Let's change the date on the last post to read: 5/29/10.
Yep, that's the official day that I climbed out of the pituitary/thyroid/endocrine hole. And I didn't just climb, I pretty much leaped out of the hole, true to form of my "old self."
It started with 45 minutes of cardio on Saturday morning. Early Saturday morning. Continuing on to supervising a mini golf play date with Ben and his favorite girl from class. Then on to the back yard and a major planting project. I pretty much fell into bed on Saturday night, but not before I realized that I gone a whole day without my heating pad and without having dizzy spells.
Then Sunday put Saturday to shame. 90 minutes of exercise. An hour of house cleaning. A drive to my sister's. Another drive to the South Bay for a dinner date. A late dinner date.
I thought I'd be trashed by this morning. I had about four hours of sleep last night. But I had it in my mind that I needed to quantify how much better I was and there was only one way to do it: get my butt to the nearest yoga class.
My beloved yoga has taken such a backseat to this whole endocrine mess. "You can't do yoga until your blood pressure comes up." Every doctor has told me this.
I don't know where my blood pressure was this morning, but after a double dose of Peet's, I was feeling optimistic. And more than a little hyped up.
So I found a class near my sister's. A 90 minute class. 90 minutes turned into 120 and as luck would have it, it was an arm balance practice! While the rest of the class practiced hand stands, forearm balances and side crows, I let myself sink into child's pose.
It was great. Not the class, itself. Unremarkable, at best, from an instructional standpoint, but it was just what I needed to convince myself that I am officially on the road back.
Several people have asked me this weekend, "Is it the medication? Or the diet? Or the supplements?" I wish I knew. But I'm not questioning any of it.
A little Western medicine, a few Eastern tweaks and a whole lot of flax = the prescription to ending my 30s on a healthy and high note. Did I mention how grateful I am?
Monday, May 31, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
7/4/10
Doctor appointment this morning. Blood pressure down. Weight up. Major frustration.
"WHEN AM I GOING TO FEEL BETTER???"
"Fourth of July," the doctor said. "Plan to put everything on hold until then."
How do you put parenting on hold? Clients certainly don't go on hold. Life - as it is in my world - does not just go "on hold."
So I booked a week long trip to Lego Land with Ben. In August.
And an appointment with a nutritionist. Tomorrow.
Little League and school both wrap up in the next month with all the requisite fanfare.
On hold? Not while I'm living this life.
"WHEN AM I GOING TO FEEL BETTER???"
"Fourth of July," the doctor said. "Plan to put everything on hold until then."
How do you put parenting on hold? Clients certainly don't go on hold. Life - as it is in my world - does not just go "on hold."
So I booked a week long trip to Lego Land with Ben. In August.
And an appointment with a nutritionist. Tomorrow.
Little League and school both wrap up in the next month with all the requisite fanfare.
On hold? Not while I'm living this life.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Awgock
When Ben was a baby, he used to say "awgock" for "all gone" or "all done." We still say it.
The MRI is awgok.
Sunday came with high anxiety in the house. I lashed out at my mother. Several times. I hauled Ben off to a friend's house because it was raining and I didn't know what else to do. I took my low octane Valium and waited. Nothing happened. My mom and Ben waited with me at the MRI center. The technician was running 30 minutes late. I asked the receptionist if I had time to get a drink. Ben, my mom and I ran down J Street, looking for an open restaurant. Nada. I ended up in AM/PM, with a six-pack of wine coolers, a large Slurpee cup and a long straw.
Two wine coolers later, I was calm enough to slide into the teeny tiny MRI space. I emerged thirty minutes later for a quick sip of wine cooler and a quick injection of iodine. Then back in for another thirty.
I quizzed the technician when she brought me out. I worked every possible angle. She gave away nothing, except for a huge envelope of slides - dozens of pictures of my brain.
There is a certain sense of peace and calm once every test has been completed. Now it's up to the specialists. My role is in this is awgock.
The MRI is awgok.
Sunday came with high anxiety in the house. I lashed out at my mother. Several times. I hauled Ben off to a friend's house because it was raining and I didn't know what else to do. I took my low octane Valium and waited. Nothing happened. My mom and Ben waited with me at the MRI center. The technician was running 30 minutes late. I asked the receptionist if I had time to get a drink. Ben, my mom and I ran down J Street, looking for an open restaurant. Nada. I ended up in AM/PM, with a six-pack of wine coolers, a large Slurpee cup and a long straw.
