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I was back at the endocrinologist yesterday. I'm grateful to have found her. We are a similar age, though she is tall and slender and blonde and I'm dark and pudgy. She is a good listener and always seems to be looking outside the box for solutions. She has kind eyes and what I'd imagine to be a kind face in general, but her eyes are about all I can see since we have to wear masks now. We agreed to increase my medication, which means taking my tiny pills and slicing them into quarters for an extra quarter pill a day. In the meantime, the nodule on my thyroid continues to grow ever so slowly and my liver function is a little worse- all things we need to keep monitoring. It seems inevitable that I will need my thyroid ablated (where they administer radioactive iodine to kill off the organ), but we are trying to hold off for now. My doctor wants to biopsy the nodule to be absolutely sure it's benign, but it's still too small. More bloodwork in a few weeks, come back to review in March.
Three years ago, I didn't even know I had thyroid issues. With me, there are always medical abnormalities- tumors, cysts, etc. No one in my family had suffered from thyroid issues though. My symptoms started on a cruise, with the most serious feeling issue being that my legs, ankles and feet swelled. I chalked it up to increased salt intake in the restaurants and maybe high blood pressure. So when we got home, I started seeing a cardiologist who confirmed that my heart was in great shape- my cholesterol and sale and potassium were all fine. My stress test looked perfectly normal. One number though, was completely off track- my thyroid was working in overdrive, causing high blood pressure and things like palpitations and shortness of breath. It turns out, I have both Grave's Disease and Hashimoto's, with the Grave's Disease usually kicking into gear and making me sick. I've been trying to find balance for my thyroid hormones ever since.
"How's your nausea," asked the doctor, knowing that it's something that always lingers. I've always been "a puker," with nothing to attribute it to. Some of my early memories are being carsick (no one else in my family gets it), driving to my grandparents' lake house and laying my head on my great-grandfather's lap, opening and closing my eyes to see the streetlights wiz by while my great-grandfather stroked his cigarette scented hands through my hair and tried to comfort me. I remember how angry my mom got when I puked all over the back floor of her brand new maroon Bonneville just as we pulled into the driveway. When I was about 10 or 11, I had about three weeks of puking every day. My mom was desperate to get me into school instead of laying around and watching The Price is Right, but I'd get to school and within a couple of hours, I'd puke and get sent to the nurse's office to go home. One day, the nurse pulled my mom aside and asked if I might be pregnant because I'd been avoiding her questions about whether or not I'd gotten my period yet (I hadn't, and my best friend and I had hidden the permission slip for the "puberty talk" with the nurse, so we didn't really know what it was to have a period). Mom was so insulted! Now I wonder if all that was my thyroid. If it was an episode of the Grave's Disease acting up.
"And the anxiety," she questioned. Anxiety- my old friend. I guzzled Mylanta in high school, and even so, I developed a bleeding ulcer. Little things have terrified me. Everything can keep me up at night. At 17, I had a full blown existential crisis because I'd realized that I would never be the best at anything. There was always someone (or many someones) who were smarter or more talented or more beautiful. I had a series of panic attacks over how average I was. I was mundane and it made me anxious. I have run away from things for being too secure or not secure enough. I am never comfortable. The anxiety still plagues me. I would tell you details about my last panic attack- hyperventilating uncontrollably on my bathroom floor (in a house I love, surrounded by the people I love), but thinking about that moment makes me anxious right now.
"How about your periods," she asks. It's the trifecta of continuing issues. I'm taking medication so that my periods only come once every three months. I'm on the verge of a full hysterectomy because of all the fibroids and ovarian cysts, but taking everything out will do a number on my hormones.. and with the thyroid ablasion still on the table, it could be twice as brutal. I used to laugh at women who complained about their periods, but mine have been getting progressively more painful over the last ten years. Endometria grow in and around my uterus. Some larger than others- one large tumor was removed at Sloane Kettering after numerous colo-rectal surgeons on Long Island said the operation was too complicated. I've had six miscarriages, and now I think the Grave's may have been involved there too, especially the last one which occurred right before my Grave's diagnosis. That was a second trimester miscarriage that I suffered at home- and buried that baby in the garden of my old house on Long Island. I still feel guilty for leaving him there- in the cold ground of what is now someone else's home. That gives be anxiety.. insomnia. It's a vicious cycle.
