Thyurology Too S&Mee For Me
I take umbrage to a lot of things you’ve done to my body over the last few years. The sore joints, the hair loss, the weight gain, the acne, the list is endless. While I’m scheduled next week to find out what to do about my tear ducts that have stopped working, I’m wondering if I haven’t caused it by fixing another problem you’ve caused:
Not peeing;everyone else with thyroid disease talks about how much they pee. Liz even put out a FB post about peeing the other day. Yeah, not so much here. No peeing, that’s me. Ok, stutter peeing. That’s what I call it. Like an old man with a really bad prostate who just can’t get it out. Our doc sent us to that nice urologist guy. How was I supposed to know a urologist is nothing but a gynecologist on crack?!, Up in the stirrups, plastic thing shoved up my urethra, cold metal speculum, inserted up my ol’ address and “did you know your very tight down here, Vicki?” “Does sex hurt you?!”
I have two responses here:
First of all, isn’t that a good thing?, Wink, wink, nod, nod;don’t guys just love a tight “down thereÃ¢â‚¬ kinda girl?, My husband was all kinds of proud when I told him about it later. It must be a good thing. Plus, as I age, I won’t pee myself when I laugh. Right?
Secondly, of course I’m tight you idiot! You’ve inserted foreign objects in two very delicate places of my personal person! This is the first time we’ve ever met. You didn’t buy me dinner, talk sexy to me, OR lower the lights! Just WHAM! I’m tense as all hell. Holy crow! Do most women you come across RELAX through this?!
So, the doc feels better about putting us on a 2 month trial of FloMax. I do some research, cause, you know, I do that stuff. FloMax is for old men who have prostate problems! It says right on the label;…not intended for use by women…, So, of course, I take it. Two months later nothing much has changed. Except now, I have a prostate (just kidding).
So, they add to the humiliation, because, insurance is paying for this. Let’s do another test, they say. Of course I went. Of course I want to find the cause of this issue. People should pee. They shouldn’t sit on the toilet like a 90 year old man (unless they’re a 90 year old man) hoping against all hope to feel a steady stream of urine passing through their urethra! It should just happen. “Ho, gotta pee!Ã¢â‚¬;and you go. End of story. But, I digress, the other test. Yes, I’ll never forget. Just me, you, and the nice nurse lady. She put those really cool electrode sticker things on my thighs and abdomen. Then, the coupe de gra; I was catheterized and had a lovely torture device placed inside my rectum. Relax, she said. Sure.
She explains that she will now fill up my bladder and watch the progress on the computer screen. “Are you comfortable?” Uh, sure. I’m in a paper gown, with sticky things;never mind. Of course I not comfortable! She has to know this. Now, her plan is to sit there and watch the little computer screen hooked up to all my electrodes when I pee. This will tell her what muscles I’m using when it happens. So, we sit. We make small talk. She watches the screen. What else is there to do?, Sure, my bladder is full, sure I need to pee. Not happening. What does the nice nurse lady do?, She lowers the lights (finally, mood lighting, only now it’s just too late), turns the water on and leaves me. , I’m supposed to pee. I have things attached to me with tape, uncomfortable plastic things up my urethra and my rectum. I’m not feeling it. I don’t pee. She comes back, sees I haven’t peed. Fills my bladder up MORE and leaves again, the water still running in the little sink. Nothing, nada, zilch. , Oh, I tried, trust me I did. I pushed, I pleaded with my bladder, I tried to relax. Back in again. She can’t understand it. She removes the offending instruments of torture and sends me off to the bathroom where I pee blood and urine until I think I might overflow the commode. I flush. Twice. Just to be safe.
I spend the next week urinating blood.
I get a note back from the gruesome urologist man that says I have, “a larger than normal capacity bladder.” They can’t find a thing blocking my urethra, all should be well. What the fuck does that mean? I’m a camel and should move to the desert? It simply means I can’t pee in front of people while sitting in a torture chair! For the love of (insert your own particular brand of higher authority here, I’m not allowed to make religious references on this site!). You people charge for this service?! We should do another test, they say. Fuck you, I tell them.
I’ll NEVER go back to those people and their horrible toys. I’ll expand like a water balloon first and blow the fuck up.
I did some research, cause, you know, I do that stuff, and found a little pill in the organic market. It’s a water pill! We’re saved!, I take two a day and you know what? I pee like a fucking world champion.
Only now, the eye doc, tells me, my tear ducts don’t make normal tears to “sprinkleÃ¢â‚¬ my eyes. I feel like I have sand in them all the time. I have annoying headaches. I have to use lubricating tear drops every hour on the hour. I wonder if it’s because the great water pill dried, them up?
Maybe, it’s just you. Maybe I, could have Graves Ophthalmology like the, asshole eye doc says. I guess only you know. I’m finding out you have way to much control over what my body does. So much power in such a small gland. I should be amazed by you. I would have been, but, I had no idea you existed until you stopped working. Now, you just scare the shit out of me. Funny how that happens.
(Bio), 45 year old Mom of one fabulous eight year old girl. Diagnosed with Hashimoto’s Disease 3 years ago. It raged unchecked for 5 years after the birth of my daughter. When I finally had a physical, the doc found a 7.35 TSH level. It explained the ephedra addiction. My body hasn’t been the same since. Guess it never will be.