Dear Thyroid^TM

Before we begin, I should tell you that I boarded the Snatch Express about a week ago. Oh, that’s a lie — more like a month ago. Anyhoodle, I was able to hop on at the intersection we’ve all visited, FuckMyThyroid Lane and PleaseFuckMyDoctorsRectumsWithTrollsDrippingInHPV Way.

Until I’m able to get off the train, sadly, I’ll be ranting like Mrs. Duggar’s vadge begging for a 5-minute reprieve from sending loin fruit down her 18-can-we-please-stop-counting flange cannal.

This week’s searches were rantarific. Shall we begin?

1. Do you get hungry alot when your thyroid— Is jacked?! Oh, you misguided child. The intrinsic beauty of a hyperthyroid or hypothyroid is that all you have to do is smell food to gain weight. You can even be a Breatharian and still blow up, akin to a sphere on getaway sticks. Jealous?
2. In ass double— Speaking for myself, my ass is the size of the World Wide Web and growing. In fact, wherever I’ve been, I’ve made it a point to rectally inhale villages. As a result, I have about six urban developments under construction and several thriving mini-malls. The highways are a bitch, especially during peak traffic times. Hey, I do my best to shit folks out. Unfortunately, my thyroid dictates my analhavior, not I.
3. Thryme – and punishment— That would be the correct term for thyroid diseases and thyroid cancers. Unless, did you have a better title?
4. Heart palpitations eyelashes missing—Got Graves’?!
5. Pickled thyroid— On toast points? Bruschetta? Tossed lightly in gluten free pasta and olive oil? Canibellarella, if you’re going to start giving us semi-thyrecipes, we would appreciate that you go the distance at this point in our relationship.
6. Orphan Annie nuclei— Great title for the new ginger kid musical, though more apropos titles would be: “Annie’s Orphaned Thyroid”. Or, “Annie Gets a New Hair “Don’t”, Courtesy of her Hypothyroid, Hyperthyroid Disease”. Or, “Orphan Annie is Doubly Fucked Thanks to her Thyroid Cancer and No Insurance”
7. Thyroid jokes— We’d like to think this concept is synonymous with Dear Thyroid (Side note, if my fucking upstairs neighbor doesn’t stop dragging her large, heavy, severely wooden kitchen chairs across the floor, I’m going to drag my fat ass upstairs and whack the bitch.).
8. Graves’ disease hot yoga—You mean “Graves disease is hot, yo.” Right?
9. Shake head thyroid—Did you just pop your thyroid cherry? Are you a new inductee into the, as Mary Shomon says, “Thyroidority”.
10. Lettuce thyroiditis—You mean Robs’ kick ass blog Death by Lettuce.
11. Sweet virginia pecan pie—Are you having a bake sale and donating all of the proceeds to finding a cure for thyroid disease, or are you donating slices to all of Dear Thyroid’s members? Either way, the pie better be off the fucking hook.
12. Kick in the vagina—Or kick in the cock. I see someone jumped on the misogynistic express. Have we considered jumping off?
13. Har har it’s not a screaming hell lemon—Maybe your thyroid disease/cancer isn’t, but collectively we vehemently disagree and you can take your opinions and shove them up my ass. I’m sure you’ll find residence in one of my cavernous dwellings.
14. Fatty ass—Please refer to #2

Mary Shomon will be announcing the winners of last week’s Thyperimenirific Entries later on today, so be sure to stop by later. We are so excited!

My father came up with a fabulous set up for a joke that we are tying in with a t-shirt contest. You know how we roll on Dear Thyroid. Here’s the dish. Answer the below question as you deem appropriate and post your responses in comments. We will post them all next week. Youse will vote and the winner will receive a t-shirt from the Dear Thyroid store.

How many women and, or men with thyroid disease or thyroid cancer does it take to change a light bulb?

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand GO.

Thanks for listening, loverdeedos.

Love,

Me

Mary Shomon will be voting for her favorite Thygraphs. Winners will receive a copy of Mary’s new book, The Menopause Thyroid Solution and will be announced in next week’s Marco Thylo!  Thank you to everyone for your fantastic submissions, each is a treasure, funny, clever as hell, irreverent, erotic, endearing and flawless, just like each of you.

PERIMENOPAUSE SUBMISSIONS

My life: no sex-drive, moody as a rabid bitch, inability to sleep…pure insanity. Is my insanity caused by perimenopause, or Synthroid? Who cares, I’m still insane!

