When I was fourteen years old, I was diagnosed with hypothyroidism. I was not ignorant about the disease – or, perhaps you may call it the “malfunction”. Rather, I was probably more educated about it than most girls my age. Why? Because both of my parents, and my grandmother, have the disease.
My brother, on the other hand, was diagnosed with hyperthyroidism. This is perhaps when I really began to pick up my education on both forms of thyroid disease, coming to find out that hyperthyroidism actually makes you jittery, nervous, lose weight, etc. That was my brother. His had gotten so bad that his eyeballs began to bulge from their sockets (another symptom) and his hands would shake when taking care of simple tasks.
So where did my hypothyroidism come from? After all, I was skinny (underweight actually), always was. My whole life I was cheerful, bouncy, and outgoing. How did my mother know to take me to the doctor? Well, simply because she suspected that perhaps I was the same as my brother, with hyperthyroidism. Much to her surprise however (and mine) the results came back to be the opposite.
What symptoms did I ever have of the disease, if any? Really, none. In fact, as a fourteen year old girl, and when I was first diagnosed that year, the disease was not too serious. I was put on probably the lowest dose of Synthroid.
But the following years were another story. Each year or so, my doses crept up. I would get my blood checked every year, and then twice a year. Sometimes it was steady and fine, and other times it wasn’t. By the time I reached my 20’s, some strange things started to happen.
First of all, people noticed how quiet I had become. This started even in my late teens. Before, I had been the little monkey, the cute little thing bubbling forth what was on her mind. Now, I was quiet. I didn’t tell anyone what was on my mind. I was a closed book, even to my parents. I could feel some of my good relationships suffering, perhaps because I was seen as grumpy or unsociable. But inside, it was still the same old me. Inside, I was bubbling forth a profusion of words – some not even making sense. Inside, I was screaming. But I was just too tired to say any of it.
It grew worse as the years went on, and by the time I was 24, I felt so tired every day that I even thought that maybe I had cancer. I kept thinking in my mind that maybe I’m dying. I felt already that I was dying inside, because I was simply too tired to tell anyone – even my husband – the many things on my mind. I felt withdrawn, lonely, and simply tired. If I could, I would sleep all day not because I was lazy but because my body simply ached with a complete deficiency of energy.
There were some good days. Some days I felt so alive again, so energetic, so happy . . . and then it would come crashing down when the sun did too. The next day would be dreadful – I couldn’t wake up in the morning early enough even to fix my husband breakfast. I think he felt hurt by this, like maybe I didn’t care enough to wake up and do this for him. But it wasn’t that at all. I wanted to do it more than he ever knew, but my body hurt so bad with this terrible feeling. I felt truly half-dead.
My marriage suffered. I found it so hard to communicate with my husband because I was too tired to even talk. I would rather zone out and float away. This hurt him more than I will ever know.
My friendships suffered. Sometimes it would seem I have nothing to say to you, or maybe I just don’t want to talk to you at all. I looked mean with my European frown, and I could literally feel people being pushed away by nobody but me. I was just so wore out, from doing just the basic things like cooking and cleaning.
In fact, when I did my basic things it wore me out beyond belief. I had to fight the urge to lay down. I knew that if I did, I would be out for the rest of the afternoon. I just couldn’t help it. I was so tired.
I went back to the doctor that spring. I knew for some time that it had to be my thyroid levels, but maybe tiredness held me back from doing anything about a doctor appointment, too. But I finally had made one with the endocrinologist. Sure enough, my levels were way off. The doctor, a tall, dark man with an accent, went through the symptoms and it seemed like I had most of them. I had indeed been experiencing quite a bit of diharea, as well as heart palpitations and nervousness. Once I had been so anxious all I could do is cry for days. It was indeed my thyroid.
Not only was I tired, come to find out, but my underactive thyroid was also causing me to feel a mild depression. I was withdrawn along with being too tired to talk about anything. I had lost a lot of interest in things I loved.
So, my dose went up. They checked my blood every month for several months to be sure I was on the right dose. Very gradually I began to feel myself getting better. I had a little more energy as the weeks went on, and I finally was able to start getting up early enough to cook a healthy breakfast for my husband . . . and sit and talk with him with a smile, too.
