sending go juices

I never got bulgy eyes. Thankful!

Although I'm in remission, I have to check in with my endocrinologist once a year for life. I don't mind having Graves' Disease (hyperthyroidism, it includes nervousness, anxiety, fatigue, bulging eyes, weight loss, hypertension and irritability), because thankfully, it isn't that grave anymore and if I had to get a disease, I can manage this one. I consider myself lucky. I'm lucky to have it nowadays when there's a pill for every ill. Not long ago, I would have died from it eventually. My body was basically a metabolic super machine. My resting heart rate was 144 when I was first diagnosed. I was burning calories just sitting still. I had shaky hands and feet and a goiter the size of a peach pit and I only went to the doctor asking for PROSAC.

I didn't really even think of it as a physical problem. In my eyes, I had finally become my mother, I was crazy. I needed medication. I had a baby in the winter, went back to work in the fall and had night sweats, goiter and accelerated heart rate by October. I figured I was weak. I figured my mind couldn't handle all the stresses of needy students and baby and hubby and and and and....and I was grumpy. Not mean grumpy, but tired grumpy. Like, leave me the fuck alone, grumpy.

I was off. If I tried to relieve stress by working out, I'd feel like I was going to pass out immediately, so then I couldn't work out and that made me even more ornery. I've been told by males and females alike that I can be a mean bitch and divinely sweet simultaneously. Sentimental bitches are bad ass. We don't take shit from anybody. We can't be lied to (at least not for long). We can cut like a knife and heal like no salve ever created. If truth be told, I didn't mind the ornery part, or hungry part, it was the tired part that bothered me. It's hard to sleep when your heart is pounding like that. It's hard to drive too, but who knew that when I drove myself to and from my first few appointments.

I'm one of those fortunate people who had an overactive thyroid. That means I was eating and eating and eating and losing weight rapidly. There's another side to that cycle of eating. And that's when I got "caught."  My portable was next to the custodial, um... facilities, and one of the coaches noticed me running in there, every day, like clockwork. He even swung by my cubicle in the planning area during lunch one day. He was watching me eat and stuff. We went to college together, he kicked the goals and I did the cheer, and he knew me pretty well. I was getting skinny. Me. Skinny. So, he waited for me at my room one morning, and he asked, "Are you okay? You aren't going bulimic on us are you? I see you in there a lot." I gave him a sentimental bitchy remark, like, why the fuck are monitoring my shit and how sweet of you to notice, but I promise, I'd never do that. Ever. But I was skinny. And grumpy. And those two words just don't sit right with me. I'm happy and curvy. Not skinny and bitchy. Not me. I didn't ever want to be a skinny bitch.

It was so odd. To be so skinny, and get so many compliments for it, and to feel so fucking sick. It took me two weeks after getting diagnosed to find a doctor that would work with me. Radiation is the cure for Graves' these days. They basically eradicate the thyroid altogether, and then you take medication for the rest    of    your    life. Hell to the NO! I had been too fit, for too long, to have this thing they called Graves.

So I researched and researched and researched. I found out some thyroid conditions are reversible with medication. I just had to slow it down. I could do that. I could chill out. I found one doctor who agreed with my self diagnosis of 'post-partum hyperthyroiditis, a completely temporary, completely normal after pregnancy condition for many women. I found one doctor in one medical journal that said you could medicate hyperthyroiditis while nursing. The first two insisted I couldn't. The author in that medical journal that referenced this condition and deemed the meds as safe happened to be from Miami. Lucky! The man I needed, the man that writes for and about the disease has a practice nearby. I was there in no time. I was nursing Skye for eight months by then, she never ever ever took a bottle and the first two doctors said I needed emergency treatment. Diagnosis on a Thursday. Treatment that Monday. They scheduled me and I was supposed to ween an infant, in that condition, in three days. Fucking morons.

