Malfunctioning Thyroid?

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Statistics have shown that one in eight women in America suffer from thyroid issues. As one of those unfortunate women, I am constantly looking for ways to make the day to day journey a bit easier. I have done a lot of research, and thought I would share some of the steps I took through the nightmare of being diagnosed, with the hope of helping someone else as well.

Thyroid frustrations seem to run through my family, making me aware of symptoms to watch for through my post teenage years. When I began to notice that I constantly felt drowsy, and my energy was depleted, I began looking at other changes in my life as well. Unfortunately, this was also during the pandemic, and after receiving a positive diagnosis of Covid 19. This hindered a bit of my suspicions, because many of the symptoms were those that could be in relation to the effects of the virus. So I finally decided to make a list of those things that seemed a bit 'off ' to reference during the appointment with my physician. The top five on my list? 

   

     - Constantly feeling exhausted. Like, not just tired, but to the point that I was always falling asleep while sitting on the couch. When I would attempt to be woken, I almost had what I would describe as the feeling of being drugged. It was beginning to cause me to miss important appointments, work, and time with my family.

    - Little to obsolete sex drive. This of course, I felt was due to the constant exhaustion. Intimacy became a thing of the past, resulting in a feeling of depression and inadequacy. 

    -Hair loss. When I did have enough gumption to bathe, washing my hair left my shower slow to drain. I knew this was a symptom of hypothyroidism, but also a symptom of stress. Leaving me to believe it was probably a result of the latter.

    -Increased appetite. It seemed like those rare moments when I was able to keep my eyes open, I constantly felt hungry. But the hunger always accompanied cravings of sweet snacks, and salty potato chips. Again, a symptom of stress, or depression. Both of which I seemed qualified for.

    -Weight gain. Hand in hand with the snacking and sleeping, this made perfect sense.

Once I was finally able to meet with my physician in person, rather than via face-time, (due to the pandemic) I requested she do a panel of bloodwork on me. Three days later, she called and stated that my vitamin D levels were low, but that everything else appeared normal. So I was given a script for a higher dose of vitamin D than you receive in a daily multivitamin, and the assumption that it was all related to post Covid depression.

After three months of noticing absolutely no difference in my daily pattern, I returned to her office for a follow up on the blood work. Once again, I was told that it was in relation to a vitamin deficiency, and sent on my way. Frustrated and feeling helpless, I found myself ranting on the phone to my sister, who lived 5000 miles away, and had recently been diagnosed with Hashimoto's Disease. The more we discussed our symptoms, the more I was convinced that I was not receiving the correct diagnosis. Through my sisters diagnosis, we discovered that there is more than one test for thyroid disorders, but generally only one is offered, unless the others are requested. 

Long story a bit shortened, after a year of bloodwork and increased symptoms pointing to so many random health issues, such as the depression, stress, and Covid relations, I chose to find a new physician. Upon requesting that I have what is called a T3 and T4 test done, which is as easy as a simple blood test, I was finally diagnosed with hypothyroidism. 

Don't misunderstand me. Nobody wants a diagnosis of a disorder, or disease. But I was relieved to know that it was more than the original diagnosis, and that I could now be treated correctly, giving me the chance to soon feel alive and myself again. I've wrote this in the hopes of helping others who might be facing the same problem, and feel like they are running themselves into a wall with their physician. Request the extra testing to be done. Yes, they are the ones that went to school and got the degree. But you are the only one who knows exactly how you feel. Follow that gut instinct, and refuse to give up. Believe me, the end result is worth it. 

Good luck, and best wishes. 

    

    -

 

Please Don't Comfort With These Words

    

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 April first is never a joke for me. I dread April Fool's Day, year after year, as it is the day I lost my hero. The day time stopped turning for me in that single second of the phone ringing. I was nineteen. My first child was six months old. My life was so full of changes, and suddenly, in the blink of an eye, my dad was gone. He was thirty-nine. 

    I am now forty-four years old. Let me say this... to outlive a parent, at such a young age, leaves you with an emotional tornado. Yes, if life goes as you expect, to bury your parent is not unheard of. But it does not make it any easier. For me, one of the most difficult things through this process has been the comments that others have made. Though I know in the minds of others their words are meant to comfort, it always leaves me with the taste of a rotten lemon. 

    Please don't tell me that you know how I feel. I will never repeat those words to another person. Contrary to popular belief it is not comforting. I've learned to nod and accept the usual hug. But my brain is screaming, as if in the mosh pit of an underground concert. NO, you DO NOT know how I feel. Nor will I know how you feel after losing someone. Each person loves differently, as well as grieves differently. Yes, we will both go through the excruciating pain of our heart breaking. But you do not know how I feel. 

     I do not want to appear unappreciative. It has just become an instant response when someone feels they share something in common. But let's not. Thank you for acknowledging the loss. Thank you for attempting to make me feel as if I am not alone. But please don't tell me that you know how I feel. I would love to ask, 'Did you have to help raise your siblings, because your mother fell apart?' Or better yet, 'Did your siblings have to stand by and watch your hero gasp for his last breath?' I know, cold, right? But it is immediately where my mind goes. 'Did you fight with the so-called parents of your hero over the placement of the empty shell of the body of the son they chose to abandon at the age of seventeen?' The questions could go on and on. I swear it is a miracle I have a tongue left after so many years of biting it. 

    If the subject comes up in conversation, it is okay to tell me that you are sorry for my loss. Because I know you are. Believe it or not, it is even acceptable to ask permission to inquire on how we lost him at such a young age. If you feel the need to share your story of losing a parent with me, that is fine too. I will also tell you that you have my most sincere condolences. I will sit and listen, sympathize, hug you... whatever I may do to help. But I will also acknowledge that I will never know how you feel, because I am not you. You are not I. I will tell you that it's okay to be angry. Just don't stay in the land of anger. It is okay to cry, because it hurts. It hurts more than if someone physically dug a hole in your chest and ripped out your beating heart. But beyond that, I have no idea what you went through. Nor do you know how it felt to go through my loss. 

    Love me. But don't pity me. 

    Offer an ear, but please don't if you truly don't want to listen. 

    But above all else... never tell me you know how I feel.