DISH ON DEAR THRYOID

@Anastasia_Smith of The Sister Project, follow them on Twitter @sisters, wrote a gorgeous post about her thyroid, sisterhood and Dear Thyroid. Please read, From The Threads of Thyroid Tales.

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

We can't wait for your letter, dearie.

DEAR THYROID -- WAIT FOR IT --

Dear Thyroid,

You really aren’t so clever, you know. You think attack is something new, something radical. But you’ve got to realize that I, myself, am the best at attack and destruction. My mind’s been cutting away at pieces of my own cells for years and years, ever since childhood and well before you started dropping your hints here and there: well before the red hair; well before the yellow skin and childish rebellion in my back and legs and kidneys; well before the blotches of itches and puffy cheeks, and the so-many tears since; well before the years and lines of my life had been erased (and even with photographs before me I still can’t remember the stories everyone else seems to know by heart, which usually makes me cry too); and sometimes the dark skin lines to remind me how this body has stretched and squeezed into a new form. (As if I needed another reminder).

Doctors tell me you’re localized -- only you as that pretty butterfly shape at the base of my neck is affected. Well, I never liked butterflies anyway. They’re so delicate, like one pinch too hard and the wings disintegrate under the sticky hot fingers of children and beaks of birds. And I remember one summer when little black butterflies landed in twos or threes near our house. By the end of the day, we kids had caught so many and all but one of them had died just from the sheer pressure of fingers: index to thumb. Pretty things like butterflies never seem to last. I should have seen it coming. All those summers and paper-waif wings should have been the warning.

And so, I keep hearing the same thing: you can’t be cured; you’ll just stick around with all your complications and pain and embarrassment and all of the destruction you’ve already done. Whatever inkblot shape you’ve crafted for yourself inside of my neck will be left that way forever for me to keep interpreting and extracting some sort of meaning over and over and over. The only thing is that, I’m in the habit of fighting ugly things (and maybe even some things that are good and beautiful and don’t deserve a waged war. Sometimes lovely things just get in the way and end up in the battle). It’s nothing personal; it’s just my nature.

So look, there’s something I’ve gotta tell you; something you need to know: as close as we’ve grown over the years, as much as I know about you and as much as I think of you everyday, as much as you’ve taught me, as many new and good people as you’ve introduced me to, there’s something you should know. I think it’s only fair to warn you -- to be perfectly honest with you...
Thyroid, Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis, I’m going to kick your ass and you won’t know what hit you.

Love Always,
Liz Schau

THYROCIOUS IS NO LONGER AWRY

Reflecting on six-years of sickness, two near death experiences and the loss of my canine son on the precipice of what was intermittent sanity; and still trying to reconcile all of the time I lost, with a full heart because I finally feel like me again, I can write this.

My thyroid has been balanced for two-months, something I haven’t experienced in six-years, six, long, painful, life sucking, years. In the past 60-days, I have felt so much like me and have seen old Katieisms resurface; personality traits that I thought were dead, when really, they were just buried. Alongside old-me, there is a new person emerging with contradictory thoughts in some respects, sure, and in others, striking similarities.

The road ahead is no longer bleak because I see more and more of me emerge on a daily basis. The strength I thought I’d never regain, the hope I thought I’d buried with Louie, the spirit of who I was is beginning to outweigh the pain of the past six-years. And, while I’m still struggling with the loss of time, I am finding my way.

Everything is different because I’m different. I have my mind back, the one thing I could always rely on, but sadly lost during my thybacle. My mind means everything to me, lucidity, clarity of thought, making intellectual decisions, free of thyroid induced paranoia, depression, rage, unrelenting sorrow and a slew of other mental conditions other thyroidians can relate to.

And, of course, there’s my family. I’ve missed them terribly. Though I couldn’t have gotten through this without them, now that I’m sane, I miss them even more. I want to get to know them and spend time with them. I want to know how I affected them and what it was like for them. I’m able to place myself in their shoes and see what it might’ve felt like for them. I’m able to ask them questions about it and listen, even if I don’t like what I hear. Not because I want to punish myself, on the contrary. I want to know what this disease took from them, how it reshaped their lives, how they coped, and I want to be there for them—I can do that now. I wasn’t able to before. This feels like a privilege, not a burden.

