It's raining boots

And not those cutesy little ankle boots either. Wellies, combat boots, Doc Maartens....I should have known.
I had my follow-up with the surgeon about 10 days after the surgery. Again, limited eye contact, but she was smiling as she ripped off the tape strips over the incision. "Do you have an appointment with Dr. N?" "No, she said she'd contact me once she had the pathology report." Pause. I ask her if she has the pathology report. She looks down at the papers she's holding, sits down across from me and says, "Remember, we told you if you have to have a cancer, this is the best type to have."
I suddenly see tons of boots. Still nothing cute.
She goes on to explain that I will need the Radioactive Iodine. Damn. That the cancer was more extensive--there were two tumors (1.0 cm and 0.6 cm), and that it went to my lymph nodes. The testing showed that 5 out of 16 sampled were positive for papillary cancer. And it said "Papillary carcinoma, classical, follicular and diffuse sclerosing variant." What???
If this was unimpressive to you, I would hate to see what it takes to make an impression.
The boots are now up to my ankles as I wrap up the appointment and ask her for a copy of the report. I book it upstairs to Dr. N's office to leave a message to call me. Stupidly I really did run up the stairs--all three flights--so that by the time I reach the office, I'm so winded that I can't talk. I think the secretary thought I was going to drop dead.
I leave the building, slightly stunned. I felt really optimistic that morning! I felt really really good! And I loved the outfit I was wearing, all springy and bright colors. I had been operating on the "No news is good news" theory of life since I hadn't heard any pathology results. Now I think it should be, "No news is, well, no news." I should have worn my boots.
Not far from the doctor's offices is the cemetery where my parents are buried. Ha--great timing and a perfect day to stop by and say hi. I had planned to stop there anyway to put some lillies on their grave. I just stood there and had a good cry and cursed their gene pool.
From there I went to see Mr. Wonderful at work--always hit or miss that I'll catch him in his office. He showed up eventually, and I had to tell him about the lymph nodes. Let's just say that I hope I never have to see that look on his face again. We went out to lunch, kind of shocked, and then he decided to head home early.
Perfect! It was a gorgeous sunny day, and we got to take a great walk around the neighborhood until we ran into Sis and I had to tell her.
I managed to get some time with Dr. Google and found out that diffuse sclerosing variant is a more rare and aggressive type of papillary carcinoma. I think the prognosis is still ok, but I might have more trouble beating that type into submission.
Dr. N called me that night and I chatted with her for 25 minutes. She said she called the surgeon again to go over the results, and ran them by her partner endocrinologist. The surgeon swore to her that my lymph nodes looked small and normal, and that she sampled them "for the hell of it". Dr. N also told me 4 times, "You will not die from thyroid cancer." I'll have to believe her. And get a stronger umbrella. The boots are still there.
I meet with her next Tuesday to figure out how/when to do the RAI. I'm not waiting till summer.