in unpaid partnership with Sir Robert James Graves
Symptoms were so subtle at first that I explained them away with ease.
Waking up at 3 am and staying awake for an hour or two? Must be perimenopause. Noticing some hair shedding? Let’s blame perimenopause for that shit, too. Huh, it seems like my heart is racing at random times. Is that related to age? I have no idea. I’ve never been this age before. It’s all new, this being older.
I went to the endocrinologist for my scheduled visit and reported the change in my sleep, along with the new and constant jittery feeling.
“I’m like, anxious. Not even at anxious times! And I never sleep. It’s become a sport, being awake all the time.”
He said it could be hormonal changes. We made some small adjustments to my insulin-to-carb ratio. And then I gave my blood for the full course of bloodwork that was due, including the A1C and thyroid and cholesterol checks.
Of course the lab work came back through the portal before my endocrinologist called me, and I opened everything with reckless abandon and saw the EXT-T4 Free flagged as elevated. Also the EXT-TSH flagged as low. When I shimmied those results into Google, I saw that hyperthyroidism was potentially the cause.
Listen. I’m not a doctor. I can’t read lab work results with a rational mind. I should wait and have the results explained to me by my clinician. So you can bet your ass that I went on a Google deep dive and saw the list of hyperthyroidism symptoms and gave an actual, out loud “check” to several of the symptoms as I read down the list, panicking slightly on the descent.
- Fast heartbeat? Check.
- Nervousness, anxiety, and irritability? Check and check behind you and get away from me.
- Unexplained weight loss? Check and has never happened to me before, ever.
- Sensitivity to heat? Check but also confused because summer.
- Insomnia? Checkity-check. When I closed my eyes, instead of having them drift into SleepyTown, I’d just stare at the back of my eyelids for a long, long time.
- Tremor? Check and this freaked me out because I thought I was dying because my hands were a wee bit twitchy which made me a whole lot worried.
Endo and I had a phone call. A second blood test 10 days later screened me for Thyroid-Stimulating Immunoglobulin, which is the test that confirms Grave’s Disease, and it came back positive. Grave’s Disease is now part of my autoimmune party pack.
Next autoimmune disease comes with a free small fry!
My first thought was relief. I’m not dying, or at least not any faster than before. Apparently having type 1 diabetes makes Grave’s Disease more common, and being a woman also ups my risk. My endocrinologist has decided to treat this new development with a prescription of methimazole and a timetable for follow-up blood work. I’ve been told that thyroid hormones take some time to work their way out of my system so within a month, I should feel the effects of the meds and hopefully regain human thoughts and feelings.
My second thought was “damn it.”
Not a yelled “damn it,” but an under the breath “damn it.” I have had a very good run with diabetes and overall my health is excellent, despite and because of all sorts of things. But I’m a disgruntled pelican about having another autoimmune disease to monitor and treat. I don’t want more medications. It makes me feel like my immune system is way too enthusiastic and it needs to calm the fuck down.
If I were leaving comments on its report card, my body would get a “endocrine system does not meet expectations.”
If I were giving it a book review, I’d write, “Strong female lead! Pancreas was an unlikable character.”
If I had to write an Amazon review, I’d say, “It is day 14,533 and the woman has accepted me as one of her own. I have grown to understand and respect her chaotic ways.”
Which leads me to the third thought. I have the diagnosis. I have the medication. I hope to soon have the full-night’s sleep. I have access to the team and tools that will help me live well with this disease, too. If I’m going to have stuff to wrangle, I’m really glad I have the support system and capability to wrangle it.
My body isn’t broken. It’s just overzealous.
