This week, I’d like to get personal with all of you. I’d like to take you through my journey with cancer. I was diagnosed with papillary thyroid cancer the second half of my 6th grade year of school. At 13, I was sat down on the couch in my living room as my parents told me of my diagnosis.

Now, I don’t want to give you the wrong impression about my cancer. I never had chemotherapy, lost my hair and I was hardly in any pain. However, the emotional pain is one that hurt me for a long time, and the fear still does. I’m now 19, and still here! So try to remember this story has a happy ending. My story is long, but I do hope I can keep you reading until the end. It’s worth it.

My story begins one morning, when I woke up and my throat felt very hard. I went downstairs to tell my mom, and a doctor’s appointment was made. I started at a local hospital, but then was referred, luckily, to the Mayo Clinic.

Just three weeks later, I would be having my very first cancer surgery, and also my first surgery, ever. Before my surgery, I had multiple scans, blood draws, a biopsy and lots of tears. Can you blame me? I was scared out of my mind. When my dad told me, “It’s the best kind of cancer to have if you have to have cancer,” it didn’t exactly make me feel better. Cancer is a scary word, especially to a child. I dreamt up plans of running away to escape my fate. However, I would end up having to go through with it, as much as I didn’t want to.

I remember the morning of my first surgery waiting in a room. Wearing grippy socks, a hospital gown and being nervous out of my mind. I had fears I would die. Could I have actually died? Not likely. However, I am one to imagine and over-exaggerate. They gave me a warm blanket - my favorite. I had to wear a bandana over my hair. They let me choose and I picked out a pink one with soccer balls on it. My mom got suited up and led me to the operating room. I laid down on the bed, unsure of what would happen next. My IV was put in, and it became real. Let me just say this now, I hate needles and I still do to this day. I remember things began to get hazy as I told my mom, “I’m freaking out.” She repeated my phrase back to me, as a question, and I was out.

I woke up, in a fury of heat and confusion. Was I cured? Where were my parents? Once I was transferred to my own room, I saw my parents. I had two IVs in me, a tube coming out of my neck to drain and a new scar all the way across my neck, right in the middle no less. I was sick from the anesthesia. Fast forward through ice cream, awkward bathroom usage and finally getting out of bed, I was sent home. My neck hurt and I had to miss some school. When I went back, I had mixed emotions. My friends, I think at the time, weren’t able to understand. The girls who bullied me asked what happened to my neck, as if they didn’t realized I had missed a week of school. (Unfortunately, this didn’t end the bullying)

I was hopeful this was the end of my journey. I had the surgery, my thyroid was gone along with 40+ cancerous nodes and I thought I would be back to normal. I was very wrong.

I had to take calcium chews for a little while, which I actually liked because they tasted good. I was put on a thyroid hormone replacement medication, which I will be on for the rest of my life. I have to get my blood drawn, at least once a year. At that point in my life, it was twice a year for a while, much to my dismay.

My cancer didn’t go away. It came back, in the form of two tiny nodes. My surgeon didn’t want to operate, so I had an ethanol ablation. I was basically injected with alcohol, which burns whatever it touches. While this is a relatively safe procedure, at the time you didn’t find them doing this on children very often. If the alcohol would have touched anything else, I could have had vocal chord damage, or even died. I remember during my first one, one of the nurses looked like Kristen Stewart and I was loving the Twilight books at the time. I woke up, had some graham crackers and went home. This procedure is wonderful. Although you still have to get an IV, you get to go home same day and it only takes a few hours. I had this done a second time, and again, I hoped I was home free.

During my next appointment, my doctor was hopeful my surgeon would send me home with a clean bill of health. She said there was a little something bad on my scans, but that he probably wouldn’t want to operate. I was nervous, and crying, but let myself have hope. We went across the hall into another room, and he came in, along with his entourage. He sat down, and told me he wanted to operate. I was broken. I had faith, and again my faith was broken. I told myself I would not have another surgery. I didn’t need it. I looked into going to court just so that I wouldn’t have to go through with it. Like the first time, trying to run from my fate didn’t go so well.

During this second surgery, I honestly thought I was going to die. The night before, in our hotel room, I cried to my mom, telling her how I wanted my funeral to go. I cannot imagine being a mother and listening to your 15-year-old baby girl say that tomorrow she is going to die. I can’t believe how strong my parents always were to my face. Behind closed doors, I’m sure they cried. But whenever I cried, they did not. I remember being scared. I remember being an angsty teen and writing poetry about the white walls of the hospital, the too-clean atmosphere, the lack of control I had on the situation.

This time I was wheeled in a bed to the operating room, crying as pitying faces passed me. I felt like I was being led to my death. I wanted to scream and run, but I couldn’t. I remember laying on the bed while my IV was put in. I remember praying in my head over and over again. I remember strangers trying to sympathize with me as if they knew me. I was scared I would die without having a boyfriend, a first kiss; without knowing so much about the world and myself.

I remember all the support I got before and after my surgery. Teachers who were clients of my dad had their students make me cards and one classroom even made me a star banner with my name and well-wishes on it. I received prayers, blessings, cards and a lot of holy water! I’m happy to know so many people in my little town cared about me. After my second surgery, my friends brought me 30 balloons and magazines to read while I recovered at home. My tennis team also brought me balloons and came to visit me. I am so lucky to have all the support I did, and I know I would have a world of support if my cancer ever came back.

August 2 marks three years of me being cancer free. While I, again, feel very lucky for all my doctors and modern medicine for the rest of my life, I will have to take replacement thyroid hormones by pill every day. I will have to have check-ups to see where my levels are at. I will have to do blood-work every time. I will always live in fear that my cancer will come back or spread elsewhere in my body. I will always wait in anxiety in the doctor’s office, waiting for my results. I don’t think it will stop. It’s funny because I don’t live in fear any other time than when I have to go back to the doctor’s. Otherwise, in my everyday life, I don’t even think about it. I usually even joke about it. My body works against me. I am frequently tired, depressed, anxious, hungry and can't sleep. This is something I have to live with for the rest of my life.

I am hoping one day more people know about thyroid cancer. It’s a very common cancer, but I feel like it doesn’t get much recognition compared to other cancers. While that’s for good reason, I still hope one day to advocate for thyroid cancer research and/or awareness in some way. It doesn't just end once you have a surgery or two, it affects you for the rest of your life.

For more information on thyroids, thyroid cancer and ways to donate, check out this site.