On things I forget

So I was watching Say Yes to the Dress today (yeah, I know. Stay tuned for my post on things that I know are bad but love anyway). There was a girl on it who had thyroid cancer, and the mother was so emotional, going on that she almost died or whatever. And the girl had pretty much the same story as me. The inconclusive first surgery, the second the get the rest... They didn't mention the radiation, but I'd imagine she had it because it's standard treatment (although current studies suggest it might not be necessary for a lot of cancers, though mine would still qualify).

It made me start thinking. Maybe it's just because it was so long ago (7 years since the second surgery, to be exact, although my cancer's special and I won't get the all-clear until 10 years), but I don't remember anyone crying about it. I don't remember people being upset. Maybe my parents were... I'm sure my mother would have been, though not in the jump-in-the-car-to-see-me kind of way (mind you, I was a seven hour drive away). I remember calling home after I got the news that it was cancer. I was in the parking lot outside the surgeon's office (my excellent surgeon, I still get compliments on my scar), with my boyfriend at the time. My dad picked up. I told him, in this matter-of-fact told-you-so sort of way. Maybe he was just in shock, maybe it was because I was so blase about the whole thing, but there was no strong reaction that I remember. No tears. Not even from me.

It's at the point now where I don't think about it. Maybe I even forget about it sometimes. I've never thought of myself as a cancer survivor. I was most impressed with myself for only missing two weeks of school for the whole ordeal. Working where I do, I keep informed on the literature. It's at the point now where I can pick up an endocrinology or oncology textbook and read the chapter on thyroid cancer and not learn anything new. But I spend a lot of time reading medical textbooks, so there are few conditions that are old news to me every time.

I guess the most emotional moment I had in the whole thing was driving myself to the hospital for the first surgery. I was nervous, more about the surgery than the cancer, and I managed to hit another car as I was parking. I left a note saying something to the effect of "I'm sorry, I hit your car. I'm having surgery for cancer today and I'm really nervous about it." I don't remember if I left a phone number on the note, but I'm sure they could have taken my license plate and tracked me down, but they never did. I remember smoking before going for the surgery, looking at my hand shake, contemplating the irony.

I'm not sure what the point of this post was. Probably something to do with spending my life waiting for the big reaction and never getting it. I don't know. File this post under "musing."