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Chapter 21 "A Very Follicular Finale" 9/29/04  So here we are, it's almost October and I've battled my way through waiting rooms, crybaby oncologists and rotting broccoli. If this journal were a sit-com, this would be the sappy montage episode that reviews every emotional high and low all set to the music of Bette Midler. But I'm not going to subject you to that, we've been through too much together. (And who knows, maybe there will be a spin-off, or a Christmas special "A Very Follicular Christmas")
 I had my full body scan last Monday. For the most part, this marks the end of my journey. One more time for the live studio audience, I had to go back in the tunnel machine. I think the point of this scan is to scare any residual cancer cells right out of you. Nobody wants to be in the tunnel, including cancer cells (they're very claustrophobic as a matter of fact, that's why they're always trying to spread out). This time was actually better than the PET scan. Just like the PET scan, they feed you to the machine and then it slowly spits you back out. However, this time they put me in feet first. So even though the top of the tunnel was literally 2 inches from my face, I only had to endure the I'm-in-a-coffin-wearing-a-straight-jacket feeling for about 10 minutes, after that I was still in the monster's mouth but at least my head was out.
 A few days later, I went to see Lord Endocron to discuss the scan results. He said they were normal. I'll have a scan in six months to make sure there's no more cancer, and I don't have to go off meds for that one (hallelujah for that!) Then he reached into his treasure chest and gave me my handsome reward for making it through this journey--Synthroid. I'll be on Cytomel and Synthroid for another week and then it's just me and Syn 'til death do us part.
Now all that's left is the after show. Doctors call this part "get off your ass and get back to your life." I am feeling more like myself now but I still have a few residual effects to battle before laying my sword to rest. Such as my lazy taste buds that refuse to taste anything but sour cream. And the thyroid hormone (or lack thereof) is still messing with my head. At least once a day I get a look that tells me someone is invariably thinking  "This woman has no clue where she is...should I call the institution and see if someone is missing?" For example, as I left Lord Endocron's office last Thursday, I set my next appointment with the nurse, took five steps, turned right back to the desk and said "Excuse me, I forgot to set my next appointment."
My brain's been doing funny things for months but maybe since I'm thawing out I notice it more now. After all, I am aware enough to realize that I should be able to remember words such as "house" and "car". I'm two steps away from getting a "Learn English 1-2-3" book on tape. The other day I told my husband I was looking out the couch. Ummm...no...you're sitting on the couch, you're looking out the win-dow. By far the most painful residual effect I must conquer is the stack of bills and insurance papers that is now so high I'm using it as a chair to sit at my desk and type this. I have a PPO plan. Which at first I thought was great. I guess I should have known not to put high esteem in anything with PP in its acronym  (my maturity level never really progressed past the 7th grade.) At first the insurance company tells you everything is going to cost you only $4.37, but then you keep getting these bills and papers everyday. I find they're a lot like chain letters. I'm supposed to keep one copy for my records, send one in with payment, one back to the insurance company and another 7 copies to a friend and the six people listed on the bottom of the bill. (If I do it right I'm supposed to get medical bills from all over the world within 20 days, we'll see.) One of the reasons you get so many bills is because everyone remotely involved in the surgery or treatment sends their bill separately. So you get a bill from the surgeon, the assistant, the pathologist, the anesthesiologist, and the person who mops the floor. (My insurance plan doesn't cover clean up however because they say it's not medically necessary.)
So what have I learned throughout all my adventures? Well, the first and most important lesson I learned is; don't get cancer unless you have health insurance (or are sitting on a small fortune). This is very important. Also, make sure you have someone around who will make the requisite embarrassing purchases like Ex-lax and Tucks pads (equally as important unless your insurance will cover hiring someone to do this.) I've also learned that just because a disease is curable doesn't mean it's easy. Every doctor I saw said something like, this is a "good cancer" or "If I had to pick a cancer, I'd pick this one".  I know they tell you this so you don't freak out, which is good because I didn't freak out. I spent so much time convincing myself and others it wasn't a big deal that I didn't stop to think that maybe it was going to be a big pain in the neck (pun most definitely intended). There really is no "good cancer". A good cancer would take out my garbage and do the laundry. No, It's a much better cancer than many others and I feel lucky for that. Overall it all worked out OK and there's not much I would have done differently (except maybe lock Sir Donkey Bottom in a dungeon with rotting broccoli.)
So my friends, after a long commercial break, I must now return to my regularly scheduled program. It is with a heavy heart (and a slightly lighter neck) that I say goodbye. Thanks all for sharing my journey. And remember, stay regular, stay in school, and thank your thyroid (or your Synthroid) daily. Yours truly, Follicular Cancer Lady 
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