Hormone Hijinks

Life was not so good. My winter coat was becoming my uniform, part of my ensemble day after day - indoors and out. Was I the only one who felt how cold it was all the time? It wasn’t until driving home from work one day on my usual route, deep in thought (very deep) that I realized I had no idea where I was, and that something was very wrong. How had I gotten here? Where was here???

My GP sent me to an endocrinologist and after months of blood work panels, different strengths of medication and x-rays, it was determined I should have a biopsy for two small nodules on my wonky thyroid. I got to the hospital waiting room in the wonky thyroid department and sat next to a football player-type guy. We waited in uncomfortable silence for a bit and then he nervously started telling me all his symptoms and why he was there -  we were waiting for the same procedure. A technician came into the room and called my friend. He let out a big sigh, lumbered out of the waiting room and across the hall. I eyed the old, dog-eared magazines and decided on meditation. But my reverie was interrupted by a blood-curdling male scream from across the hall. It was my hulking, manly friend! Oh dear god - and I was next! 

Hand-wringing hours later (okay, maybe twelve minutes) the tech came for me. I let out a big sigh, lumbered out of the waiting room and across the hall. The tech and doctor were laughing about upcoming weekend adventures, not cognizant of my trauma. I laid down on the examination table while preparations were being made to plunge a needle into my throat. The doctor headed toward me with a very long needle. I said in a panic - aren’t you going to give me pain medication? He laughed, saying, Oh no - we don’t use that - ha-ha-ha. Then he noticed my blood drained face and said, that’s just thyroid biopsy humor - of course we will give you something. It sounded like an afterthought. I was panicking but kept quiet and they did what they needed to do - shove an extremely long needle into the base of my throat that looked like it might be coming out the back of my neck. It was freakin’ weird because I felt like it was somehow blocking my ability to breathe, so no screaming ensued - I hadn’t been able to gather up enough oxygen to do so. They put a big bandage over the area and sent me on my way. 

I got into my car but didn’t want to put my seatbelt on as usual, across my chest, in case the strap should rub against the bandaging. So of course, a few minutes later, I was stopped by a police officer for improper seat belt application. I explained my reasoning for non-compliance and was told by a very surly officer that I could only wear it askew like that if I had a note from a doctor. So how do I get a note from my doctor when I have to drive somewhere to get the note? Oh okay - sorry officer. I’ll put it over the bandaging. Not to worry.

Fortunately, the nodules were not cancerous. 

That night we had tickets for Rascal Flatts at Madison Square Garden. We took the train in and enjoyed a fantastic concert. I didn’t stand up to sing and clap when everyone else did but figured the band would forgive me. Afterwards, while on the crowded subway back to the train station, I started feeling hotter and hotter, in preparation of fainting. It would have been nice if someone in my party had asked a fellow rider to give me their seat when I yelled out - I am about to faint! but no, so I ended up on the subway floor. In retrospect I would recommend against this location for lying down but in actuality I was seeing stars and blackness and really couldn’t have cared less where I was. Later found out I was supposed to be home resting. The medical team had never given me those instructions, but honestly - I wouldn’t have listened anyway. C’mon - it was Rascal Flatts!

My endocrinologist tried everything she could to slow my thyroid down, and then speed it up. It swung back and forth for months, making me feel jittery at times and lethargic at others. So finally she told me they needed to perform Radioactive Thyroid Therapy. In other words, kill my thyroid and take medication for the rest of my life for hormone replacement. If I made it through the biopsy I could make it through this - no big deal - right?

I was told to report to the Nuclear Medicine Wing (what???) of the hospital and was shown into the nuclear room. The tech came in wearing a full body outfit that looked like something an astronaut or Teletubby would wear. In his heavily gloved hands was a lead-lined box and inside the box was a big friggin pill. He handed me the pill in a little cup, with a little cup of water and told me to swallow it. Wait a minute - you are covered head to toe so you don’t touch this thing and you want me to swallow it? Okay, down it went. Done.

They gave me a long list of instructions for the next few days. Don’t share the bathroom, flush twice. Stay sequestered, don’t sleep with anyone; for that matter, don’t touch anyone. Keep pets away. Launder your linens and clothes daily. Eat on paper plates with disposable eating utensils. Bury your garbage in the backyard. Radiation detecting devices might be set off in airports. Honestly - did you ever wonder about how many people get this done and how close you are standing to them, unwittingly?

Now, a few years later, no longer radiating anything but sunshine (well…), thyroid-free, my daily medication is as innocuous as taking a vitamin but much more important to my general health. No more getting lost on the way home - I’m back to my normal, quiet, introverted life, wearing a winter coat only in the winter and only outdoors. Life is good again.