The day I found a lump on my neck
In search of meaning and magic
Happy Sunday Moonbeam!
The following letter was written during the month of May 2025, and as vaguely mentioned in my last letter, it is about another pivotal moment.
-This needs further examination, he calmly says.
-I don’t have the means here to really diagnose you, but because of your past, more exams are needed. I’ll make the referral ready and will call your ENT specialist myself this afternoon.
Even though he tried to keep a neutral face with a steady voice, I could see the worry coming from his eyes, and before I knew it, I was leaving the GP office in tears.
I think I spent less than ten minutes in there, but this was apparently enough for the doctor to evaluate my neck. I needed to pee really bad, but I couldn’t go home. Not now, not like this. I wanted to run, run like hell, or maybe to hell, and run away, far away.
Hubby was working, so instead of calling, I decided to send him an audio message, which I deleted a few minutes later. I didn’t want him to listen to it while hearing my scared voice with some whaling too, so I decided then to send him a short text instead:
Up to the ENT specialist in Utrecht…
That was all. That was enough for him to understand.
Soon, I was surrounded by green trees, and not long after, hubby called. I told him how the GP visit went and that the doctor was worried. As I said all of this, I couldn’t stop my tears.
Once home, I went straight to the shower and left my phone on the charger downstairs.
-They’re not gonna call me that soon, so I thought.
But as soon as I looked at my phone, I saw a missed call…from Utrecht and a voicemail. It hadn’t been an hour since leaving the GP’s office.
Yep, it was the ENT´s department to asked me if I could go this Friday to the hospital. Mind you, it was Wednesday.
“Once a cancer patient, always a cancer patient.”
-This is bad…otherwise, why would they be calling you so soon and want to see you in less than two days? Hubby asked with a worried expression.
The appointment was also with the head of the department and professor…
I didn’t tell hubby the last part.
It had been two weeks since I found the lump by chance, and after waiting for it to go away on its own and after talking to my physical therapist, I decided to make a short visit to my GP. Going to the GP & hospital nowadays feels like opening a can of worms, but I wanted some confirmation that this thing on my neck was normal and nothing to worry about.
And then, out of the blue, I was back on the rollercoaster.
After a particularly uncomfortable nose/throat examination - if you know you know - followed by checking my neck, the ENT specialist /professor couldn’t say a 100% for sure what it was.
-The throat looks good, but I’m not going to lie; the lump is unmovable and hard, and that doesn’t sit well with me… Then he continues: it could go either way, but to rule out cancer, we need you to have an echography followed by a needle biopsy.
By next Tuesday, we were back at the hospital. The ENT Specialist made sure my echography appointment took place that soon. Apparently, there was no time to waste…
I lay down on a bed in a dark, small room with something that looked like a baby napkin around my neck. The radiologist was a woman mid-thirties, I think. In a calm voice, she told us what she was going to do and what she would be looking for. I could see hubby sitting down on a chair in a corner of the room.
She also made sure my neck was covered with this cold gel substance to make the echography possible. Hence, the baby napkin.
She was sitting next to my right, and because the lump was on my left side, I needed to turn my neck towards her … and toward the screen. Nervously, I kept an eye on what was being displayed. I’m not new to echographies, and I had several on my breasts and axillary regions, and looking at them is like looking at something your brain cannot translate. A neck echography is not different. Still, I wondered if I was going to be able to see the lump, and so I kept watching at this foreign movie that was the landscape of my neck.
There it is! I see it, I said to myself loudly in my head, but my mouth was tightly shut. I didn’t want to say anything, not a sound, not even breathe, until she would said something. I kept looking at her face, but I couldn´t read her expression.
-Say something…say something, say something, damn it! I screamed telepathically at her.
Nothing…
She continued moving the echography thingy she had in her hand, over and over the same area…yeah, that area with the lump in it.
After like what felt like ages, but actually was less than a few minutes, she said:
-It looks like a bone, and I’m quite sure it’s a bone from your spinal core, but to make super sure, I’m going to show your images to the head of the department.
As she left the room, I could see hubby and his body relaxing entirely, like a weight on his shoulders was sliding down to the ground.
I wasn’t.
I needed to hear the verdict with a 100% certainty. After cancer, you become like that.
Not long after, I was having a second echography, but this time by the head of radiology, and what seemed to be a very friendly old man.
IT WAS A BONE!
It wasn’t cancer!
In my medical chart was written “High suspicion for cancer (recurrence)”… but it was a crooked neck, and the radiologist just made sure this was verified by my last CT/PET scan done in 2023.
We left the hospital with a huge sense of relief and feeling deeply grateful.
Everything happened so fast - again, super grateful for that and for a system that makes this possible - that I needed some time to rest (and digest) from the experience.
It made me also evaluate some things, well, a lot of things, and made me question, what do I want to do with my life and for myself? Life can change in a split second, and it seems such a cliche: to enjoy life right now, because nothing is guaranteed. Not even tomorrow.
I might not be traveling around the world or having a big, lavish life, but that doesn’t mean I cannot live a life I’m at peace and content with at this very moment. To know that if it ends sooner than expected, I’ll be okay with that.
And like the moon, Substack is a reflection of that, too. Of that process and that journey.
For me, it means that whatever I write and share here comes from my heart and from a state of contentment and peace. But sometimes, from painful bits too, because nothing is just “love and light” and “positivity vibe only”-type of statement. If not careful, those can become poisonous to the body, mind, and soul.
When I started writing & sharing about cyclical living, it soon became more of an informative space, too clean, too sterile. But I’m not a teacher, nor a writer, and I’m neither an artist.
I’m not even an English native!
Yet here I am: cancer survivor, neurodivergent, and dyslexic as well.
I’m a woman who loves cyclical living as a lifestyle and having a magical approach to life, and I love to combine that (process) with (visual & cyclical) journaling.
How do I translate that to Substack?
I don’t have all the answers yet, and I’m fine with that, but I’ll be bringing more of:
Personal stories & visuals intertwined with cyclical living.
More (tangible) magic.
Purposeful and magical journaling kits, like the Seasonal Journaling Kit, which I just introduced this past Tuesday.
Tips and recommendations about (visual and cyclical ) journaling, magic, and overall life - big and small - transitions, storms, and shit shows.
Sharing more on Substack notes, as I’m not using other types of social media platforms.
I’ll continue with:
The WeatherVane forecast.
Releasing the Lunar Journaling Kits and occasionally extra journaling pages.
Educational letters, because life isn’t just about moi.
This Substack space isn’t about a cancer survivor, or just cyclical living, or just (visual & cyclical) journaling. As a sun Gemini, I cannot confine myself to a box.
However, I’m trying to step out of my comfort zone, another type of box.
And, if you stay here with me, you’ll see too, nature’s cycles cannot be shoved into a box, and neither can YOU!
I hope this letter inspires you in any way, or at least to check your body (and mental well-being) regularly for any signs of lumps and bumps.
This space is made with so much love, and I hope you feel it too.
Ps: 🙏🏻 If you recognize yourself in this letter, and/or if you’re enjoying this space, then please feel free to share it with others and to click on the ❤️ button on this post so more people can discover it on Substack.
🌬️ Sending you magic & healing your way,
-Vane