Paula “Cowpunkmom” Spurr

Dear Thyroid and Hormones,

I just want to thank you for ruining such an important day for me.   I never know who first starts the game of “tag-you’re-it” but it really doesn’t matter now, does it?   Is it you, my precious little thyfly?  Or is it you, this fun little roller coaster ride called perimenopause? 

On Saturday, Sept. 26th, I was the treasurer for our very first St. Baldrick’s Children’s Cancer Research fundraiser.  I was so excited.  My friend’s little girl, Shayla, is fighting for her life….she is four years old and has neuroblastoma.  I volunteered to help organize this event in honor of Shayla.

So— I get up, I shower, do the makeup, the hair, dress nice…..knowing that the local TV station and newspaper will be there.  Also, I will be on-stage and announcing our ‘shavees’ to the audience.   I have to be there all day, looking presentable and greeting our guests.

Now, you both know how bad I feel about my appearance.  You are both aware that I am still shocked at photos of myself….I just can’t believe that the person in that photograph is ME.  My self esteem is all ready at sewer level.  The 60lbs. that I’ve gained over the last 3 years is hell-on-earth enough. 

So, off I go….feeling actually a tad bit pretty. 

I got to our venue, started setting up and immediately y’all attacked!!  I don’t know who first got overheated, but wow, seriously??  Did you have to do that??  I started dripping….sweating from every pore of my body.  Make up???  Mineral foundation??   Blush??  Forget about it!!!  That slid off my face in the first 20 minutes of my arrival. 

My curly hair started dripping sweat onto my shoulders….rivulets were running down between my breasts AND down my back.  People want to HUG me??  Oh no!   You sent me running to a bathroom.  I grabbed  paper towels, tried to wipe down with paper towels that I had run under cold water.

Did that help?  Nope.  So, I continued my day….from 10am to 6pm….dripping embarrassing perspiration.  Why did you have to do that to me?  I am so mortified.  Pictures of me are just awful.  I look like I had just stepped out of the shower.  Worse than that….

I was the FAT, sweating pig.

Love you, too.

Cyndi

Thygraphs from the Edge

There once was a girl from the ‘Springs,

Whose thyroid did various things.

It went Hyper and Hypo, and wouldn’t you know,

Big troubles that gland sure did bring.

 

The Doc said, “Your mind is the cause,

And you’re in perimenopause.

You’re tired ‘cause you’re old, or so I am told,

And this is the source of your flaws.”

 

“Night sweats and insomnia are normal,

As is disinterest in all things coital.

You are talking nonsense, it’s just inconvenience,

So change your attitude to cheerful.”

 

But Doc, I’m too young for the change!

Can’t you see that my plight is not strange?

My symptoms are as clear as your nose is, my dear,

And my TSH is way out of range!

 

I finally got help from an Endo,

Who diagnosed me with Hashimoto,

My gland’s still not controlled, and I may need consoled–

But at least I know I’m not psycho!

Robyn

Merriam-Webster online dictionary defines perimenopause as: the period around the onset of menopause that is often marked by various physical signs (as hot flashes and menstrual irregularity).

Thanks Webster!  I know exactly what to expect.  I am now fully informed. 

Yeah. Not so much.

I think it should be changed to something more realistic.  Suggestions: bend over and kiss your ass as you know it goodbye.  Or:  your fucked…and not in that happy way.  It seems so much more descriptive. You just know, up front, it’s not gonna be fun.

I’ve seen so many doctors in the last three years it’s insane.  They’re all on my flippin’ cell speed dial.  Some of them have been male doctors.  I’ve decided I don’t like male gynecologists.  I’m not against anyone who prefers them, I just don’t trust them.  It’s like taking your car to a mechanic that’s never owned a car.  How the hell do they know what you’re talking about?  “You know that ping you get when you….?”  No! They don’t!  They studied the book and the insides, but, they don’t have ownership knowledge. I have ownership knowledge.  Fuck the book.  I did learn something from each of them however.  The first thing I learned was to rid myself of a male gynecologist.  Especially the new one at my regular office that looks like Doogie Howser…that’s just way too creepy!

Keep in mind I’m not all that bright, but, I am charming as all hell.  It took me a bit.  Now, when I tell my wonderful female gyno what’s going on, she either laughs her ass off, nods in sympathy, or tells me how to make it through the situation.  She also lets me know when she thinks a symptom is attributed to my hyponess.  Love her!

