’”.

“I’m sorry, your what?”

“My spirit guides. They told me today was the right day.”

I was baffled. She hadn’t called into the clinic that day, she had walked through the door that morning and said she was there to see me. My receptionist was perplexed, but told her that I had a cancellation mid morning, and was welcome to come back.

“I’m a channeller.”

I knew of channellers. My husband watches a few on YouTube, who channel both the spirit realm, and extraterrestrials. I told her as much, and she perked up.

That hour was the shortest and longest hour of my life. Filled with channeling, and stories of extraterrestrials and missions, much of which she needed to receive permission to tell me. It was fascinating, and overwhelming, all rolled into one.

“You are an empath you know.”

I’d had my suspicions. Bleeding heart that cares too much and gets hurt too easily.

“The trouble with being an empath, and doing the job you do, is that you are bringing home everyone’s shit. All the reasons they come in here, from being in pain, stressed, or depressed. You absorb it all and you aren’t clearing yourself. Think of it like that character in Charlie Brown, Pigpen. You start your day clean, and by the end of it, you have everyone else’s dirt on you.”

I honestly didn’t say much. I was listening and also focusing on my work, which was quite hard when I just wanted to sit and listen to her.

“I am receiving a message that you need to be particularly cautious about protecting your energy at the gym. That place is full of negative feelings people are working through. I will show you how to clear before I leave today.”

I finished her treatment, and true to her word, she closed the door to my room and started demonstrating.

“I cleared this building and everyone in it before I came here today. I cleared you and your room. You start by calling upon whomever you believe in. Personally, Jesus is my main guy, but you could call on your guides, Buddha, whomever. I picture it as a little whirlwind spinning clockwise through your room ‘clear this space of any negativity. Clear me of any negative energy. Send me into my day with positive thoughts and positive intentions, and protect me with the golden light’. Now you do the same for your clients. Do that before you come to work, between each client and before you go home. I will be back in a week.”

I stood there, on what felt like the end of the rabbit hole while wondering, does this lead to something momentous, or am I about to spiral down into insanity. Either way, I was curious, and so I began clearing.

After relentlessly refreshing the website for my ultrasound report, the results were in. I had two nodules on my thyroid. One was 3cm with an intermediate malignancy risk, and the second was .5cm with the highest malignancy risk. The suggested steps were to have a needle biopsy on the larger one, since the smaller one was too small to get a good sample from.

I was back in the stuffy office of the little man who had found my nodule in the first place.

“Are you having trouble swallowing?”

I could feel my 12 year old kid sense of humour just itching to make that into something dirty.

“Not that I have noticed.” It hadn’t seemed like the time to be inappropriate.

He put through my biopsy request and marked it as urgent. It was April, in our lagging healthcare system, that meant my appointment was booked for September. Apparently the radiologist who administers the biopsy, prioritizes the scheduling based on perceived urgency. I asked to be put on a cancellation list, and ended up securing a date in July. Nothing to do but wait.