Tired

I'm the youngest child in my family. When it came time for me to drive, my mother took me driving once, and that was it. My dad once let me sit on his lap and steer when I was too young to drive. The rest of my driving training came from a friend of my mother's, a 25 year old ex-police officer. "We've already done this three times. I'm old. I'm tired," my mother said. I laughed, and I understood.

I now understand on an entirely new level. I am old. I am tired.

When I got married young, had children immediately, and decided to be a stay at home parent, so many of the people I knew were distressed, to one degree or another. Quite a few tried to talk me out of it. One of the reasons they gave made no sense to me (OK, quite a few made no sense to me). "You'll be so miserable when your kids are grown and gone if you've spent your whole like defining yourself by being their mother!"

"What? I AM their mother. I will always BE their mother."

"Yes, but you need to have an identity outside of that."

"I do."

This is the point at which they'd usually start to sigh, and think that I was a little thick headed. "But you won't, if all you do is stay home and tend children!"

I usually cut them - and I'm using the plural noun because I had these conversations on more than one occasion, with different people - slack for being well intentioned, which I think they were. They wanted me to be happy. Many of them were also about my age, early 20s, and on fire with desire to conquer and change the world, and be recognized as important, and it made no sense to them that I stepped off of the merry-go-round. They thought I should be "making a difference," and I thought that I already was.

To my mind, the line of thought that my kids would be my "only identity" made no sense because I was already a good many things before I became a wife and mother. I was a photographer, writer, actor, theater technician, crafter, reader, traveler, member of a religion and of an extended family. I would continue to be those things while my kids were young, and after they had grown. I could not understand the worry that adding a new title would erase the old ones.

It also made no sense when someone explained this mindset by saying, "Well, most people define themselves by their employment." Why in the world would anyone do that? My dad retired when I was 6 months old. For my entire life, he was not employed, and certainly didn't define himself by employment status. My mother was brilliant, excellent at her job, and indispensable to her employer, and she didn't define herself by her employment. "I don't understand people who think that they are their jobs," she said. And besides, why in the world would I make my life choices based on how other people felt about their lives?

So, the worries of others notwithstanding, I chose to be a full time parent.

When our children were a bit older, we had children, family members, who needed a temporary place to stay without their parents, live with us on three long term occasions, and many weekends and school holidays. The social worker in charge of overseeing one of those placements said to us, when the kids moved out, "We need to get you licensed and get some other foster kids in here!" (The process was less involved for us, since the kids were relatives.) We have a 6 bedroom house; even with all of our kids in their own rooms, we had room.

We felt strongly about helping kids in need - at one time, we took classes to prepare us to adopt from foster care - but we turned her down. We just weren't sure we could handle going through the process with kids we hadn't known all their lives, and might never see again. I felt guilty about that - I know how big the need for foster families is - but I chose my own mental health. "Maybe when our youngest is grown, we'll take on some foster kids," we said. Sometimes we added, "But maybe by then we'll be old and tired."

I have now spent over 30 years, 3 decades, being primarily a stay at home mom. Sure, I still did things that mattered to me - hello, live theater - and I worked, on occasion - mostly for myself - but day in, day out, my primary job was Mom. Here's some of what I learned.

I would do it again. I do not regret it. I never felt that my effort was "wasted" or wished that I'd chosen the Impressive Career route.

I now understand, a little bit, why my friends panicked back in the day - why some panic now. I've watched parents who were full time caregivers be lost when there's no one to care for. Some jump into being caregivers for other people's children. Some founder. Some get depressed and say, "No one needs me any more."

Of course, some do what one lifelong friend does. She now spends almost as much time on vacation, usually cruise ships, as she spends at home. She points out that if I'd stopped at 2 kids, I could have been "free" years ago. She spends no time pining for the days of classroom parties and Easter egg hunts.

People are starting to ask me, "What will you do when (your youngest) is out of school?" They offer things - "Do you want to teach a couple of co-op classes?"

