Dear Thyroid^TM

(Written by Louise Sopher, Hashimoto’s Patient)

Dear Thyroid,

Prior to the last few months I was constantly occupied with either irritating, hilariously irritating (and stupid), then finally, brilliant eventful occasions. I thought it was about time that we both addressed the way in which you made me turn, point and laugh at myself time after time after hilariously stupid time. Oddly I cannot remember each and every stupid and clumsy thing which you made me do not long ago and somewhere between the summer months and the end of hilariously stupid year. Still, let us try, and laugh at what I do remember:

Stupid thing number one: I lost my brand new—literally days old—Prescription Charge Exempt card (which I do actually thank you for as it is a kind gift). Well, let’s not say lost: it fell out of my wallet as I got either in or out of my car just down the road.

Now I believe that this surely must’ve been a hint by you, Thyroid, of how unappreciated you were of having more pills thrown on your head, although you cannot be angry about that considering that they are supposed to help you. And even if it wasn’t, it certainly was some kind of a reaction by you, considering that any other card could’ve dropped out at that moment – any other card. And there were quite a few.

Now, for a minute, let’s cross stupidity with luck: arriving home I was greeted with that unwelcoming “something’s missing” feeling (as if one card less made my wallet lighter!) and, after several checks of pockets and the car floor, arrived upon the conclusion: “I’ve lost a card!” Hoping to go out for a walk anyway, I decided to switch my usual walk for the minimum hour-long walk down the road, whereupon I found myself standing on the pavement aside the spot where I had that morning parked my car. And there it was: the card I’d lost, still sitting, totally unseen by anyone, waiting for me to rescue it from the streets. Cheers.

I had thought I was lucky. I had thought I was brilliantly clever. But that was just the start of it, because, lo and behold – Stupid thing number two: I sent my paychecks back to the people who sent them to me!

Now that really was stupid. And I’m talking unbelievably stupid. Thyroid, you must of been impressed with your clever act, you evil little bugger. You left me to clear that one up on my own. We victims of bullying thyroids must always work hard to clear up their mess. It’s like a kitchen full of boys: they leave a trail of their stomach-insides.

And it didn’t stop there.

Whilst enjoying walking in my absolute favourite field I would keep dropping my water bottle. One minute it would be in my hand, the next it was on the floor and I was shaking my head, dismayed at myself. It was like my hand had forgotten that it was holding something. I mean, what hand forgets why it’s open, tight around a water-bottle? Clumsy or what!

Thyroid, you turned me into a walking, perfectly sober, drunk. I kept spilling water. On the examinations results day I first dropped papers and then flipped my phone several times over before finally dropping it, receiving the comment of “smooth” from a well-observing friend. Working at a summer camp I joined in with a sports game and couldn’t catch a single ball. What a prat! No one trusted me to be on their team again!

Thyroid, thyroid, thyroid, part of me wants to swear that if you dare fall asleep again I will make sure that nothing changes unless it’s for the good. Nothing. And part of me, if you do that again, wants to scream and shout internally at you – wanna see me when I’m angry? Oh, no, I don’t either!

Yes, thyroid, I know it wasn’t your fault and all that rubbish – it was our immune system gone ruthless; it was your lack of being able to protect yourself…but you know you have to fight sometimes, thyroid? You have to fight.

Look at me, a matter of months ago: I could barely string a sentence together…very little time ago, every now and again, and at the moment, very rarely (please, please don’t let me talk too soon!) I am stalling over my words and going “what was I saying?“. Usually though, when this is happening at the moment it’s because I am thinking so many things at once; because part of me is working faster than my body can keep up with; however when you, Thyroid, are snoozing away, everything works at a snail’s pace – everything works so slow, in fact, that sentences just don’t quite work so well. What’s that saying – that things never sound as good as they did in your head, do they? Now tell me why people choose to drink when they end up like this?

Now, almost certain that the stupidity and clumsiness was now surely over but still having to tidy up the mistakes of my previous acts (receiving a phone call that a letter I’d sent had been received without a most important document) I was half-excited at a new day and half-angry at myself, and I tried to jump over something (as I quite frequently did) and ended up falling over, dislocating my shoulder. That, I hope, was the end of that.

And good riddance too!

Hoping that you will learn a lesson from your outrageous stupidity,

Your finally perfectly un-drunk outer-casing,

Louise

(Bio): Aged 18, I was diagnosed with hypothyroidism and I think Hashi’s about a year and a half ago. In May 2009 I saw that the first ever International Thyroid Awareness Week, brilliant though it was, was barely publicised anywhere except on thyroid-related sites. I created my blog: Small But Mighty: A Thyroid Life with the hope of kicking up some of that awareness for the ‘Thyroid Oblivious’ bunch, as well as offering tips to people who have thyroid disease. On my blog on Everyday Health – Life With A Headless Metabolism I’ve been writing about Changes and how they spin around, this way and that way, crafty little buggers, wonderful and horrible, all at once.

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(Written by Elaine, Graves’ disease patient)

Dear Mr. Graves,

Why I give you that endearment is beyond me. I guess it’s a force of habit when writing letters to use “Dear”. You are anything but dear to me. I guess you know that by now. I’m not in a good mood today, so I thought I’d take it out on you. As the saying goes, “What goes around comes around.” You’ve given me such a hard time over the years. You have actually made my life miserable. So now my mind is working a bit better and I can now think halfway straight again. I thought I’d give you a piece of my mind. A very small piece, as you have managed to mess with a good part of my mind already.

