It took a couple months to get an appointment with the endocrinologist my general practitioner recommended I see. All I knew at this point was that the radiologist saw some concerning characteristics in my tumor.

When I first met my endo, I could tell she was a good one. I instantly trusted her opinion and recommendation to get a biopsy. She was very thorough, articulate and patient as she walked me through exactly what my ultrasound showed and what that meant in regards to it being benign versus cancer leaning.

After that appointment, where I heard her say that there was a high likelihood of it being cancerous, it finally started to feel real and the weight of the situation began to settle in.

I spent the two weeks between that appointment and my biopsy googling the terminology used in my ultrasound report.

Words like “hypoechoic”, “punctate echogenic foci”, and “rim calcifications” were picked apart as I found myself deep in online medical reports. I watched my likelihood of cancer increase with each word on my report.

My ultrasound was graded by a series of points called the “ti-rads” scale.

0 points= benign

2 points= not suspicious

3 points= mildly suspicious

4 to 6 points= moderately suspicious

7 points or more= highly suspicious

As my tumor was dissected apart dimension by dimension, it scored a whopping 7 points on the scale. Some of the factors included size, composition, echogenicity, shape, margins, and echogenic foci.

To make matters worse for my already anxious mind, I felt two, pea-sized lumps on the same side as my tumor after rubbing an area of my neck that was feeling particularly sore. These two little lymph nodes set me off on another google search to discover the cause. As you might expect, all signs pointed to cancer.

I took a break from my shift at the front desk to go cry in the bathroom and try to compose myself. My coworker said I looked distressed. I laughed it off as “tiredness” and tried to focus on the computer in front of me, despite having nothing to do.

I felt like I couldn’t tell people what was going on until it was confirmed as either cancer or not. If it was not, which everyone was telling me was the likely outcome, I didn’t want to bring attention to myself for nothing.

I kept picturing them immediately saying, see I told you! Nothing wrong!

So I suffered quietly and privately, overloading my brain with tumor statistics and switching tabs whenever someone came by.

By the time my biopsy came around, I felt prepared in knowing all the possible results that would be presented to me.