A bissel mer cancer!

My bullshit: Now 10% more cancery!

Hi, hello. In great news, I now have thyroid cancer! “Now” is relative, of course; it’s possible I’ve had a tumor on my thyroid for years. But it was discovered on a screening ultrasound in the fall. It is probably genetic. It’s not a breast cancer recurrence, but its own little clump of renegade cells. It could be worse! I am having surgery next month and in theory that’s it. (I am keeping part of my thyroid so no replacement synthetic thyroid hormone needed.)

How I feel about it is tired, mostly. I could have had the same surgeon who did my mastectomy do it, but he told me I was a lot fatter than he remembered at an appointment about a month after surgery, so I am no longer interested in working with him. I am seeing someone at a different hospital system for this.

The anniversary of my mom’s death is at the end of March. (I’ve written about it before.) She had breast cancer and maybe thyroid cancer—she lied a lot (which I have also written about before), and she has told my older siblings and me different things. I don’t know if that’s why I’m sadder this year than I have been in the last few. But I’m tired and sad.

I found something I wrote about her ten years ago, a kind of obituary. Here it is.

This is a photo of my mother, Suzanne Ingrid Tyler Shine (4/10/1945-3/26/2007). She was named after Ingrid Bergman. She was also Suzanne Becker, Suzanne Serovy, and Suzanne Harmon. (Also she was married to a gangster for a while, but I don't know that dude's name.) She died of an aortic dissection in the late afternoon on March 26, 2007. She was a breast cancer survivor.

She had five children between 1961 and 1984. Her oldest child was born when she was 16 years old, and she received a high school equivalency diploma. She attended Goucher College in Baltimore for two years while raising her two oldest children. As a child she wanted to be an Egyptologist; as a young woman in college she wanted to be an urban planner. At 59 she returned to school to become a licensed practical nurse. She was as tough as nails.

She worked in a General Motors factory and she owned an apple orchard, a furniture-refinishing business, and a pet care business. When she died she was working as a nurse. Three of her children have college degrees. Two of us work as historians. One of us has been to prison; one of us was not in touch with anyone in our family in over fifteen years; two of us have had breast cancer and thyroid cancer.

She was the smartest lady I knew, and the meanest. She loved us all very much. She abused us and, in bringing a succession of drug-addicted, troubled, violent men into our lives, let us be abused. She once told me she thought I was living a marginal life. She hated my body and my sexuality. She said I was the most compassionate and empathetic person in our family and sometimes didn't understand how she ended up with a child like me. Once she told me, "Never trust a man with two first names." She could make me laugh very hard. On the night before my 17th birthday, she threw things at me for an hour.

She loved: New Orleans, Steely Dan, Tastycakes (once she wanted to buy a Tastycake delivery route franchise?), Lawrence Durrell, smoking, Hercule Poirot and Miss Marple, The Sopranos, a good Tom Collins, MG convertibles, and SCTV. She really liked reality shows.

Every day of her life was hard. Sometimes that's what she chose for herself. Every day I try to choose differently for myself. I miss her all the time.