So we adjust my meds. At least we are working on a solution, instead of letting the disease drag me under.
Three years ago, I didn't even know I had thyroid issues. With me, there are always medical abnormalities- tumors, cysts, etc. No one in my family had suffered from thyroid issues though. My symptoms started on a cruise, with the most serious feeling issue being that my legs, ankles and feet swelled. I chalked it up to increased salt intake in the restaurants and maybe high blood pressure. So when we got home, I started seeing a cardiologist who confirmed that my heart was in great shape- my cholesterol and sale and potassium were all fine. My stress test looked perfectly normal. One number though, was completely off track- my thyroid was working in overdrive, causing high blood pressure and things like palpitations and shortness of breath. It turns out, I have both Grave's Disease and Hashimoto's, with the Grave's Disease usually kicking into gear and making me sick. I've been trying to find balance for my thyroid hormones ever since.
"How's your nausea," asked the doctor, knowing that it's something that always lingers. I've always been "a puker," with nothing to attribute it to. Some of my early memories are being carsick (no one else in my family gets it), driving to my grandparents' lake house and laying my head on my great-grandfather's lap, opening and closing my eyes to see the streetlights wiz by while my great-grandfather stroked his cigarette scented hands through my hair and tried to comfort me. I remember how angry my mom got when I puked all over the back floor of her brand new maroon Bonneville just as we pulled into the driveway. When I was about 10 or 11, I had about three weeks of puking every day. My mom was desperate to get me into school instead of laying around and watching The Price is Right, but I'd get to school and within a couple of hours, I'd puke and get sent to the nurse's office to go home. One day, the nurse pulled my mom aside and asked if I might be pregnant because I'd been avoiding her questions about whether or not I'd gotten my period yet (I hadn't, and my best friend and I had hidden the permission slip for the "puberty talk" with the nurse, so we didn't really know what it was to have a period). Mom was so insulted! Now I wonder if all that was my thyroid. If it was an episode of the Grave's Disease acting up.
"And the anxiety," she questioned. Anxiety- my old friend. I guzzled Mylanta in high school, and even so, I developed a bleeding ulcer. Little things have terrified me. Everything can keep me up at night. At 17, I had a full blown existential crisis because I'd realized that I would never be the best at anything. There was always someone (or many someones) who were smarter or more talented or more beautiful. I had a series of panic attacks over how average I was. I was mundane and it made me anxious. I have run away from things for being too secure or not secure enough. I am never comfortable. The anxiety still plagues me. I would tell you details about my last panic attack- hyperventilating uncontrollably on my bathroom floor (in a house I love, surrounded by the people I love), but thinking about that moment makes me anxious right now.
"How about your periods," she asks. It's the trifecta of continuing issues. I'm taking medication so that my periods only come once every three months. I'm on the verge of a full hysterectomy because of all the fibroids and ovarian cysts, but taking everything out will do a number on my hormones.. and with the thyroid ablasion still on the table, it could be twice as brutal. I used to laugh at women who complained about their periods, but mine have been getting progressively more painful over the last ten years. Endometria grow in and around my uterus. Some larger than others- one large tumor was removed at Sloane Kettering after numerous colo-rectal surgeons on Long Island said the operation was too complicated. I've had six miscarriages, and now I think the Grave's may have been involved there too, especially the last one which occurred right before my Grave's diagnosis. That was a second trimester miscarriage that I suffered at home- and buried that baby in the garden of my old house on Long Island. I still feel guilty for leaving him there- in the cold ground of what is now someone else's home. That gives be anxiety.. insomnia. It's a vicious cycle.
So we adjust my meds. At least we are working on a solution, instead of letting the disease drag me under.