The second thing I learned is that thyroid disease adds an entirely new dimension to perimenopause.  I don’t have a week of PMS anymore.  I’m simply a rocking ass bitch everyday.  At least those around me know what to expect.  No surprises here.  Ok, so the eternally spreading midriff annoys the shit out of me.  I do sit-ups until I’m blue in the face and nothing changes.  I used to have a six pack, now, it just looks like I drink one every day. 

So, I looked up how many calories I’m supposed to have at my age and activity level.  Tried that. Gained weight. Apparently, I’m not allowed to eat, ever…and I run 2 miles everyday (ok, so I fucking trot with my sore old joints, but, that’s inconsequential right now)!  Hell, all I have to do is look at chocolate cake and I swear I can hear my ass growing.  Sometimes, I look around to see if other people hear it too.  It’s so embarrassing.

I watch the young girls I work with shovel food into their beautiful little bodies and smile.  I just know someday, they’ll be exactly where I am.  Revenge is so sweet sometimes, and calorie free!

Vicki Fluharty

MENOPAUSE SUBMISSIONS

Menopause has been an experience in personal sensuality for me. The heightened awareness of all my senses has led me to experience things that I may have missed in any other time of my life. Let me illustrate for you, and in doing so, maybe you too will open your senses and be flooded with the same experience.

First, the sense of sight: Looking closely in the mirror, I see the laugh lines around my eyes, gee, I must have done a lot of laughing so far, and those lines are pretty deep. Those curious brown spots that take form on my forehead and cheeks; if I use my imagination, I can make pictures like looking up at fluffy clouds on a summer day. I’m wondering what would the picture be if I connected all the dots.

Look at my hair, the silvery crystalline strands that are racing to emerge, some in such a hurry that they just fly out from my scalp “boing!” to stand wiry on their own.

My hands don’t look like the Ivory Liquid daughter’s anymore’ I have moved over to take the grandmother’s place. Sometimes, I think about taking a bath or shower in the dark so I can use my sense of touch a little more and not overwork my eyes.

My body is a lot softer and rounder than it was years ago. Mountains and rolling hills of flesh with caverns to explore. The extra dollops of gel required to foam up and bubble all over me are worth the price. The buoyancy of my breasts and my belly as they float above the water and capture any cool breeze that enters into my sanctuary… Can’t you just feel it? If I don’t indulge myself in this pleasure at least every other day, my sense of smell will overtake all the others.

I can’t smell the pheromones but I know they are there. I’m more attracted to and want to get close to the musky smell of sweat, my sexuality ready to pounce when … I’m in the mood. Some days it’s all day long that I’m in the hunt of that which will satisfy me. Other days the only thing that I want to sniff is the warm comforting apple crisp coming from the oven. On those days, maybe it’s because I have been overpowered by the smell of urine that escapes my bladder with every sneeze, cough, laugh, twitch, or maybe it’s because I’m uncomfortable from eating the tiniest bit of iceberg lettuce. No one wants me when I cannot stand my own smell.

Many times of the day, I yearn to taste. I want coffee. I want chocolate. Sugary, salty, sour tastes. In the early morning, late at night, my taste buds are ready to take on whatever is on the tip of the spoon, fork or my finger. Give me the smooth creaminess of ice cream, the bloody hot taste of steak. I want to eat all the time!

What a gift menopause is to keep me yearning for something every minute of the day. Bring on the coffee! Just listen to me. My emotions are based on what I hear. Oldie songs, why do I remember the words so well now? Certain songs bring me to tears in a moment. If I don’t like what you say, be prepared. I may have heard you incorrectly, and will fire off expletives like bullets. Mercifully, this doesn’t usually last for long. I usually get hungry again.

Ahhh, menopause. I once heard that when it is over, we go back to being the nice women that we once were. I’m not convinced when menopause is coupled with thyroid disease. I think I was nice once. I cannot remember. Now, the buzzer is going off on the oven. I’m ready for that warm apple crisp.

Kathy Taylor

As l lounged in my deep, bubble-filled tub with the room softly aglow in candlelight and red wine glass in hand, I breathed deeply of the aromatherapy air willing myself to relax—I was distracted by the mound of flesh arising from the glorious heather scented bubbles; but in my haze -and brain all afog from the heady scents swirling around me -I had no immediate cognition of who or what that mound was.

Then as the synapses in my brain began to communicate, realization set in—Holy Shit that mound of flesh is my stomach and it looks like a fucking manatee.

