thyca-babble

Two years ago tomorrow I found out I had thyca. It was a Saturday afternoon and I'd just finished racing cross at Coyote Point. Someone had left me a voicemail on my cell during the race. When I checked it, I found a message from my doc. No, she didn't leave a message with the result of my biopsy, but she did leave a message that I should call her on her cell phone immediately. Docs don't give out their cell phone numbers to just anyone, so I knew she meant business. I sat in my car in the parking lot of Coyote Point while she gave me the news. I was numb. I didn't want to go home alone, and I didn't know where to go or who to talk to. So I sat on the curb overlooking the bay at Coyote Point, watching the next race and told Dylan Snodgrass what I had just found out. I'm sure he thought I was crazy.

That weekend was the series finale of the Bay Area Super Prestige Series, with back-to-back races planned at Coyote Point. I almost didn't race on Sunday. My heart was someplace else. I had no energy. I felt like the walking dead. But I didn't know what else to do. Racing was my life. All my friends are racers. I needed to do something "normal" to affirm that I was still alive. And for all I knew it might be my last race.

I went through the traditional grieving process for the next week -- denial, fear, anger, you get it. I just didn't want to address it. I didn't call my doc back to schedule surgery, I didn't do any online research, I didn't talk about it. I just ignored it, thinking maybe it was a mistake or maybe it would go away. A week and change later I finally called my doc and scheduled surgery. And then I was relieved to finally know what had been making me sick for the past several years. And then I spent the next two and a half weeks renovating my condo -- new floors, paint, crown moulding, much of which I did myself. I was a whirling dervish of activity -- work, paint, work, paint, ride a little, work, paint, no sleep. I finished painting the morning of my surgery. I still don't know if I was trying to prove to myself that I would live (and thus deserved a sexy condo to nest in) or if I thought I was going to die (and just wanted to check this off my to-do list).

Thyca was scary. I didn't know what to expect. I didn't know the prognosis. I was worried I wouldn't be able to turn my head because of nerve damage from surgery. How could I ride a bike if I couldn't turn my head? And how could I coach if I couldn't ride?

My recovery from surgery went well and I was back on the bike in sixteen days. I was out mentoring Early Birds during January and riding a lot. But then I went super-hypo-thyroid and spent all of February and most of March off the bike. In February, I learned I needed surgery for another tumor, this one in my parotid gland. I decided to wait until after Sea Otter in April to schedule that surgery (probably a mistake to wait so long).

I started feeling better in April and had an awesome two weeks of riding before going under the knife a second time in less than four months. My recovery from this surgery was complicated by a terrible infection and it took more than a month before I got back on the bike again with the exception of a one-day clinic I coached. I probably should have cancelled the clinic, but I thought if I did I was telling myself that my coaching career was over. I had already postponed two clinics that spring because I was too sick to coach. I couldn't postpone one more.

I got back on the bike for good on May 22nd, almost five months after my first surgery. Here's an excerpt from my training journal entry that day:

May 22nd, 2005: Stepped on the scale this morning for the first time in a long time -- 184.5. Fuck! I joined the club ride for the ride to Woodside. It was a struggle to make it to Woodside (only 15 miles). I should've turned around at SCT, but carried on. I'm beat!

I turned 40 on July 29th, 2005. I decided to say goodbye to a crappy decade by riding my bike around New York where I grew up and lived in my 20s and early 30s. Less than two months after getting back on the bike, I rode 1,000 miles in three weeks with 80-pounds of loaded touring bike under me. Someday I'll finish my journal about that trip. To say the least, it was cathartic.

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This morning I rode my Rivendell with Julie on the back over to Coyote Point. I've been so, so busy that Julie isn't getting as much quality time as I'd like to give her. So, we ran on the bay trail for a while, headed over to the race to register, and chatted with some friends.

Julie always gets lots of attention when she's riding on the bike (and she loves the attention almost as much as she loves riding). A young woman ran over to us and wanted to pet Julie. She explained that her parents in Pennsylvania have a cavalier and she misses him. I noticed that she had the tell-tale scar of thyca so I asked her about it. She hadn't had her entire thyroid gland removed but she was now being treated for lymphatic cancer and just finished chemo. It was an eerie coincidence that she was drawn to me at the same location that I found out I had thyca.

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Two years later and I'm back. I won't say I'm better than ever, but I'm working on it. It's been a long and bumpy road with lots of twists and turns along the way. My performance still isn't what I'd expect it to be. I still struggle with mental issues related to the drama/trauma of the past five years or so. But I get on my bike everyday thankful that I can ride and that I'm healthy. Yup, corny, but true.



This is the masters women's series podium from today's race. I've been on the series podium for the past two years. I think I like this photo a lot more. I can almost see myself again.


ps -- my new "look" is courtesy of my dear friend, the lovely and talented Teresa Callen of Image Arts. Give her a ring if you need a day of beauty!