Two wine coolers later, I was calm enough to slide into the teeny tiny MRI space. I emerged thirty minutes later for a quick sip of wine cooler and a quick injection of iodine. Then back in for another thirty.
I quizzed the technician when she brought me out. I worked every possible angle. She gave away nothing, except for a huge envelope of slides - dozens of pictures of my brain.
There is a certain sense of peace and calm once every test has been completed. Now it's up to the specialists. My role is in this is awgock.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
MRIday
Ben has a cute book that goes something like this:
Sunday, Funday
Monday, Runday
...and I can't remember the rest.
Anyway, around here this Sunday is being called "MRIday," even though it's Mother's Day.
I actually don't mind a bit. I celebrated Mother's Day with Ben in his classroom on Friday and I couldn't have asked for a sweeter experience. After several years of skipping Mother's Day activities in the classroom due to my busy work mornings, I decided that this was the year to go. After all, I justified, Mother's Day brunches in the classroom won't happen every school year. And I'm so glad that I went.
I'm relieved that the in depth look at my pituitary gland is finally happening, especially after taking more and more medication over the last couple of weeks, which clearly isn't making the symptoms any better.
My health insurance plan is a very pricey PPO. I cringe every month when I pay the premium and I cringe again when I deposit an ungodly amount of money into my Health Savings Account for the yearly deductible. Lately, though, I've been feeling pretty content with the decision I made a couple of years ago to spend a little extra on the comprehensive and self-directed plan that I have. My doctor said it best: "There are a lot of MRI machines in this town. Getting the approval to go into a machine is the biggest challenge." My nurse clients are still amazed that I'm not in an insurance queue, waiting even longer.
So, finally, Sunday - "MRIday" - will be here and I'll have the answers that I need to move forward and re-capture some semblance of life. Life as I used to know it.
Sunday, Funday
Monday, Runday
...and I can't remember the rest.
Anyway, around here this Sunday is being called "MRIday," even though it's Mother's Day.
I actually don't mind a bit. I celebrated Mother's Day with Ben in his classroom on Friday and I couldn't have asked for a sweeter experience. After several years of skipping Mother's Day activities in the classroom due to my busy work mornings, I decided that this was the year to go. After all, I justified, Mother's Day brunches in the classroom won't happen every school year. And I'm so glad that I went.
I'm relieved that the in depth look at my pituitary gland is finally happening, especially after taking more and more medication over the last couple of weeks, which clearly isn't making the symptoms any better.
My health insurance plan is a very pricey PPO. I cringe every month when I pay the premium and I cringe again when I deposit an ungodly amount of money into my Health Savings Account for the yearly deductible. Lately, though, I've been feeling pretty content with the decision I made a couple of years ago to spend a little extra on the comprehensive and self-directed plan that I have. My doctor said it best: "There are a lot of MRI machines in this town. Getting the approval to go into a machine is the biggest challenge." My nurse clients are still amazed that I'm not in an insurance queue, waiting even longer.
So, finally, Sunday - "MRIday" - will be here and I'll have the answers that I need to move forward and re-capture some semblance of life. Life as I used to know it.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Sleepless
one hour until i meet with my endocrinologist. if i'm not nervous (and i truly don't feel like i am), then why have i been up all night? and who schedules patients at 6:45am? i guess i'm relieved that my doctor is a workaholic.
today has the potential for being a really sleepy day. i can already tell.
today has the potential for being a really sleepy day. i can already tell.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Traumatized
There are things that you don't want to do in front of your 6-year-old child OR your 66-year-old mother. Things that might be embarrassing or inappropriate or anything that might be in the least bit frightening. Needless to say, after this morning's incident, both of my roommates - my young son and my mature mother - are both keenly aware that something is not quite right with me. And perhaps a bit scared, too.
I was in the kitchen, drinking coffee when it hit. "It" is a sharp pain, almost a spasm in my low abdominal area. "It" feels like childbirth. Times twenty. "It" strikes without warning. "It" takes my breathe away; makes me see stars. "It" is unlike anything I've ever felt before. "It" brings me to my knees. Today "It" brought me to the floor. With a blood-curdling scream.
Ben looked up from Tom and Jerrry. My mom rushed in from the front room.
I tried to speak - to say anything - that would articulate what "It" was doing to me. But there were no words.