I thought that Northrup lady and Oprah said that was just the thing for the ‘pause—are you fucking kidding me? Have they actually looked at their menpausal bodies in the mirror? note to Oprah and the good dr., wait til the foggy mirror clears and stand in front of it with your eyes actually OPEN-you’ll be hitting that wine bottle, or 2, a little harder after that image. I now understand why my friend- in the throes of the mother of all power surges-tore her shirt off in the prescription line at the local pharmacy and threw herself spread eagle on the cold linoleum floor while waiting for her Synthroid and Prempro to be filled.

As I blew out all the candles, pulled the drain, and slunk out of the tub-feeling for my towel in the dark, I realized 2 things: 1) darkness is my friend and 2) there might not be enough valium, Xanex, prempro or synthroid on this planet that will prepare me for the road ahead…I guess this is what it means to punt…

By Bee

This week’s searches…

1. I have no mouth and I must scream letter – WE’RE LISTENING. WRITE. WRITE. WRITE, to us now. PS: Not to jump on the snatch express or anything, but could you elaborate on what happened to your mouth?
2. What happens if I stop taking my thyroid – Canibilarella, to begin with, you need to STOP eating your thyroid. Let’s start there.
3. Thyroid +temperament = Dial-a-mental-illness-wheel
4. Fraternity sorority college wordpress – Dude, are you looking for synthroidegger rush parties? Or taking desiccated thyshooters with your buddies? As Mary Shomon says, Welcome to “Krappa Krappa Glanda”
5. Touch the ass – Seeing as mine has become a cocktail table, I think a light graze will go unnoticed. Though I’m confident, an fierce, bordering wildly inappropriate grab will get my attention.
6. okurt – Of course, Dear Thyroid is on Okurt, we’re not thytarded.
7. Graves’s disease teenagers – Sadly, we have many teenagers with autoimmune thyroid disease and a few have Graves’ disease and we wish they didn’t have to struggle with it, as we wish nobody had to, and especially teens.
8. Gland Canyon – Hells yeah, I created that. You can buy the “Membership in the Gland Canyon has its Benefits T-shirt”. Do it proud, wouldjya? Send us a pic.
9. Rage and thyroid – Beautiful combo, ain’t it? Great for socializing with others.

This week’s Marco Thylo is thyperimenirific. We’ve partnered with Mary Shomon for our first official Thygraph contest. The winners will receive a free copy of Mary’s new book, “The Menopause Thyroid Solution”. And, and, and, Mary will be choosing the winners! Wait, it gets better—Because Mary values humor as much as we do at Dear Thyroid, she’s going to give away two additional books to the two funniest entries as well.

I know what you’re thinking, Dear Thyroid, get your shit together. You’ve been hocking a Thygraph contest for ages. Yes, I know. Believe it or not, I can be one thymentiarella from hella. Don’t hate the playa, yo, hate the roid.

Here’s the dish on the contest:

We are looking for two types of Thygraph submissions:

Thyperimenarellas (Dames going through thyroid perimenopause)

Thymenirellas (Dames going through thyroid menopause)

In 500 words or less, submit Thygraphs that speak to some aspect of thyroid or “Gee, is this thyroid”, perimenopause and, or menopause, dishing it up as you see fit; edgy, irreverent, sad, or funny, you know how we do on Dear Thyroid, anything goes.

A few ideas to get your thyliterary juices flowing: Wacky periods, non-existent sex-drive, weight gain, sleep problems, moodiness, hot flashes, night sweats, anything that you’re experiencing that feels thyroid perimenopause-ee or menopause-ish. Get it? Got it? Great!

Submit all your Thyrgraphs to Dearthyroid@gmail.com. In the subject line write “Perimenopause Submission” or “Menopause Submission”. We will post each Thygraph we receive on Thursday, October 8^th. The winner will be announced on Thursday, October 15^th.

To find out more about The Menopause Thyroid Solution, check out Menopause Thyroid, the companion website.

