Not Exactly One of the Maddening Crowd...

I have had to make rules for myself.

I don't go on forums or join Facebook/Twitter groups for Hashimoto's.  Why, you may ask?  Well... as much as I could use the support of fellow sufferers, I'm not exactly wild about the way they descend upon new members like... like... a pride of lions falling upon a tasty young morsel of a gazelle that just happens to wander into their territory.

No, seriously, it isn't pretty.  I've done my lurking in the background, and I'm Not Going There.

The diets they throw at you, the supplements you should try, the exercises, the regimens, treatments...  every single snake-oil miracle cure-all you can think of will be thrown at you, and gods help the person who says, "No, thanks, really, I'm not even remotely interested."

I also don't do more than look at new research from the CDC or NIH, or even the Mayo Clinic.  Why?  Because mostly, I'm just looking at new treatment options, or if they've figured out what causes it, etc.  But I'm not going to torture myself with looking at causes (except in regards to keeping my kids from getting this) or whatever new diet/supplement/vitamin/you name it they may suggest only to later say, "Sorry, our studies weren't as clear-cut as we'd thought, this doesn't really work."

I had to recently make another rule for myself.  I am not allowed to look at the list of secondary autoimmune diseases people who have Hashimoto's have a tendency to develop.

I ended up shaking for two hours and had to sternly remind myself that I was being quite ridiculous and not to torture myself like that.

I need to deal with what is in front of me now and not borrow trouble from the future, as my mother used to say.

Life goes on.  I roll with the punches, and I keep moving as best as I can.  I feel the wind on my face, I watch the roses bloom on the back porch, and the jasmine on the front porch, I listen to my son tease my daughter and make her laugh, and listen to my daughter fuss at my son and make him laugh, I watch the ducks waddle contentedly through the grass in the backyard, and try to keep Muta the Magnificent from crushing my legs as he purrs in my lap.  Life goes on, and I will have good days, and I will have bad days, and as long as I keep moving and keep remembering the good things in my life, I think I'll be okay.

Warning for Whinage...

Sometimes, I just need to... vent.

I am so tired of being... tired.  I am tired of the cycles of feeling kinda okay, and then feeling like absolute crap.  I am tired of not having the energy to do the things I want to do... or the things I need to do.

I am tired of watching my husband come home, exhausted from a day's work, only to have to take up my share of the workload because I can't do it.

I am tired of the headaches, the joint pain, the muscle weakness, and the overwhelming fatigue.  I am tired of my hair falling out.

I am tired of wishing the rest of it would just fucking fall out already so it would stop making my head hurt.

I am tired of my fingers looking like sausages when they swell.   Of the way my feet ache.

I am tired of being cold all the fucking time because my thyroid is playing dead.

I'm tired of my immune system playing helicopter parent and attacking every single part of me just because it's paranoid and thinks I'm about to get sick.  Or that I'm already sick.

I'm tired of having to say no to my husband and kids when they want to go do something that requires energy that I don't have, because I really, really, really want to go swimming and hiking and climbing and having adventures... but I can't depend on my body because my thyroid is an asshole and my immune system is stupid and...

I'm just tired.

Mostly, I have good days.  And I'm able to be positive and somewhat philosophical about having an autoimmune disease.  I try to look at the positives and try to basically make lemonade out of the lemons life has thrown my way.

But every once in a while, it just... overwhelms me.  There's so much to do.  So much.  Just doing a couple of loads of laundry will sometimes take me all day.  I just swept the dining room and living room and it feels like I've been cleaning the entire house, re-digging the garden, replacing the roof, mowing the lawns, and jogging a marathon right afterwards.

No, seriously, if I'm going to be this tired and sore, I want to have earned it, not just... gotten up out of bed.  If I'm going to hurt this bad, then I figure I should have, oh, I don't know, climbed a mountain.  Or taken on four teams of Navy SEALS in a hand to hand fight and WON.

I know that in a couple of days, I'll feel better and my mood will improve.  But right now?  Life sucks and I just want to curl up somewhere and cry for the next two or three hours.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes...