There was one thing I knew to do and that was to push back into Child's Pose and breathe like I teach: sloooowwwwwlllllllyyyyyy.
"It" started to go away. I got up off the floor. I think that the impact of the event hit my mother harder than it hit Ben. He eventually went back to Tom and Jerry but she didn't go anywhere.
I explained to her - as best that I could - that T3 and T4 hormones are your "fire" or your "agni," as we call it in yoga. T3 and T4 get you out of bed in the morning, they tell your metabolism to start its daily burn, these are the hormones that prompt your body to digest each meal, each snack, each stolen piece of chocolate and to move fluids through, as well. This power of this dynamic duo cannot be under-estimated. I read that when low levels of T3 and T4 go untreated, that major feelings of apathy, depression and even psychosis start to emerge.
"It" is one of the really ugly parts of having no digestion to speak of. The littlest thing can set my system off and "It" comes out, showing his ugly, demonic self. I'm lucky that so far, each episode has occurred in my own home.
Lest you think that I am shedding pounds and pounds of weight with all this going on, let me say that I could go on a water only diet and still gain several pounds a week, at this point. I went through the disappointment and the being so-pissed-that-I-threw-a-few-things-at-my-bedroom-wall-while-trying-to-get-dressed-phase and now I'm much more at peace with it. I'm even pretty zen. I have a ton of clothes a la Crossroads and my friend, Michelle's Swap event, that I could care less about what's fitting and what isn't. Seems there are bigger things to worry about.
Like not letting "It" come around when Ben and my mom are here. No doubt, I've totally freaked my mom out but I think I've saved Ben. For the moment.
Stay the fuck away, "It." Or at least don't come back until Ben is in school and preferably when my mother is out shopping. That's all I ask.
I was in the kitchen, drinking coffee when it hit. "It" is a sharp pain, almost a spasm in my low abdominal area. "It" feels like childbirth. Times twenty. "It" strikes without warning. "It" takes my breathe away; makes me see stars. "It" is unlike anything I've ever felt before. "It" brings me to my knees. Today "It" brought me to the floor. With a blood-curdling scream.
Ben looked up from Tom and Jerrry. My mom rushed in from the front room.
I tried to speak - to say anything - that would articulate what "It" was doing to me. But there were no words.
There was one thing I knew to do and that was to push back into Child's Pose and breathe like I teach: sloooowwwwwlllllllyyyyyy.
"It" started to go away. I got up off the floor. I think that the impact of the event hit my mother harder than it hit Ben. He eventually went back to Tom and Jerry but she didn't go anywhere.
I explained to her - as best that I could - that T3 and T4 hormones are your "fire" or your "agni," as we call it in yoga. T3 and T4 get you out of bed in the morning, they tell your metabolism to start its daily burn, these are the hormones that prompt your body to digest each meal, each snack, each stolen piece of chocolate and to move fluids through, as well. This power of this dynamic duo cannot be under-estimated. I read that when low levels of T3 and T4 go untreated, that major feelings of apathy, depression and even psychosis start to emerge.
"It" is one of the really ugly parts of having no digestion to speak of. The littlest thing can set my system off and "It" comes out, showing his ugly, demonic self. I'm lucky that so far, each episode has occurred in my own home.
Lest you think that I am shedding pounds and pounds of weight with all this going on, let me say that I could go on a water only diet and still gain several pounds a week, at this point. I went through the disappointment and the being so-pissed-that-I-threw-a-few-things-at-my-bedroom-wall-while-trying-to-get-dressed-phase and now I'm much more at peace with it. I'm even pretty zen. I have a ton of clothes a la Crossroads and my friend, Michelle's Swap event, that I could care less about what's fitting and what isn't. Seems there are bigger things to worry about.
Like not letting "It" come around when Ben and my mom are here. No doubt, I've totally freaked my mom out but I think I've saved Ben. For the moment.
Stay the fuck away, "It." Or at least don't come back until Ben is in school and preferably when my mother is out shopping. That's all I ask.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Curveball
I am convinced that God is intent on priming me, in this year - the last year of my 30th decade - to be fully self-actualized for my 40s. Why else would there be so many damn challenges thrown my way in such a short amount of time?