Onto this week’s Dear Thyroid searches and yes, there is a trend:

1. Hi ass— Hi Prick Pie.
2. Pin up sodas— Yes, our pin up dames are quite refreshing in that rehydrating kind of way, aren’t they? Conversely, if this is our resident cannibalarella, I’m surprised you didn’t search for “Thyroid pin up soda recipes”.
3. “Public option”— As in health care? We’re all waiting with baited breath. I don’t think thyroid disease patients and autoimmune disease patients, et al., would feel blue about reduced medical expenses and affordable scrip’s for medications, would they?
4. Inserting base ball bat in asses— As a means to treat a thyroid psychotic? Or as a non-surgical procedure for thyroidectomies? Or just for kicks?
5. Thyroid, self esteem— As if, newbie. The two ain’t synonymous (at least in my case). We’ve also come up on this search a few times.
6. Saturday night special Annie Sprinkle—WORD. Annie Sprinkle is one of my favorite people. She is the epitome of reinventing oneself by one’s own design. She’s one hell of a dame and very inspiring. All of that being said, I’m not sure how a search for Annie led to Dear Thyroid, but I can tell ya this, I am superty honored that it did.
7. Graves disease mental fuck— No shit.

A new Tales From Thyietnam with special guest, Kairol Rosenthal, Thyroid cancer patient, thyroid cancer patient advocate and author of the book, “Everything Changes” will be out shortly. We apologize, I apologize for the delay.

If you missed our first installation of Tales From Thyietnam with special guest, Mary Shomon, you simply must download it.

Do not forget to enter the Perimenopause and Menopause Thygraph contest, which begins riiiiiiiiiiiiiiight NOW. Write. Write. Write.

Love,

Katie

Often, when I write, I refer to a quote by one of my favorite authors, Charles Bukowski, “What matters most is how well you walk through the fire”. After reading it as a freshman in college, it’s been a relevant, almost desperate fixture in my life.

Over the years, I’ve autopsied each word, believing in the subtext and grittiness of the quote in its entirety, as well as the depth of its meaning. My wish was to act on it so poetically that regardless of incident, I would deflect situations like gourmet Danish buttered Teflon. Imagining myself breezing through the fire like Grace Kelly-meets-Whoopi Goldberg-meets-Norman Lear-meets- Edna St. Vincent Millay-meets-Charles Bukowski, and so many others. Recently, it occurred to me what the problem was; me. My inability to accept the death of my former self and embrace this new self, among other things—I’m a schmuck, I know.

None of us RSVP’d for the autoimmune disease soiree, but here we are, partying hard with it on a daily basis. Swapping lemon drop martinis for Synthroid or desiccated thyroid cocktails; eschewing heated fuck-a-thons for heart attack worthy palpitations and unimaginable sweat fests; renouncing every fiber of our former beings to alien invaders that swell our bodies to inconceivable sizes or shrink them to anorexic proportions and bestow us with symptoms far too shameful or heartbreaking to proclaim as, well, our own. In short, we, collectively, have endured much more than anyone should, fighting a disease we never invited into our lives.

Speaking for myself, as I’ve said a million times, I am no wiser. I am no stronger. I don’t love any deeper. I am no more grateful than I was pre-thybacle. Still. “What matters most is how well you walk through the fire”, whatever that means to me, or to any of us for that matter. I want to embrace it, in and out of context.

One thing I am certain of is who I was pre-Graves and the parts of myself I recognize, even with Graves’. I am a tough broad. I know where I come from. My integrity and ethics have never been up for negotiation or sale. I have no ulterior motive, so you can bet your sweet ass that anything I am attached to doesn’t either.

That being said, let me be clear about my intentions regarding Dear Thyroid; they are rooted in the belief that we women, teens and men deserve a place to say anything about our disease (save religion and politics), to curse until our wombs and balls feel emptied of toxic rage that we marginalize to the others with a genial “I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” To celebrate each other’s thyroid success stories with unconditional sincerity, to catch each other with shrimping sized nets when we fall, to feel heavyhearted, macabre and pessimistic and know that there is someone on the other side waving their arms and screaming, “I hear you. I feel you. I understand” and they actually mean it.

It was and still remains a wish that thyroid community’s band together to support and elevate each other. I don’t think I’ll ever give up on that notion. I believe there is strength in numbers. And I believe that that united strength has enough power to invoke change.

When I see thyroid communities embracing the business of thyroids without realizing that we thyroid patients fight it day in and day out because it’s an unfortunate consequence of the medical community, it incenses the fuck out of me. 

When did egregious allegations with respect to each other’s endeavors without knowing the individuals behind that support group become acceptable? When did stealing each other’s core identity (brand) for personal gain become the norm?  When did joining the business of thyroids parley into a practice amongst the thyroid community? When did they forget that they are one of us? “When did this become a competition,” as the Editor-In-Chief, Liz Schau says.

