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In May 2022, when I woke up from my thyroidectomy surgery, I was determined to go home and resume my normal life. It was my mom’s birthday, we had ordered cake. But there was going to be no celebration that day. There was going to be no celebration for a while.
I woke up to a drain connected to my throat and neck, an oxygen mask and a text message from my sister that said: “You have papillary thyroid carcinoma. They’ve removed your thyroid gland, the parathyroid gland, and nearly 14 lymph nodes.”
This was something I had been avoiding for a while, the diagnosis that I was a cancer patient.
While it has taken a while for me to accept my diagnosis, nearly a year since my treatment now, what I did discover is that cancer can change you as a person, as a parent, and teach you re-parenting in ways more than one.
One of the biggest things about being a cancer patient is that you never know what to expect. Doctors will try to dish out hope in all shapes and sizes. They try to provide moral support and make you feel that you’re strong enough to fight.
You may feel with each course of treatment that the finish line is in sight but then, it may seem further away at the next doctor’s appointment.
Right from the first sonography to the radioactive iodine therapy (RAI Therapy), uncertainty was there throughout.
She was left to the care of nannies, maids, grandparents – it was the best we could do.
But I wasn’t there and what was worse, I didn’t know when I would really be able to be there with her.
When the biopsy report came back, I discovered that it was Stage III of papillary thyroid carcinoma and that the toughest part of the treatment process was yet to come – the Radioactive Iodine Treatment or RAI Therapy, as they call it.
In RAI Therapy, one cannot come into contact with anyone at all in any form. You have to dispose of anything you take in with you, in your isolation zone/bubble.
The isolation typically lasts for 7-10 days but in my case, since I had a child at home, that too, a toddler, my isolation would be for a fortnight or more, the doctor said.
They promised they’d do all they can and I was hoping that my body would fight back soon and the iodine traces too would leave my system soon.
As a parent, the episode and the aftermath taught me things that I probably never would’ve learnt otherwise:
Keep talking to your child whenever you can. Tell them what you think and feel. Tell them they’re going to be okay, and most importantly, you’re going to be okay. And ask them to trust you.
There’s no need to fake it and pretend that you’re happy. If you’re low, it’s alright. Children will be able to sense it anyway.
Children are smarter than you think. When I came back from the hospital, my two-year-old knew something was not alright.
Everyone around was panicking that she would pull at the drain or bandages but my father said, “Talk to her, she will understand.” And she did.
It’s okay if you miss some occasions and aren’t able to be there all the time. Your child won’t hold a grudge against you or hate you. This episode will not change your relationship with them forever.
It’s a phase – you need to understand this, and make them understand it. So don’t feel guilty if you miss their first day of school like I did. You will have a lifetime to forge a strong bond with them.
There’s nothing like the parent-child bond. I underestimated it but being a cancer patient, dealing with all those emotions made me realise the strength of being a mother. I was cared for by mothers – my own and otherwise.
And as a mother, I realised how the desire of wanting to be there for my daughter gave me the strength I needed. Your past, present, and future would all be at stake when you’re wheeled in for surgery, but the thought of your child is what will keep you going.
I exercised, meditated, ate, and drank properly, hydrated myself adequately, and kept hoping to be reunited with my daughter sooner than later.
10-12 days into the isolation, I requested an iodine level check so as to know if I could be with my daughter again. Luckily for me, I was good to go and the isolation ended within that time-frame.
I came back home, brimming with joy. As my daughter and I hugged each other, I felt love filling my heart like never before. We danced together, and spent the entire evening with each other.
(Divya Naik is a Mumbai based psychotherapist, writer, and media professional. She is passionate about women's mental health, especially perinatal and post-natal mental health, and works closely with a community of therapists in the network to build on the same.)
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Published: 31 Jan 2023,07:00 AM IST