Dear Thyroid^TM

My Dear Thyroid,

You are a pain in my neck!!

I absolutely resent the fact the quality of the rest of my life depends on that little pill, which really doesn’t help all that much. Why, why, why did you fail me?

Because of you, I look and feel like a bloated toad. Because of you, I move about as fast as a three-toed-sloth. Because of you, I suffer from CRS (can’t remember shit). Because of you, I’m surprised my husband hasn’t left me since I have absolutely NO libido and no energy if I did! Thanks a lot!

I took good care of you in my youth, and this is how you treat me?! Oh, I’ve had muscle aches and headaches before, but at least I did something to deserve them. Now, I don’t have to do anything and I still hurt!

Oh, and thanks a lot for the heart palpitations. I don’t know how many nights I’ve laid awake wondering if the old ticker was going to flutter and die. The only good thing to come out of that was a trip to a wonderful cardiologist who did a stress test, echocardiogram and carotid doplar.

At least I know my heart is working like it’s supposed to! I just wanted you to know how terribly disappointed and disgusted with you I am.

(Bio) I’m a 60 year old female diagnosed with Hashimoto’s thyroiditis about seven years ago. I was put on 75mcg of Synthroid which worked fine until my mail order pharmacy suggested I take levothyroxin instead as it would save ME money. Last winter was the worst of my life with exhaustion, dry skin, weight gain, and feeling cold constantly. My thyroid was increased to 100 mcg but I still have symptoms and continue to gain weight. Back to Synthroid!

Dear Thyroid;

All right, I’ve tried to ignore you like a festering itchy mosquito bite, but you won’t go away. I’ve tried playing the game that everyone keeps telling me, that if I pretend that you don’t exist, you won’t.

I’ve hidden in the bottom of the well, and Vitamin D3 has brought me some of the sunlight that has been missing in my life, but right now I am as flat as a club soda in a paper cup that has been left on the windowsill for a week. Not only am I flat, no fizz, feeling lifeless, I think I am evaporating. What will be left of me when you are done?

My fleshly being continually increases. I cannot bear to look in the mirror. Photographs will intimately know the shredder, and the two shall become one pile of me, in unrecognizable little strips. Don’t bother trying to put them together, I won’t be there.

Oh, I am losing weight all right, but it is not physically, it is spiritually. My spirit has failed to thrive and it is starving itself to death. My soul is hungry to taste autumn, to drink in my family, to try a new recipe for laughter, but when I attempt to eat at the table of life, I have no appetite.

I try to write emails to friends that I have not seen in forever, and you are there to wipe out my mind. I have nothing to say.

Why is it, oh thynemy that you are mean to me most of the time and that I have so much to say to you? But, you, you never answer, you just sit there, staring out the window. Don’t think that when I start to walk away, that I don’t hear your low pitched chuckles.

I’m going out into the real sunlight now, and I will smile and laugh, and force myself to have a soul feeding snack. I may not be ready for a hearty meal, seven courses of tasting the scrumptiousness that is found in every minute of the day, but just watch out, I am going shopping for the ingredients, starting today!

(Bio) Kathy Taylor, 54 In and out of the well, wearing too much black and brown, is waiting to break out the good stuff.