Grow up and join us. We need you as much as you need us. Maintain your originality and respect other’s. False allegations accomplish nothing. If we are going to win the war against autoimmune disease, we can’t do it individually, but we can do it together, as a family.  Remember where you came from; a doctor’s office, a diagnosis and a life that was turned inside out and upside down. And one more thing: “What matters most is how well you walk through the fire.”

And now onto this week’s searches…

• Thyroid man – He can leap tall buildings in a single sweat, move bowels faster than a speeding bullet, lose hair more powerfully than a locomotive. Look, all around you, it’s a living, breathing human penis with a thyroid condition.
• Does a goiter mean your thyroid is failing – Well, it sure as shit don’t mean it’s working for ya, darlin’; more like against you.
• Flat tire – Dear Thyroid Auto Body? Hmm, I guess it does make sense in a weird ass way. Though, I would think a more targeted search like valve replacement, new starters and dropped my transmission would be more relevant. What the fuck do I know?!
• Thyroid condition making my husband… – A prick? We know sugar bear. He doesn’t mean it, really he doesn’t, it’s his thyroid.
• How long before supplements kick in – That’s rhetorical, right? I wouldn’t make a habit of clock watching or say anything like “I’m banking on (insert time frame) here”.
• Now i m trace bitch – I see when we went glock shopping online today, we inadvertently landed on Dear Thyroid… how?!
• Thyroid scars – Are bitchin’, word!
• Baginas xxx – What is a bagina specifically? What makes it xxx? And why is it better than a VAgina?
• Thyroid porne problems – First of all, the correct spelling of “Porne”, is “Porn”. Secondly, let’s talk titles; I’m thinking “Thymentiarella Did Dallas Twice”, “HypoBlowjob Impossible” and maybe “Thyroidectomized Vulvacademy”.
• Can fumes affect your thyroid – As in huffing glue, Sharpies, or cans of Raid?
• Do you have good days and bad days with thyroid disease – Are you new?!
• What the hell…i don’t need my thyroid – Than remove it, honey, just make sure you do it under supervision.
• If you have thyroid u is it ok to drink – To me this reads like you haven’t put the bottle down yet.
• Healthy food for thyroid patience – Even though you mean “patients”, I’d like to address it as if you meant “Patience”. Therefore my answer is “There is no fucking food that will make your fucking thyroid exercise patience”.
• Thyrode patient – Har. Loved the typo. “Thyrode”, sounds so bikeree-non-filter-hardcore-smoker-don’t-take-lip-from-nobody-I-beat-up-old-ladies-and-midgets-with-my-baseball-bat, yeah, I’m a bad ass thyrode.
• What the fuck is throid – Dude, throid? Sweet nickname for the roid of thy.
• Dirty thyroid – Who you tellin’?!
• Thyroid pot stickers – Oh, Canibilarella, will you ever stop fantasizing about noshing on thyroids?!

Love,

Katie Schwartz

A couple of things to note:

If anyone has emailed me in the past two weeks at katie@dearthyroid.com and the email was kicked back to you, my email has been a bit wonky lately. Sorry about that. Please re-send your emails to dearthyroid@gmail.com. In the subject line write: “To Katie”, or simply say, “I can’t fucking remember what that loud mouthed broad’s name is”, or whatever the hell you want.

We received a very important note that we wanted to pass along regarding thyroid cancer: Hello all of my fellow THYCA people. As you know I don’t post usually, but this is very important to all of us. Please for all of you with health insurance or with out republican or democrat it doesn’t matter. We all have a pre-existing medical condition and if you loose your insurance or are underinsured we need change. A strong public option(it’s not government run) it gives the insurance companies someone that they have to compete with. Right now there isn’t any competition to bring down premiums or to stop denying coverage.We all need this. PLEASE PLEASE call your SENATORS and CONGRESSMEN and CONGRESSWOMEN before Tuesday of next week and tell them we need affordable coverage with no pre-existing conditions A Strong Public Option.  Please click to get involved and join the cause.

Speaking of community, if you haven’t joined the “Save Natural Thyroid” community, I encourage you to do so.  Even though I can never take desiccated thyroid, I know that many of my thyrellas and thyfellahs need these medications to survive. The idea of them not having them is unconscionable to me. Similarly, I want thyroid patients to have as many treatments available to them as possible, just like I want us to have better medical treatment and health care (a girl can dream, can’t she).

Do not forget to check out this week’s thylicious Thyrants.