I take such enormous pride in my health, I really do. Some people might call it a compulsion, I call it a passion. Simply put, being healthy is the biggest priority for me. Because if I'm not healthy, then how can I take care of my son? How can I make money to sustain our home and our basic needs? How can I be a caring daughter? A reliable friend? A loving sister? A consistent mentor? I can't do any of these; not without my health.
So it was very disappointing to watch - almost like an observer outside of my body - my entire sense of being go through a major shut down in the month of March. It was actually a slow descent; one that I didn't fully realize until I noticed that my clothes weren't fitting, that my legs appeared puffy and bloated, that I couldn't warm up even despite having a heavy down jacket on all the time, that my nose kept draining this funny clear fluid, that I wanted to lie on my bed for absurd amounts of time during daytime hours, that a stroll on the treadmill felt like a death march up Half Dome, that my life seemed to be slipping by in a hazy, hazy fog.
On March 1st, I started a daily preventative medicine for my migraines. By the end of March, I had convinced myself that the meds were to blame and I tossed the bottle. But I didn't feel any better. If it all possible, I felt worse.
I called up my doctor. "You need to do some blood work," I told her. "NOW." Then I took five days off. I figured that I needed a little rest; some downtime.
My doctor is so great; she called me at 8:30pm the night that I had done my labs. I was in the middle of TJ Maxx, looking for yoga pants, size Large, thankyouverymuch. Sigh.
"Well, dear, I think I see the problem but I don't know what to do so you need to see a specialist." The "problem" was my thyroid. Sort of. On paper, my thyroid looks great. Perfectly normal. The issue lies in the hormones that the thyroid produces: T3 and T4. Those levels were (are) not good. In fact, that lab flagged each because they were so low. "I can't treat you for low thyroid," she said, "because your thyroid is fine. But your levels aren't. And that concerns me."
It concerned me too. So much, in fact, that I pulled up the online database of endocrinologists in my network and started to make phone calls. Do you know how hard it is to see an endocrinologist without a referral? Extremely. Fortunately, as my doctor would later put it: "I had an angel on my shoulder that day."
Indeed I did, because not only did I get in to see one of the most reputable endocrinologists in town, he agreed to see me the very next morning at 7:30am.
Dr. C looked at my labs and spent an hour examining me. He spent very little time on my thyroid and more time on my head and vision. He asked a lot of questions about my headaches. He promised to tell me what he was thinking at the end of the exam. I tried not to freak out.
At the end, he told me that he believed that I have a pituitary tumor. I didn't freak out. He told me about the surgery. About the treatment. I still didn't freak out. We agreed that I would have the lab work completely re-done, that an ultrasound of the thyroid would rule out its role in this whole situation and that a MRI would show exactly what is happening in the pituitary gland.
Because something is, happening, that is. According to Dr. C, when the thyroid numbers are inconsistent like mine, then it is likely that the pituitary gland and the thyroid aren't communicating. They're not even on speaking terms. The body can't regulate digestion, temperature - but it can produce a whole of ambivalence and fatigue.
So I haven't freaked out but I have done a lot of reading. And I have been more than a little frustrated with my lack of energy, my fatigue, my clothes that are all too small. More than that, I have shed quite a few tears over the pervasive feeling of my body feeling as if it has checked out of the building. No amount of caffeine could motivate me this week. Even after taking a few days off.
I know that God is in my court and that the Universe is holding me up, even though I feel so deflated. I know this because I'm seeking the answers, I'm turning over every stone, and the resources are coming to me. Quickly. The call back from my initial doctor. The next day appointment with Dr. C. The ultrasound that is happening on Monday. Either the big dollars that I pay for my PPO plan are finally paying off, or the Big Guy above is carefully guiding me to the answers that I'm so desperately looking for.
Today I had lunch with my ex. "Do you think I have a tumor?" I asked him. As if on cue, he reached over and wiped my wet and draining nose. "You have the symptoms," he said. "I feel horrible," I told him. "You look great," he replied. Then he gave me two enormous containers of MiraLax, saying, "I know you need this." Indeed I do - I'm cutting through that stuff like it's candy.
I truly don't have any plans to freak out anytime soon. What I'd like is to feel a little bit better. I know I'm not going to get to the "feeling better" point by freaking out. If I've learned anything in my 39 years on Earth, it's that the more you seek, the more you will (likely) find. Clearly, I have a lot of discovery work to do before I turn 40. I'm not afraid.