Having been reclusive for so long, I’m now reentering my life and figuring out how and where I fit in. Recently it occurred to me that how I reenter is entirely up to me, which is empowering. Sure, my self-esteem is still in the twaloo (toilet), but I’m learning a lot about how I think and feel, I’m also speaking up and disagreeing where I might not have in the past. Though, I’m not sure because I don’t remember everything about who I was. Some of my memories of the past six years are vivid, while others aren’t. I have an incredible mother and sister who remember everything.

Though I’ve had a few medical blips with my kidneys and thEYEbacle, I have an incredible Shrinktail who is really there for me and helps me get through the fear. I’m learning how to interact with doctors. When I’m thrown into what feels like medical chaos, I become so overwhelmed, I lose my footing. This is attributed to the years of medical negligence and mistreatment related to this disease. I digress. I am finding my way.

There is an end and with that, a new beginning. Don’t give up, even when you can’t get out of bed and your thyroid has sucked your mind into an abyss that’s telling you otherwise.

THYROIDLICIOUS

Dear Thyroid,

I know it's not your fault, it's just a mysterious occurrence that we can do nothing about. I don't want to blame Mom, either. She's gone through a lot, being hyper when she was younger and now, after having two kids, becoming hypo. It's just generally not fair, mostly because we have nobody to blame.

But really, you haven't caused me that much trouble. Sure, I'm popping pills on a daily basis, but lots of people are doing that. It was definitely worse when I was taking PTU - five disgusting tasting pills twice a day - that was hell. But you've still caused me trouble. Mom said I was moodier. My periods have been more out of whack than ever. I just remember before I was diagnosed, Superbowl Sunday 2006, when, after waiting for six weeks, I had my period for twenty minutes and the blood just flushed right out of me while I was in the bathroom. It was horrific.

I guess I'm a special case. What makes me feel the worst is the shape my body has taken because of you. Everyone I talked to said that hyperthyroidism increases your metabolism and makes you skinnier. How I wish it had been true for me, instead, I maintained a pudgy shape around the middle and could not lose weight, no matter what. Sure, my weight has fluctuated, but when it comes down to it, my weight has just been increasing.

It makes me uncomfortable. Scarves are my best friend because they hide you from the public eye, which probably isn't even truly looking at you. I just don't know how to feel about you, and I don't know if you'll ever let me be normal again.

I think that this blog, Hyperthyroidlicious might help me out, just get my ideas out there, but I really don't know. I can never tell if anyone is even listening to me.

Well, here's to a good year. Let's hope that you get better, which will, in turn, make me better.

Your Friend, More-or-Less,
Monika

DEAR THYROID

Dear Thyroid;

Tomorrow is a big day for us. We're going to meet with Dr. Braunstein for a day of tests, tests and more tests.

Oh joy. Katie, stop being negative. Okay.

For those just tuning in, out of insurmountable frustration and a burning desire to give up, a last ditch effort, a bit of research, really, yielded a discovery -- DBraun. After emailing him my thyroid chronicle, medical mistreatment to the tenth power and topping it off with; "If you truly believe in healing, collaboration with a patient and think you can heal me, not just treat me, I look forward to hearing back".

I did.

I'm not hopeful. I'm open. I've been experiencing hypothyroid symptoms for months and hyperthyroid symptoms for the past six-weeks. The Graves' disease-ee mental kind: paranoia, anxiety, depression and anger -- go me -- The hypo mental symptoms are forgetfulness and an inability to wrap my head around anything. All of this translates to extreme difficulty writing and functioning. Physically, I feel like a 60-year-old. If I was 60, I wouldn't be the slightest bit blue. Being in my thirties, I am. Blue, I mean.

I'm terrified he'll find more issues. I'm open to the possibility that he'll get to the root problem and fix it. My thirties, so far, have been consumed by my thyroid, loss and sadness. I didn't die, so I am grateful, of course. Hello. I have a pulse. What's bad? I don't have a life, though. I want my life back. I want to look and feel like me again, and I don't.

Okay, Schwartzy, enough with the kvetchfest.

I'll keep ya's posted.