Dear Thyroid,
I don’t blame you. I blame those vicious antibodies that one day decided to attack you. I am most sorry that on my 36th birthday, we were both told you were dying. This was certainly ill timed, as I was experiencing my first I-am-getting-old-birthday.
Than I discover, through no fault of your own, mind you that I have what the nurse called “A disease older women typically get”.
Well, that is just fantastic.
Eight months have passed and I miss you more than ever. Please don’t get mad at me for taking you for granted. I didn’t know how important you were. Your so called thyroid replacement; you know, a poor dead pig’s gland, just doesn’t do you justice. I can’t get those levels right. I wake up in the morning feeling hung-over. I live in fear of all the bad things that could happen because of those rogue antibodies. I am forever changed. I worry that I will wind up like you-fibrosisized, ghostly and gone. I hate self pity. I hate indulging in those kinds of thoughts, but I do feel them most days. Most days when I see all food as the enemy, the enemies that will make me fat. Most days when I am cold, despite the warm summer sun. Most days when I drag my ass to the gym to somehow combat (kid) myself that my life is the same.
We were both robbed. You of your life and me of mine. I don’t want to take a pill every morning. I don’t want to take a million supplements to try to negate the antibodies. I don’t want to give blood every month. I don’t want to ever have to say your name again. I want to take you for granted again. I don’t want this to be my reality. And by the way, if you are genetically so…stay the hell away from my son!
Jenna—
Dear Thyroid™ 