I didn't remember that it was my birthday until a PCOS support group that I'm a member of e-mailed me at midnight. Oh, that's right. It's my birthday.
It seems totally strange to have forgotten one's own birthday. In fact, when my co-workers, or family members, or even the ATM machine wished me a happy birthday during the past few days, I was almost startled by the words. Oh, that's right.
I think I stopped celebrating birthdays after my 23rd. It was during the year that I would turn 24 that I was diagnosed with Hashimoto's and PCOS. I still remember the day my doctor gave me the news. I decided to go shoe-shopping at Nordstrom Rack after my appointment, and I meandered through the aisles in a haze. All I could think about was how my life would change and all that I would give up now that I was "diseased."
Last night, I had a vivid dream in which a doctor was showing me lab results that indicated high LH and low FSH levels in my blood (two reproductive hormones). When I woke up this morning, I immediately went to Google and asked what those results would indicate. It's PCOS. I'm not sure if my subconscious was already aware of that information and was simply processing it in my sleep, or if my body is smart enough to know that its hormones are out of balance, and it's telling me exactly what's wrong while I'm dreaming. Interestingly, in past labs my LH and FSH scores have always been normal.
So, when I woke up this morning I was only semi-aware of my own birthday, dwelling on my whacked-out hormones, thinking about the thyroid ultrasound I was about to have, and then I came downstairs and saw a birthday present from my parents atop the kitchen table. I burst into tears. Presents, with their wrapping paper and bows and cards with well-wishes, symbolize happiness and celebration, and I realized that there was little I was feeling happy or celebratory about. Sometimes it just feels like this life is happening to me, and I've given up even trying to be happy or celebrate in the midst of it. My mom tells me I'm depressed. I know I am.
I kept forgetting my birthday because I didn't want it to happen. I don't want to acknowledge turning another year older. I don't want a reminder of my illnesses, and age, and current set of circumstances. When I begin to ruminate about all those things, it just makes me hate my life, and instead of feeling grateful for gifts, I cry over them.
Today I've been receiving "happy birthday" messages on Facebook and my cell phone. I started to contemplate the fact that people are telling me to have a happy birthday, but that they should more aptly say "depressing birthday" or "annoying birthday." That's how I feel about my birthday this year. Go away, birthday.
After I wiped away my tears and composed myself, I headed over to the local imaging center to have my annual thyroid ultrasound. While I sat in the waiting room, I thought about how no one there knew it was my birthday and I wondered if they thought I looked sad (realistically, none of them were probably paying much attention to me). I also thought about the fact that I am at least 20 (and probably closer to 50) years younger than the people I usually see in those waiting rooms. It actually made me feel momentarily young. But still diseased.
And then I was called in for the exam. I think this was the fifth time I've had my thyroid and its nodules inspected. Unlike the other inspections, today the ultrasound hurt. I know that my thyroid's been inflamed, both because my doctor told me it is and because it's been hard for me to swallow and I just feel that it's enlarged. Having the roller on the exam wand roll around my throat, pushing into the inflammation, I remembered why I woke up feeling so blue today and why I haven't been doing well lately. Hashimoto is on the loose in my body.
When the exam was finished, I walked out to the parking lot, opened my car door, sat down on the driver's side seat, and pulled down the mirror on the visor. I tilted my head back so that my neck arched, and I scrutinized the area where my thyroid lies hidden. Yes, definitely swollen. In fact, the one side that hurt the most during the exam was actually visibly larger than the other side. Oh, that's right. Hashimoto's.
Somehow seeing my enlarged thyroid actually began to put things into perspective. I am sick. I'm allowed to be sick. I'm not crazy. I'm not doing something to myself. I have a disease, and right now this is what my body is choosing to do.
I realized that instead of struggling against being sick right now, I think I need to just rest in the experience until a doctor helps me get things right. Yes, my gland is inflamed. Yes, I need to lose weight. Yes, I'm exhausted. Yes, I ache. Yes, I have an autoimmune disease. Oh, that's right.
I didn't choose this for myself, but this is my life. And as much as I can ignore the fact that I have a birthday this year, I am turning another year older. I am seeing a new doctor in a few weeks. I'm going to talk to her about possibly switching to a different natural thyroid hormone. I know this isn't how a successfully-treated person should be feeling. And that is the one small hope I cling to--the belief that this is just a momentary lull in my treatment, and that things are bound to get better. That next year they'll be better.
And so I celebrate, not for what is, but for what I am confident will be. I celebrate the hope that next year I will remember my birthday.