I’m still trying to get all my mind back. I still have bad days. “Brain Fog’” some call it. Sometimes I can’t remember how to spell a simple word. Sometimes I even forget what I’m writing about in the middle of the sentence. I just sit, looking at what I just wrote with no comprehension of what I was saying. Do you know or even care how much I’ve missed out on because of you? I have had to give up certain functions in my life because I had such a hard time remembering things. I feel like I lost so much of my memory of people and past events, and yet somehow I still miss them.

I’ve even started writing down names of old school friends, places I have been, and things I have done just to jog my memory. I cry when I can’t remember a relative’s name or something as simple as how to spell a word. This has been so frustrating. It’s downright painful at times. I wish I could make you hurt the way I do. I just want to be able to write and not misspell a simple word without having to use a dictionary for everything. You’ve taken away my self confidence. I WANT IT BACK. All of it. You had no right to take my memories. The more I write, the more pissed off at you I get. My grandchildren have to remind me of things. If not for them I’d be really lost. I’ve had to ask my 10-year old grandson how to spell a word, remind me of what I’m doing, remind me where I’m going.

Thankfully I have patient people around me. But, what about the people with nobody to remind them or who have no patience with them? Nobody should feel this lost and upset. Nobody should be embarrassed by their forgetfulness. This isn’t just old age, it is YOU. Someone else who does not have a “Mr. Graves” may not understand what I am talking about. But, there are thousands who do. Who feel the pain of losing a part of ourselves. What have you done to us ?

I forgot my name….but you know who I am

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Dear Thyroid:

In December 2002, they took you away from me. I am so sorry if I neglected or failed you in any way. I just didn’t realize how much I needed you. I took your abilities for granted, and for that I am ashamed. Now I am left with a slight scar on my throat—I can live with that—but what I miss most is the ability to feel “connected.” To move smoothly from thought to speech…to feel focused and able to meet the tasks of the day. To maintain control of my nerves and not burst into tears at the mere mention of anything.

I simply wanted to control my diet by removing all forms of sodium, in an attempt to eat more healthy and deter the migraines I inherited. Little did I know the long-range effects of totally removing and blocking a chemical like the various sodiums from my body. Granted, this has not been verified by all of my doctors, though some agreed it was a mistake. And so I unknowingly starved you of vital nutrients.

I miss being actively outgoing and athletic but am beginning to work back towards a state of well-being, even though I’m now 55. Too late, I realized that you ARE the most important gland in the body.

~Drie

Bio: I had a thyroidectomy in 2002 due to an extremely enlarged gland which grew down into my chest area. The funny thing was you couldn’t really tell I had an enlarged thyroid…no outward indication. The MRIs couldn’t even capture how big it was…it had grown out of the range of where the doctors would be looking.  Diagnosis after removal: nothing pathologically wrong with my thyroid. I never experienced hyper-, hypo-, or para-thyroidism prior to my thyroidectomy. The thyroid was cutting off my breathing and had pressed on my Singer’s vocal chords so much that I went from a natural first soprano to a second alto (only years of training allow me to fiddle with my range now but I am still not comfortable singing anymore). Connect with Drie on Facebook

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Dear Thyroid,

Today I logged on to the computer and was reading my usual blogs when I noticed that my cousin’s daughter had written in her blog: “My mother has thyroid cancer.”

Oh dear!

I made sure my aunt had called my cousin, since my aunt had the same type thyroid cancer too and had been through it all and is as fine as ever. My cousin seemed to be was freaking out, and I knew if she talked to my aunt she’d feel a lot better. And then I sent the link to the Dear Thyroid website to my relative to pass along to her mother.

Thyroid, I’m glad you just kind of died on me. That’s preferable to going renegade with cancer, because then I’d have to go thermonuclear on you and, well, you already know we’ve had enough radiation in our lifetimes. So, thanks for that.

I noticed that the previous letter I’d written to you via Dear Thyroid was published just two days ago, on January 22 titled “A Midwinter Thyroid’s Dream”. The date it was published to the website happens to be the 10th anniversary of our little song-and-dance (I do all the singing and dancing and you do nothing, but you know what I mean).

Wow.

Ten whole years. A full decade. The Big One-O.
Ten years ago this week, my doctor told me “Omigosh—your TSH is 23! You have hypothyroidism!” We were just three weeks into a brand spanking new millennium, too. What timing! I’m reluctant to think what would have happened to me had we not been introduced in such an obnoxious way. Things would have grown worse much faster. I might look like I had swallowed a football by now. Or, maybe I’d have gotten so tired I’d have just lied down and slept the rest of my life away. Who knows? You’re still worse for wear after 10 years and over 3,600 pills, but I like to think our little medical truce has saved both of our asses from something we both dread.

What will the next 10 years hold for us? Only time will tell, but at the rate things are going, I don’t feel so hot about it. After all, there were nodules on the ultrasound last Fall, and I’d never had either before. This does not bode well, but I’m still not afraid of you. Nope! Nosiree!

Now, to get my cousin past her fear. Bring it on.

Michael Wilson
(Bio) who has the “nobody knows why” type of hypothyroidism, now celebrating 10 years together!

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