Have you had thoughts of hurting or killing yourself?
I was asked that question several times this past year, whenever I visited my doctor or therapist. My answer was always the same: No.
But to be honest, for the first time in my life, I can now see how someone reaches that point.
When your candle of hope melts away a little each day, and its light grows dimmer each night, all you can see is shadows.
—
I died on September 17, 2023.
I didn’t really die, of course, but that is how I felt last year at this time. September 17, 2023 is the day I woke up at 3:30 am with an upset stomach and didn’t fall back asleep again.
Two nights later, the sun went down again, and once again, sleep never came.
The pattern continued for another week. One night of sleep, one night of no sleep. Then the pattern changed: every night, no sleep.
In the days and weeks that followed, in addition to losing my ability to sleep, I became anxious and developed acid reflux too.
I lived like this for 130 days, not knowing what the heck was going on, my candle of hope burning down each day. I lost 14 pounds along the way, which was almost 10% of my body weight.
So, yeah, a year ago today, as I sat awake in the quiet darkness of night, deathly tired but unable to fall asleep, feeling anxious and my stomach a mess, the old Adrian — the one who slept like a baby, who for 53 years had been blessed with good health — was certainly dead.
—-
I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer several weeks later on January 25, 2024.
It was late morning when I received the call from my doctor, and later that day, I asked Google, “What does a thyroid do?”
Is there a word for being both relieved and scared? If so, that’s what I felt that day.
—-
I had surgery on February 29th (a leap day!) to remove my thyroid and 26 lymph nodes in my neck.
After the 5 ½ hour surgery, I almost fainted when I went to the bathroom. A nurse caught me before I fell. I was given a cup to pee in instead and spent the rest of the day in bed.
I started growing a beard that day.
—
March 1, 2024: I took my first Levothyroxine pill.
I will take that thyroid hormone pill every morning for the rest of my life.
—
April: I rode my bike for the first time since last October.
May: I attended my son’s graduation from Cornell.
June: I swallowed a radioactive iodine pill to kill whatever thyroid cells remain in me.
July: I cycled 100 miles in Burlington, VT with my wife and kids.
August: I celebrated my 54th birthday.
September: I flew to Vienna during Storm Boris. It rained nonstop the first 3 days I was there.
—
But on September 17, 2024, the one year anniversary of when I died, the rain stopped.
When I parted the curtains that morning, after a good night’s sleep, I saw the sun shining bright against a blue sky. “A perfect day to go for a bike ride,” I said to myself.
I cycled 100 kilometers that day with my friend David, exploring Vienna and the surrounding areas. I had a slice of gas station pizza for lunch. I always wondered who ate those things, but beggars can’t be choosers, and fuel is fuel.
After the ride, on my walk back to the hotel, I bought an ice cream in a churro cone from a street vendor. I took my time eating it, just standing there watching the rush hour traffic of people and cars and bikes and trains moving hurriedly all around me. I was thousands of miles away from home, in a foreign country, licking melted vanilla ice cream from my fingers. The taste, the sounds, the smells of that moment, everything and everyone moving, my aching legs, my beating heart…
I was alive again.
—
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and I am grateful to have reached this day in good health.
So, are you back to your old self, back to normal?
I get asked that question a lot these days, and the truth is that I can’t go back to my old self. For starters, I no longer have a thyroid and 26 lymph nodes in my neck, so I am physically different than I was a year ago, and I can’t get those body parts back. Also, the 130 days that I spent not feeling well and not knowing what was going on, while not that long relatively speaking, was long enough to affect me in ways I’m still trying to figure out.
I am a changed man, but I believe for the better.
I have a fading 5-inch scar on my neck, a beard on my face, and all 14 pounds that I lost (and a few extra for good measure) back on my body. I am sleeping well again, not like a baby, but good enough for a man my age. I’m also eating well again, and going on long bike rides too.
I’m still learning how to sit with uncertainty, but I am much better at it today than I was a year ago, or even just six months ago.
I was never a good singer, but due to my surgery, I am even more limited in my ability to sing the high notes. I still try, though.
And instead of pursuing happiness, I now pursue meaning and purpose.
—
On this Thanksgiving day, I give thanks to all the doctors and therapists that have been a part of my life journey this past year. You have given me a new candle of hope.
I give thanks to all my clients, for your patience and support as I worked my way back to health.
A big thank you to my friends, for reaching out to see how I was doing, for taking me out to breakfast or lunch, for going on long walks with me, and for letting me babble.
Finally, there is a big reason why my candle of hope never burned out: I was blessed (and I’m still blessed) to have the love and support of my wife, children, and extended family. They comforted me with their hugs, kisses, and prayers, and they gave me the strength to journey on when I needed it most. I love them all, more than words can express.
—
But enough about me. How are you doing? Are you all set for winter and the new year ahead? Any plans to travel this way? If so, you must pay us a visit. It’s been way too long.
I hope this letter finds you in good health and spirits, and I look forward to hearing from you soon.
Your grateful friend,
A.
