You are a sneaky bastard. You crept up on me so slowly and silently that I didn’t know it was you that was sucking the life out of me. All my symptoms were explained away by aging, “peri-menopause”, and the stress of being a parent. But you got greedy, and that was your fatal mistake. After all this time living together, how did you not know that I am like the Princess with the Pea under her mattress? I could feel your mild enlargement even though the ENT said there was no way I possibly could. And that was all it took for me to wade through doctors and tests, with some help from Uncle Google and a friend’s physician husband, to rat you out. Once you were exposed, the truth tumbled out like clowns from a Mini Cooper, and just as scary.
But you are going down swinging. In my naiveté, I thought I could just take this little pill and be rid of your grip forever. The tricks up your sleeve keep coming (that brief switch to hyperthyroidism you sprung on me last week that made my neck swell up and my heart race was good one–touche!), but I want you to know that I will prevail. I am strong, I am stubborn, and I will not be defeated by my own body. You fucked with the wrong person, my glandular nemesis, and you will soon see that your best move will be to keep a low profile for a while. There is still a lot we need to do to be able to live under the same roof peacefully, and as long as you insist on not behaving, I will insist on fighting you. (And I will not hesitate to banish you to “time-out” if you don’t heed my warnings–if you think I’m kidding, just ask my daughter 🙂
(Bio) Robyn is a 40 year old veterinarian who spends as much time as possible with her precocious 3 year old daughter, and her husband when he isn’t overseas defending our nation. In her spare time, she rides dressage on her spunky horse, practices yoga, and Googles thyroid issues.