Call me a Hypochondriac...

I have a biopsy scheduled for next Thursday. I discovered a large lump in my neck shortly after Jack was born and went to see my GP. He sent me for an ultra-sound of my thyroid. Two and a half agonizing weeks later my doctor's office called and told me they found a 3cm x 3cm x 3cm nodule on the right side of my thyroid and several smaller ones on the left. They couldn't tell the pathology of the nodules from the ultra-sound so they booked a biopsy at the hospital for me after the holidays.

I got off the phone and hit Google pretty hard. I read up on Hashimoto's disease, Hyperthyroidism, Hypoparathyroidism, Hypothyroidism and the big one, thyroid cancer. My sister has a lump on her thyroid co-incidentally (or not, as these things tend to be hereditary) that is benign (in a weird freakish turn of events, her boyfriend discovered a lump on his Thyroid around the time she was scheduled to have her biopsy and his turned out to be cancer.). Like mine, her's is not causing any other noticeable symptoms. She's opted to have her thyroid removed as hers is very pronounced and unlikely to go down in size. Given my age, gender, the rarity of the aggressive kind of thyroid cancer, and my sister's nodule's pathology, my odds are good this is nothing. Something easily treatable with time, medication, or a day surgery.

So why am I terrified?

I get through my days no problem. My 3 small children do a great job of keeping my head (and body) occupied. But when I'm up at 5am nursing Jack, and the house is quiet and still, my mind goes to dark places.

This morning as I was looking down at Jack's sweet face as he nuzzled into me, I wondered how one explains to a 4 year old that mommy is "sick". Or if my 2 year old would have any memories of me if I died. Or how my husband would be able to handle 3 kids while I went through Chemo, or God forbid, was alone.

It's ridiculous. I haven't been diagnosed with anything. I haven't felt even the slightest bit sick. I have no symptoms. But that word, cancer, even the slightest, slimmest, most unlikely chance that that's what is attacking my thyroid, scares me to my core.

I'm not ready to leave my children. I'm not ready to leave my husband. Just the thought of it brings tears to my eyes.

I crawled back into bed this morning after Jack had filled his belly and slid over to my husband's side just to feel him breathe. He woke up and asked if I was okay and we talked about how I felt. He reassured and comforted me enough that I was able to fall back asleep.

3 hours later my 4 year old came into my room and announced that it was morning, and my day began. Another day closer to my biopsy.

Why I hate being pregnant

I don't actually hate being pregnant. I'm one of those glowy, happy (even through the constant back pain, heartburn, stomach stretching) pregnant women that wear pregnancy well. What I really hate is the worry. That fear you have from the moment you see the + sign until the moment the baby is put in your arms and you can see that everything is okay and they're healthy and perfect. That's what I can't handle.

I'm not a hypochondriac by any means, but with every pregnancy I carried around this sense of doom. With every little odd twinge of pain, or unexplainable "gut feeling", I grow more and more sure that something is wrong. Crazy? Maybe.

I got pregnant with Lily after 5 months of trying. Just a couple weeks after peeing on the stick I started bleeding. Not a lot, but it freaked me out so I ran to the emergency room. They told me I was having a threatened miscarriage. Miscarriage. That word made me throw up. But after an ultrasound confirmed that all was well the doctor sent me home with instructions to take it easy. He told me that if I was going to miscarry there was nothing they could do to stop it anyways. So after a few days when I started bleeding again I stayed home and cried. J didn't know what to do to help me. He was worried and freaked out. This continued on and off until I hit 12 weeks and we went to a friend's wedding in Mexico. As soon as we got there I stopped bleeding and my pregnancy went to completely normal, text book stuff. But for the next 6 months I ran to the bathroom 100 times a day anytime I thought I felt anything remotely like bleeding or cramping. It was stressful and emotionally draining. Lily was born almost 4 years ago and she's been a healthy happy kid from the moment she took her first breath.

When Lily was 14 months old we thought we were ready to start trying to get pregnant again. It happened pretty quickly which surprised me. And just like with Lily I started spotting shortly after reading the stick. I just figured this is what my body does and I rolled with it. We excitedly told family and friends that Lily was going to be a big sister. We started thinking about names and talking about how we needed a bigger house. But things were different. I can't explain how, but it just felt wrong. I told myself I was being paranoid and that everything with Lily had worked out great. I tried to relax but inside I was a twisted ball of stress and worry that I felt I couldn't share with anyone. Then one evening while Jason was out golfing I was sitting on the couch watching cartoons with Lily, surrounded by boxes ready to be moved to our new, bigger house that we needed for our growing family, when I got a sharp stabbing pain in my lower abdomen. It got stronger and stronger and soon I was curled up in the fetal position crying while Lily, just 16 months old was touching my face with her chubby little hand and smiling at me from the side of the sofa. I grabbed the phone and called the golf course and through tears asked them to find my husband on the course and send him home right away. Jason got home 15 minutes later and by then I had miscarried our baby. I was in tears and asked him to deal with putting Lily to bed as I couldn't stand up and couldn't stop crying.

The next few weeks were filled with sorrow and apologies and embarrassment. I apologized to Jason several times for my body failing us like that, to which he told me I was crazy, but I felt like I had really let him down. I was embarrassed to tell friends and family we were no longer pregnant as we had told everyone so early and I should have known better. Everyone was very supportive. It's amazing how many people confess to having had their own (secret) miscarriage when you tell them about yours.

It took me a few months to "get over it" (you actually never really get over that) and we decided to try again. I decided that I didn't want to waste any time and charted my temperature and took ovulation tests and sure enough we got pregnant in one try. But from the minute I saw that positive test I couldn't help but feel nothing but worry. Despite the fact that this pregnancy was "normal", I had no bleeding and no pain, I was so stressed out for the first 3 months I lost 9lbs. At 3 months we told family and friends we were pregnant and it was smooth sailing right up until Emily was born. But inside, I was still that twisted ball of stress and dread.

Now I'm pregnant again and the memory of that lost pregnancy still haunts me. Every little ache or pain I feel, every muscle or ligament pull sends me to a dark place where I fear for my unborn child's life. I'll be happy when this little guy arrives and I can hold him and know that he made it. Until then, worry. I hate being pregnant.