I had a grand aunt, an unmarried lady. She was an amazingly healthy old woman. At the age of 50, she had an ultrasound of the neck done, as part of a work-up for a sore throat. The throat cleared after a few days. It was some minor infection. But the ultrasound scan picked up a small nodule or swelling in her thyroid gland, and a needle aspiration biopsy showed it as Papillary Cancer of the thyroid gland. It was less than a centimetre in size. She was very upset. My father was her chief adviser and friend. He showed her to some specialists and she was put on regular tablets. I was just a kid at the time. I heard the entire thing from my grand aunt, who regaled listeners with this story, whenever any unfortunate relative was within hearing distance.
She died, years later, of what can only be considered old age. She was 88. She had pneumonia. When I visited her on one of her last days, she told me again of the wonderful tablets that had saved her life. She pointed to the bedside shelf.
“It is in there,” She said.