So, I found the right doctor, and got a diagnosis, (he never changed it from Graves on my forms, but admits it was post-partum related off the record) and he took me from insanity back to wellness in less than a year. I took 75mg of PTU a day at first. I'd fall into a deep coma if I took that much today. Without doctor approval, I titrated myself down to 10mg over a period of a year proving that it was temporary. Today I'm medication free. Being sick makes you appreciated feeling well. I raced my first triathlon that year. And, after every baby, my thyroid kicks in, I lose weight, heehee, poor me, and then I medicate until my hormones get back in touch with my brain, I ween myself off, then I'm fine again. No radiation needed. No having to pop a pill everyday for the rest of my life. No getting the grumpies. No lumpies in my throat. I mock you Graves dis-ease. I'm in-ease. I'm thankful I know my body well enough to trust my instinct that my condition was reversible. Just because a doctor has a title, doesn't mean they have anything more than a notion of what's going on in my body.

Funny thing is, even though I did all that research, and knew my facts, and had permission, I filled that prescription and still didn't take the pills right away. I figured I was now aware it wasn't my mind, it was my body. I thought I could think my way well. I was too sick to actually accomplish that though. I ended up having to take medical leave from work to get my strength back even with the medication. It was a rapid little disease. I'll never forget what I felt like after just one pill. Just one 25mg little pill. Peace!

Every pill was like an instant moment of happy highness, a veil of fear uncovered and released, a soft steady white light. With every day, the fog was lifted, and my vision was restored. I looked forward to taking those peacemaker pills that brought me pleasure like I was about to enjoy a large glass of something yummy while sitting on that rock above with the one I love. Relief was just a swig and a few minutes away...ahhhhhhh. Peace!

Plus, it was legal and perfectly okay to pop those pills and no one is going to judge. I was a hyper, but high kind of happy on those pills, hyper because my heart was still at 120bpm even asleep, if you can even call that sleep, and high because it calmed me down enough to relax and know my mind was well, and happy because I knew I was going to be okay eventually. All that felt real good. Within two weeks, I was back to 100bpm. Then I really became high on life because a gland that had been overworking finally stopped sending go juices. I remember feeling myself come back to myself Oh, THERE YOU ARE! I KNOW YOU. HHEEEEYYY, I KNOW YOU. FUCKING A, I'M NOT CRAZY AFTER ALL. What a month that was. Skye turned one, we had a big party at the park, under the gorgeous trees, and I took my first pill. I went about a month from diagnosis to first treatment. Once I took that first pill, I was hooked on recovery. That little pill made me chill. I loved that pill. 

One of the toughest parts of that time was deciding not to go back to work. I had a rough bunch of students in class that year. The substitute would call me from class to speak to certain students about their rowdiness. I'd be all, "Now Cambriel, you know your parole officer isn't going to put up with that crap either, just because I'm not there, doesn't mean you can act like a caged animal. Sit down and shut up already. She's just doing what I asked of her. I'll be back soon." I'm sure I even said, be good for me. Sappy, but true. I was supposed to return after spring break that year. Three months of R&R and I was rested, well, sorta, because I kept Skye home with me. So it was more like three months off from your day job, but this one, this parenting thing is 24/7 for the rest of your life. 

So I decided to stay home the rest of the school year. When my students found out, they rioted, and I guess they said whatever mean things they felt like saying to my replacement and she quit by the end of the week. I was sad and mad. But I couldn't be there for all of them, as much as I wanted to, I had to take care of me, if I was going to take good care of Skye. I needed more time than medical leave would allow. So I took time. I essentially took off until August when I returned for the fall semester and have been goiter free ever since. Apparently, goiters only develop when the other symptoms are ignored. I can always catch them before my goiter grows. Fucking gross, right? Goiters and shit. Graves Disease will mess your shit up. Seriously. :)

This time off, this next month, is me doing that finding peace process all over again. I've healed myself in many ways, mostly physical, and I heal fast. Childbirth just makes me hungry. I'm up and about in minutes trying to take a shower. Graves is gone. Check. Check. Now it's time for forgiveness and moving on. It's time for peace.