So... I'm in menopause.

This presents my body a bit of a quandary where my thyroid issues are concerned.  See, because my thyroid is basically kaput, my internal thermostat is off kilter, and I spent a great deal of my time being cold.  This is great during the summer, because this means that while everyone else is sweltering and complaining about how hot they are, I'm usually comfortable.  Come on, I actually carry a jacket around during the summer, because I never know when I'm going to start shivering.

Of course, the flip side is that during the winter, while everybody else is saying how nice it is that it's cooler, I'm freezing to death.  Well... not to death because I'm quite obviously here and alive.  But, I get very, very cold, to the point where my hands and feet will hurt, and while the rest of my family is comfortable sitting around in sweats and maybe a long sleeved shirt, I'm wrapped in six or seven layers of clothing, with at least three pair of wool socks on, and a knit hat, and a scarf wrapped around my neck, oh, and don't forget the fingerless gloves!

It's kind of embarrassing sometimes, and there have been times when we've been out in public and I've had someone, usually male, look at me with false sympathy and say, "Oh, are you cold?"

I used to try to explain the thyroid issue, but now, I find it much easier to simply lay my ice cold hands against whatever bare skin presents itself.  If I'm feeling nice, I'll take their hand, or lay my hand against their cheek, and they'll usually respond with suddenly widened eyes and an, "Oh, honey!! Let's find you some hot chocolate/a warm place by the fire/heater/let me get you a blanket!!"

If I'm feeling irritated and, okay, let's face it, vindictive for being patronized, I'll lay my icy little hands against the back of their neck or, if they're one of those entirely offensive people who never wear jackets or long sleeves when it's freezing outside (of whom my son is one) and thus standing there with bared arms, I might slide my hand against their inner bicep or against their back.  That usually results in a shriek or whoop of some sort (seriously, y'all, my hands are really cold), lots of shivering and offers of hot toddies, blankets, heaters, anything just don't put your hands on me again, for gossakes!!

This has changed somewhat, though, thanks to menopause.  Oh, I still get cold!  I still wrap up and shiver and stuff, but... now...

*sigh*

Don't get me wrong, I am totally rocking the not having periods.  And not having cramps that my mother "affectionately" dubbed "The Screaming Mimi's" when I was a teenager.  If I had to choose between having The Screaming Mimi's again, or going through labor with my kids?

I'd choose labor.  Seriously.  That.  Bad.

So, I am really, really good with not having periods.  Really.

What I'm not good with are the thermostat issues.

I spend all day cold, bundled up and shivering, and by the time bedtime rolls around, I'm looking forward to bundling up under the covers and cozying up to my own personal heater, also known as the Husbandly One.

I slip into bed, snuggle up to him, and for about, oh, I'd say thirty seconds, everything is right with my world.  I'm snuggled up to my favorite husband, I'm blissfully, wonderfully warm, and my eyes start to drift closed...

And it starts.  Heat starts to travel up from the small of my back.  Suffocating waves of uncomfortable, not so blissful heat, and I start sweating, and I have to push away from my suddenly too hot husband, throw off the covers, and lay there, panting as I sweat and start pondering turning the ceiling fan up just so I can stop sweating.  I can feel it coming off of me in waves, and I wonder if I'm going to have to get THO up so I can change the sheets when... I start to shiver.   Goosebumps start on my arms and thighs, and my toes and fingers start to ache, my teeth begin to chatter, and I have to pull the covers back on before I start shaking.  Because... I'm cold again!!!

I want to yell at my body, "Hey, make up your effin' mind!! Hot or cold, hot or cold, you can't have both, so decide!!  Either let me snuggle up under the covers or lie on top of them, just make up your mind!!!"

Stupid hormones.

It's like being in the middle of Antarctica wearing only a light cashmere cardigan over your sleeveless tee, hurrying toward the thick heavy parka and mukluks you know are just right there, waiting for you.  And you've just managed to get the mukluks on and are struggling into the parka when BAM!! You're suddenly in hottest, most humid place you can imagine.  Like... the Amazonian rainforest or something.  Or Nairobi.    And just when you're stripping off your sweat-soaked sleeveless tee... BAM!!!  Antarctica again!!

