OK, Now I’ll Admit It – Having Hashimoto's Sucks

My childhood/teenage asthma often led to an annual bout of bronchitis that kept me out of school for two weeks, mostly because I milked it for all it was worth. Nobody could lower her head in agony, or sabotage a thermometer reading, like me.

“But you’re not wheezing anymore,” someone would insist.

“Purely due to your catching me at a good time,” I answered weakly but firmly, fluttering my eyes. “All I need is one more day. What does it matter if I miss a Friday?”

Friday was usually a big day on Days of Our Lives. After two weeks of catching it promptly at its air time, not far from my beloved grandmother, I dreaded having to slum back to settling for the recorded version.

In college, I caught one virus, which didn’t last more than 72 hours. In my early twenties, I once lost my voice for another 72 hours or so. Sickness- and symptoms-wise, that was pretty much it for the rest of my twenties. Aside from dental visits, I rarely bothered to book check-ups because I didn’t need them. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I started having “symptoms” that turned out to be a thyroid-related condition I didn’t take too seriously.

I went through a major health scare last month. Something much worse than a thyroid-related problem. I netted about 35 hours of sleep in 3 weeks, just based on all the anxiety. My symptoms’ worst-case scenario was that bad. Some words of advice - never obsessively Google your weird symptoms and come to an airtight self-diagnosis. The hyper-Googling will quickly convince you it’s the worst-case scenario; and the specialist you frantically schedule an appointment with will most likely look at you like you’re nuts. I didn’t mind that latter bit.

Last week, all the test results (have you ever had a 7:30 a.m. trans-vaginal ultrasound, before a long day of work?) for the worst-case scenario came back negative. The great kind of negative. The only tests that came back positive (the not-great kind of positive) were re: my thyroid levels, which I’d thought I had under control via nutrition and exercise, but now it’s back to the endocrinologist I go, for the first time in years. Never in my life have I had so many doctor’s appointments in a one-month interval.

“All I want for Christmas is my health,” I said, 3 weeks ago. “Nothing more than a continuation of this annoying but manageable Hashimoto's disease.”

And I got it! Until the grand dame of a head cold I came down with, earlier today.