I remember Me!

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“I don’t know where to start,” and the doctor put down the needle at an appointment for a biopsy. “This thing has to come out.” This Thing was my thyroid. “I normally don’t recommend it, but in your case, there is no way around.”

“Isn’t there a pill?” I dared to ask, and the endocrinologist shook her head. “That wouldn’t change a thing!”

“But IT is still working, isn’t it. I mean, it’s not totally useless (yet)?” She didn’t even answer, just looked at me. “I get you in touch with a surgeon, he is one of the best.”

The wonderful, kind, soft-spoken Indian doctor whom I met only a week later in a cancer hospital took my fear away. I knew I was in good hands and right from the start I trusted him completly. When I quietly asked, “Why am I in a cancer hospital?” He softly answered, “Because that’s where I work.”

I didn’t have cancer, which was a relief. The odds had been high, and now, almost a year later, only a scar on my neck and a bit of extra skin (turkey neck?) are the only reminders of my thyroidectomy.

The Thyroid, this small organ in our body, carries a great deal of responsibility. Metabolism, brain, sleep, muscles, heart, digestion, energy, weight, appetite, to name just a few. Without a thyroid, for the rest of my life, I will have to take a synthetic hormone, a tiny pill every morning, thirty minutes before coffee, and finding the right dose seems to be a bit tricky.

TH3 and TH4, the two main hormones your thyroid releases – thyroxine (T4) and triiodothyronine (T3)- collectively make up the thyroid hormone. In my case, no matter how much we adjusted the dose, and WE did so every six weeks, it was never in the ideal range. The TH3, I didn’t even reach the normal range; it was way too low and stubbornly stayed there.

“How are you feeling?” My doctor’s usual question was answered by me with the obligatory “Good,” or “Fine.” I did add that I always felt tired. “A bit like a flat tire and I keep on going, but really don’t want to,” and it was the truth. Everything seemed harder now. My work hours seemed longer, and my list of ‘to-dos’ took all the strength out of me. But at night, when I was supposed to sleep, I often woke up and stared at the ceiling for hours. Tossing and turning, just so I could get up tired again a couple of hours later. But isn’t that normal? Especially for women after menopause?

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“I am going to put you on a combination medication, because I want you HAPPY.”

Isn’t that typical for doctors? I pretty much had asked her recently to NOT ROCK THE BOAT (considering me being the boat) because every medication adjustment is hard on me—not sure why—and she rocked it anyway.

I didn’t want to try a new medication, but told her I would give it a try, after the Holidays, because I didn’t want to feel odd or ‘off’ over Christmas.

And with great resentment, on January 1st, I took a lower dose of the thyroid medication (Levothyroxine) and an hour later another medication called Liothyronine, which will work like 5 cups of coffee. “Yippie!” I thought, “I am going to be a nervous squirrel.” But I took 5 mg at 6 am and another pill at 1 pm.

I hated it because that’s what my mind told me. “Hate it! Prove her wrong!” Surely enough, I got a headache. I am sensitive when it comes to medications, that’s what I tried to explain to her. Goodness, will doctors never listen?

Surprisingly enough, after three days, I woke up after a nice hour’s sleep, and I felt ready to conquer this beautiful planet and perhaps the next planet too. I am not a nervous squirrel; I am not jittery or tense.

I couldn’t blog much lately, because I was busy. Rearranging the attic room, reorganizing my workroom, and spring cleaning the house. I played with Vader regularly, walked and took pictures, danced to my music, paddled 2 or 3 miles on my new recumbent bike, which works wonderfully because I watch the news while on it, which seems to give me an extra dose of anger to paddle harder. I am all over the place, and I am chirpy.

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I feel like a million bucks! And for the life of me, I can’t remember the last time I felt that good. Of course, there are still the aches and pains and the morning stiffness, the daily present given to me by RA, but other than that. I am full of it!

I am a chirpy little bugger (Ok, not little). The new medication makes all the difference in the world. Everything is easier now. No more fatigue, no brain fog. I sit down and jump up again, because there is just so much I want to do—and can do. My energy level is up, I smile, and for the first time in a long time, I am me again. She is familiar, and I like her. I remember her! I remember me!

The last time I felt that good was perhaps before my thyroid decided to go haywire. Possibly ten years ago, in my early fifties?

I didn’t want to at first, but I am glad I listened and gave the new meds a chance. Now my T3 and T4 are in range, where it’s suppose to be, and I can’t help smiling like a fool.

Is it ok to send a doctor flowers or a thank-you card?

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