And this is only at night.

If I wanted to sleep during the day, I could do it in perfect comfort under the blankets.  No problem.  I've done it, as a matter of fact, when I got hit in the face by the Wall of Fatigue and just couldn't stay awake any longer.

But during the night?  Ugh.

I'll survive this, but for now?  Not enjoying this aspect.

THO is properly sympathetic (he is, at times, a wise, wise man) and applies chocolate when necessary, usually to ensure his survival.  He is most fortunate that I'm not experiencing the extreme mood swings I remember my mother going through.

I don't even want to think about that.

So... while I'm enjoying the freedom from fertility, I'm not so much enjoying the wild temperature variations.  Oh well,  c'est la vie!

People to do, things to see...

So... it's been awhile, hasn't it?

Part of that's been because we had the Stomach Virus from Hell, which was possibly a norovirus. Well, the Husbandly One got it on a Wednesday night, threw up and had... um... well, let's just say he drove the porcelain bus, too. Yay. He had me worried to the point of hovering.

I don't hover. Unless someone is really sick.

He got better Thursday afternoon, which was a good thing, because that's the day the school didn't call me when the Impossible Son had been attacked at school.

*sigh*

By Friday, I had a meeting with the principal, informing her in no uncertain terms that she would be seeing both myself and the Husbandly One for a meeting, it was not going to be postponed to a more convenient time because as far as we were concerned, since she and her staff dropped the ball, her convenience was irrelevant to the situation.

I will say this about the Impossible Son's principal. Confronting her is like bashing yourself into a brick wall surrounded by fluffy pink blondeness. Seriously. First, she tried to blame the lack of calling on the counselor. "I told her to do it immediately," Mrs. K. said. "She knew she was supposed to inform you first thing!"

"Except she was in the office with you, because according to your own words, the student was out of control."

"Well, yes, but she should have called you the minute she left my office, and I reprimanded her for it, telling her that her priority is always to inform the parents..."

"Mrs. L. has always called me when there is a problem," I said firmly. "That has never been a problem for us before."

Yeah, that kind of threw her.

And... she tried to turn the Impossible Son's esteem issues back on us. Ohhhh, don't even go there! Don't... even.

We announced our intention to transfer Mr. Impossible, and THO tried to couch it diplomatically, saying that sometimes, just changing an environment can be good (he's had personal experience with that), and of course, she tried to discourage us because they really, really don't want to lose the Impossible Son from that particular school, which is the "flagship" of the district.

*insert eyeroll here*

And finding out what measures they were taking, in the meantime, to protect our son was like... pulling hen's teeth. She kept citing privacy laws to us and I finally snapped and said, "Look, I just want to know if my son is going to be safe! I want to know what guarantee there is that this won't happen again. I want to know what you are doing to make sure he's safe! Are you moving this kid to another class? Are you separating him out and putting him in in-school suspension? Are you sending him to the alternate school? Are you fitting him with a shock collar? What??"

I mean, she wouldn't even tell me if this kid was bigger than Mr. Impossible!!

I found out later through a friend who works at Mr. Impossible's school that Lug has a "shadow." A teacher who is assigned specifically to him who is with him at all times, and that he isn't allowed to come into contact with the other children.

It was a most unsatisfactory meeting on all sides.

So, THO and I made an appointment to talk to the principal of the school across the street from our backyard. She was pleasant and calm, asking for our son's name and taking notes when we told her why we were there and wanted to transfer him. Then she dropped the bomb.

It seems that the fifth grade class in our district is the largest ever, and the fifth grade classes at all four elementary schools in our town are literally jam-packed to the gills. In fact, the class at the Impossible Son's school is the largest in the district, to the point that they had to hire a fifth teacher just to handle the overload.

I already knew this. It started in second grade, when they had to hire a fifth teacher (there are normally four teachers at each grade level at his school) and let her go at the end of the year, then hired a fifth 3rd grade teacher the next year... and let her go, and so on and so forth. I just didn't realize it was district wide.

