Signs of a Bad Thyroid Day

1. Feeling like you'd rather die than deal with how you're feeling.
2. Goiter - swollen gland, scratchy throat, hard to swallow.
3. Everything hurts.
4. Sleep, sleep, sleep, more sleep...
5. Legs heavy, swollen, retaining water.
6. Not wanting to get out of bed in the morning.
7. Not wanting to get out of bed in the afternoon.
8. Crying because of how crummy you feel.
9. Crying because you just feel like crying.
10. Wanting to just take a vacation from everything because you're so tired.
11. Feeling hopeless that things will get better.
12. Feeling frustrated that those close to you just don't get it.
13. Feeling annoyed by lack of doctors' help.
14. Not being able to think clearly or focus.
15. Wanting to lounge around and mindlessly watch T.V. or Netflix all day.

My Hashimoto's Diagnosis

Looking back at my Hashimoto's diagnosis, it all seems very anti-climactic.  My then-naturopath casually (perhaps flippantly) told me I had an autoimmune disease of the thyroid.  He explained to me in basic terms what this meant: my body doesn't recognize its own thyroid gland; it produces antibodies against the thyroid to destroy it.  He prescribed some herbal supplements and introduced some new dietary guidelines (cook some goitrogens, avoid others).  It all seemed and felt rather manageable, and I figured that once a diagnosis label was given, healing would be instantaneous and I could go about my life without giving much thought to 'Hashimoto'...

Fast-forward four years.  Having an autoimmune disease sucks.  Instead of progressively getting better, at times I almost wonder if I'm getting worse.  My mood was bad before, but I was in great shape and in no pain.  Now my mood is usually steady, but I'm just on the verge of crossing over into 'overweight' territory, and I have weekly, if not daily, joint pain.  I had bad (no) menstrual cycles before, but my circadian rhythm was in check and I woke without an alarm clock.  Now I menstruate each month like clockwork, but I can't fall asleep at night and struggle to get out of bed in the morning.  I floundered in the face of stressful situations (moving, jobs changes, taking care of a new pet), but continued to dream about the future.  Now I still flounder in stressful situations, but it's becoming more difficult to dream about the future.

I've invested so much time, energy, money, and research into getting well, but when you have an autoimmune disease, sometimes the quest (fight?) for elusive wellness might as well be the same as a hamster's quest to reach the end of its running wheel.  At what point does the hamster give up running, and do we follow suit when healing comes slower than we anticipated?

Four years ago, I had no understanding of autoimmune diseases.  When I was diagnosed with one, I had no grasp of how that reality would change and shape my life.  I've spent the last several years dedicating myself to understanding my condition, making changes that will improve my quality of life, and trying to find a means of surviving and thriving without feeling like my life is somehow lesser.  This is difficult to do.

I am relatively young, and to see the other young people around me doing the things young people are 'supposed' to do can be disheartening.  It's usually easier to focus on the losses that come with an autoimmune disease instead of the benefits (and now I realize I'm not sure there really are many benefits, save for forcing a person to be committed to a healthy lifestyle).

Coupled with my autoimmune struggles are the struggles I face as a Highly Sensitive Person (HSP).  Those struggles so seem to overlap, and I'm convinced that somehow the creatively intelligent and highly sensitive are more susceptible to autoimmune diseases and health ailments.  I'm not sure if there's any valid scientific data to back up that belief, but the idea certainly seems to pop up fairly frequently in online literature...

And so I live feeling somewhat stunted and stuck, afraid to dream and venture out because of how my body may respond.  Will my thyroid retliate?  Will my soul be able to deal with an overload of new sensory information?  Will I feel okay tomorrow?  If I don't feel okay, will I be able to take care of Tobin?  Damn you, Hashimoto.

I hover above a line that divides military-like vigilance and dedication to sleep schedules, meal plans, and exercise regimens from a denial-based desire to sleep whenever I want and eat whatever I want and move whenever I want.  I do yearn for physical healing, but I also want to be in control of my own life.  Ever since my diagnosis, it feels as though Hashimoto, not I, controls my life.

I can only hope and pray that this proverbial thorn in my flesh is for some greater usefulness and purpose, if not for myself then for others.  I continuously recall Cardinal Newman's meditation, and press on with the belief that He has committed to me a specific work that cannot be accomplished by any other person.  I must rest in faith that my diagnosis is part of that specific work and calling.

"God has created me to do Him some definite service; He has committed some work to me which He has not committed to another. I have my mission--I may never know it in this life, but I shall be told it in the next. I am a link in a chain, a bond of connection between persons. He has not created me for nothing. I shall do good, I shall do His work. Therefore I will trust Him. Whatever, wherever I am. I cannot be thrown away. If I am in sickness, my sickness may serve Him; in perplexity, my perplexity may serve Him; if I am in sorrow, my sorrow may serve Him. He does nothing in vain. He knows what He is about. He may take away my friends, He may throw me among strangers. He may make me feel desolate, make my spirits sink, hide my future from me--still He knows what He is about."

-Cardinal Newman

My Sunshine

My spirit fading

The darkest night of the soul

He gave me Tobin