I’m feeling grateful these days that, even though I renamed the blog after myself, Eileen has been stepping up to the plate and keeping things going lately, because my sad, dying thyroid gland has been kicking my ass. I am both disappointed and amazed by this, truth be told. I think the reason for the dismay is fairly obvious – perpetual exhaustion is fairly crappy – but the surprise comes from realizing how quickly and thoroughly I had adapted to not feeling like shit all the time, even though I sorta new this day was coming. (The early stages of Hashimoto’s requires frequent medication adjustments for most people, as their thyroid function peters out.)
On the bright side, I caught it a lot faster now that I know what to look for; it took only two consecutive weekends where I could hardly get off the couch for the lightbulb to go off. The (significantly) less bright side, however, is the near-total indifference I’ve gotten from my endocrinologist’s office. When I called in mid-May, the earliest appointment I could get was in September and when I asked what, exactly, I was supposed to do for the next four months, the receptionist said she’d have “someone” call me. Several days later, that someone did call, and told me the doctor could probably adjust my meds before September if I got new blood work done, and that she’d send me the lab forms.
That was two weeks ago, and still no forms – despite the fact that pretty much everything sent intra-DC ends up being overnight mail. I’m already shopping for a new doctor, and clearly need to begin harassing my current one to get the paperwork to me. There’s a walk-in lab at my GP’s office, which is right by my house, so I can do my part of this fast once I get the damned triplicate form.
And so, in the meantime, I muddle along, which is unbelievably frustrating. I don’t look sick, and I don’t feel sick; I’m just so tired I can hardly think. My friends all know the deal now, though, and I’ve gotten better about telling people at work what is going on, since constant tardiness and nodding off in meetings are generally perceived as character flaws and not an illness. Everyone has been very understanding – I’ve even gotten my dreaded morning meetings cut back to three days a week so I can sleep in a little if I need to, at least on days starting with T. Nevertheless, I’m resentful as hell at all these delays, now that I know how much better a proper dose of medication makes me feel.
Now if I just had the energy to call and yell at the doctor’s office… But, alas.