Anyhow, the principal, Mrs. O. told us she would give us a call after reviewing the situation with the fifth grade teachers at her school, and as soon as there was an opening.

That was Friday. That night, the Impossible Son got the stomach bug, and threw up continuously for several hours. He wanted his Papa with him, so THO stayed up with him while I went to grab some sleep, only to be shaken awake at 2 a.m. "We need to take Mr. Impossible to ER," THO said. "He's dehydrated."

So, I got up, got dressed, woke up the Impertinent One, grabbed a blanket, a towel, and a bowl, and drove to San Marcos and the ER there. That's when we found out it was possibly norovirus, and that we weren't the only ones. There were a lot of people with the same thing there.

Fun, fun, fun.

The Impertinent One, in the meantime, trying to stay awake and to not starve, raided the vending machines and consumed Dr. Pepper, a slice of carrot cake, a Coke, and Doritos. This... made her incredibly hyper and it was exhausting just to look at her. When we got home, the Impossible Son crashed on one couch, THO passed out in our bed, and I went and curled up in the Impertinent One's bed.

I was too tired to process that my teenage daughter was hyper and had nothing to do!!

When I eventually woke up several hours later, I staggered into the dining room and stopped, frowning. Something was missing. The feeling increased as I moved through the kitchen, and then into the living room.

She had cleaned the dining room, the kitchen, and the living room. She did dishes and several loads of laundry and... and... then she... she...

...FOLDED IT ALL AND PUT IT AWAY!!!!

I am still gobsmacked. Still.

Needless to say, our weekend was pretty mellow after that.

Well, Monday, Mrs. O. called and informed me that she had talked to Mrs. K., who had assured her that measures were in place to protect my son. And Mrs. O. was hesitant to transfer my son, but not because of Mrs. K's assurances. She said, "The thing is, we have a group of boys in our fifth grade classes and there is a lot of... ahem... drama going on with them. Normally, this is a problem with the girls, but this year, for some odd reason, it's the boys. And I'm really concerned that if we transfer your son here, we will be taking him from one ... dramatic environment... and dropping him smack-bang into the middle of another dramatic environment with the added bonus that he would be The New Kid. And Mrs. J.... that would be like tying meat around his neck and dropping him in a shark tank."

"I can see that," I said with a sigh, and I do. Great.

I haven't called the other elementary just down the street because that's the school we transferred Miss Impertinent away from when she was being bullied, and the same woman is still principal. She didn't protect Miss Priss, and I don't have a lot of confidence in her protecting Mr. Impossible.

*sigh*

That night, the Impertinent Daughter had a choir concert at the school, and I... wasn't feeling so good. But I went, leaving THO with the Impossible Son, and sat through the junior high choir's unenthusiastic and uninspired droning (no, you can't possibly call that singing) and was relieved when it was the high school choir's turn, because they actually can and do sing, and... drove home after, hoping the rock in my stomach would go away.

Yeah, I spent the night throwing up and ... driving the porcelain bus. Let's put it this way, THO didn't change out of his work clothes until the next afternoon.

So far, the Impertinent One has avoided it. *knocks frantically on wood* This stomach virus is ripping its way through town, and I just hope it doesn't come back for a second visit because... eurgh!!

And then this week, I had a checkup with the endocrinologist. During my last appointment, there was concern that the Lump on my thyroid seemed to be growing, so I was scheduled for an ultrasound, which ended up being rescheduled several times due to circumstances beyond my control (i.e. sick kids). Well, I finally got it done, and when the doctor saw me, he had a pleased smile on his face. The Lump has apparently been reabsorbed, and while they are going to be keeping close tabs on me (I go back in December), they're pretty certain this is just one more part of having Hashimoto's thyroiditis (anybody know Hashimoto? I'm sure he's missing his thyroiditis, and I really wouldn't mind giving it back...).

So... there we are, all caught up. And now, it's time for me to pick the Impossible Son up from school!