I take such enormous pride in my health, I really do. Some people might call it a compulsion, I call it a passion. Simply put, being healthy is the biggest priority for me. Because if I'm not healthy, then how can I take care of my son? How can I make money to sustain our home and our basic needs? How can I be a caring daughter? A reliable friend? A loving sister? A consistent mentor? I can't do any of these; not without my health.
So it was very disappointing to watch - almost like an observer outside of my body - my entire sense of being go through a major shut down in the month of March. It was actually a slow descent; one that I didn't fully realize until I noticed that my clothes weren't fitting, that my legs appeared puffy and bloated, that I couldn't warm up even despite having a heavy down jacket on all the time, that my nose kept draining this funny clear fluid, that I wanted to lie on my bed for absurd amounts of time during daytime hours, that a stroll on the treadmill felt like a death march up Half Dome, that my life seemed to be slipping by in a hazy, hazy fog.
On March 1st, I started a daily preventative medicine for my migraines. By the end of March, I had convinced myself that the meds were to blame and I tossed the bottle. But I didn't feel any better. If it all possible, I felt worse.
I called up my doctor. "You need to do some blood work," I told her. "NOW." Then I took five days off. I figured that I needed a little rest; some downtime.
My doctor is so great; she called me at 8:30pm the night that I had done my labs. I was in the middle of TJ Maxx, looking for yoga pants, size Large, thankyouverymuch. Sigh.
"Well, dear, I think I see the problem but I don't know what to do so you need to see a specialist." The "problem" was my thyroid. Sort of. On paper, my thyroid looks great. Perfectly normal. The issue lies in the hormones that the thyroid produces: T3 and T4. Those levels were (are) not good. In fact, that lab flagged each because they were so low. "I can't treat you for low thyroid," she said, "because your thyroid is fine. But your levels aren't. And that concerns me."
It concerned me too. So much, in fact, that I pulled up the online database of endocrinologists in my network and started to make phone calls. Do you know how hard it is to see an endocrinologist without a referral? Extremely. Fortunately, as my doctor would later put it: "I had an angel on my shoulder that day."
Indeed I did, because not only did I get in to see one of the most reputable endocrinologists in town, he agreed to see me the very next morning at 7:30am.
Dr. C looked at my labs and spent an hour examining me. He spent very little time on my thyroid and more time on my head and vision. He asked a lot of questions about my headaches. He promised to tell me what he was thinking at the end of the exam. I tried not to freak out.
At the end, he told me that he believed that I have a pituitary tumor. I didn't freak out. He told me about the surgery. About the treatment. I still didn't freak out. We agreed that I would have the lab work completely re-done, that an ultrasound of the thyroid would rule out its role in this whole situation and that a MRI would show exactly what is happening in the pituitary gland.
Because something is, happening, that is. According to Dr. C, when the thyroid numbers are inconsistent like mine, then it is likely that the pituitary gland and the thyroid aren't communicating. They're not even on speaking terms. The body can't regulate digestion, temperature - but it can produce a whole of ambivalence and fatigue.
So I haven't freaked out but I have done a lot of reading. And I have been more than a little frustrated with my lack of energy, my fatigue, my clothes that are all too small. More than that, I have shed quite a few tears over the pervasive feeling of my body feeling as if it has checked out of the building. No amount of caffeine could motivate me this week. Even after taking a few days off.
I know that God is in my court and that the Universe is holding me up, even though I feel so deflated. I know this because I'm seeking the answers, I'm turning over every stone, and the resources are coming to me. Quickly. The call back from my initial doctor. The next day appointment with Dr. C. The ultrasound that is happening on Monday. Either the big dollars that I pay for my PPO plan are finally paying off, or the Big Guy above is carefully guiding me to the answers that I'm so desperately looking for.
Today I had lunch with my ex. "Do you think I have a tumor?" I asked him. As if on cue, he reached over and wiped my wet and draining nose. "You have the symptoms," he said. "I feel horrible," I told him. "You look great," he replied. Then he gave me two enormous containers of MiraLax, saying, "I know you need this." Indeed I do - I'm cutting through that stuff like it's candy.
I truly don't have any plans to freak out anytime soon. What I'd like is to feel a little bit better. I know I'm not going to get to the "feeling better" point by freaking out. If I've learned anything in my 39 years on Earth, it's that the more you seek, the more you will (likely) find. Clearly, I have a lot of discovery work to do before I turn 40. I'm not afraid.
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