Um, respectfully, no - I am looking forward to not being at co-op. Mind you, I LOVE our homeschool co-op. It's been delightful for me and my kids. I've taught academics, art, speech and more, to older kids, to younger kids. My children loved it. But I want to sleep until noon on co-op day, if I feel like it, then spend the rest of the day in my silent family room with a book. I do not want to plan, explain, organize, grade, set up, clean up.

When I had children, I had a really easy time adjusting to the idea that all the time, money and attention went to my children, and not me. It did not make sense when people lamented what a HUGE shift that would be, and wondered if I was ready, or told me that they weren't ready. I think it would be much harder if I had spent years focused on myself, and then had to change gears. I became a parent so young that it's "always" been this way. For an entire year once, I owned only one dress, a $20, 100% polyester dress. I wore it to church every week, to weddings, to funerals, to a family christening, to parties. My daughters, on the other hand, had a closet full of dresses. That's the way things should be, I think.

And now, I am looking forward to keeping my own schedule, choosing my own activities, impulse buying a cute new top. I'm looking forward to having nowhere to go, and no obligations. I want to head out the door with a pb&j sandwich and my camera, and see what needs photographed. I want to sleep in, to nap, to stay up late or to rehearse for a show without worrying that I'll be miserable or neglecting somebody. I want to sit and read, undisturbed in silence. I want to look up nostalgic TV or documentaries on Netflix, without waiting until someone else's bedtime.

I not only did not lose who I was before kids, I've added some labels, like Rotarian and travel agent.

And if people define me as a waste of their conversational efforts, because I'm "just a mom" when "everybody else managed to be a good parent and have a career"? I will ignore them. I will not waste their time or mine trying to change minds.

And unfortunately, yes, I feel too old and tired to take on foster kids. Yes, I feel guilty about that. But having the exact same conversations for literally years is exhausting. I can't take it on again.

I never, ever imagined, for instance, that I would be dealing with children who got out of bed in the middle of the night or early hours of the morning to sneak downstairs and watch TV. Not forbidden shows, often Disney channel, just at 4 am. I not only never imagined that I'd have a child who expressed their displeasure at us by dropping their pants and peeing on the floor, I certainly never imagined that it would continue for years, until said child's age was measured in double digits. (I never imagined, either, spending those years explaining that urine was NOT "water," nor did it "disappear.")

I mean, I expected to have to explain things - I just did not expect to explain them every day for literally years, only to be ignored.

Sometimes, the English language itself made this difficult, like when we spent two years, years, fighting the battle of heating and cooling; trust me, it's not what you're thinking.

We didn't have air conditioning in our cars until the older kids were hitting puberty. One day, when my child was about 6, we were making a familiar 45 minute drive, and a voice from the back seat said, "Can you turn on the heater? It's hot back here."

I explained, "The heater blows hot air. It will make it hotter."

My annoyed offspring announced, "NO, the heater blows warm air, and I want to be warm, not hot!"

"The heater will make it hotter," I repeated. "To make it cooler, we'd need air conditioning, and we don't have it."

Outrage: "I don't want to be cool! I want to be warm! Can you please turn on the heater? It will make it warm."

We spent at least 30 of the 45 minute drive engaged in this discussion. I thought I had explained it to death, and that would be the end of it. No. the next day, and the next, and the next, the SAME conversation took place. "I want to be warm! The heater will make it warm!" I had the children - the other child had now picked up this line of thinking, and parrotted it - hold their hands in front of the heater vents, to feel what came out, at various settings. I explained heaters, furnaces, all manner of non-open flame heating, but to no avail.

Then, one day, a new request. "Can I at least have a blanket, to keep the heat off?"

I clarified this request - it was not a request for window covering, or otherwise building a shade. My hot child wanted to bundle up. "Wrapping up in a blanket is what you do when you're cold. Right now, it will make you hotter."

"It will not! It will keep the sun and the heat off me."

I reminded my children of all the times they'd bundled up when cold, but to no avail.

For days, this continued. Finally, I thought, I am not giving the kids the chance to learn from their choices. I'm a big believer in natural consequences and learning by doing. OK, I thought, let's give them their way, so they can see how it turns out.

I did worry, especially when I looked in the rear view mirror and saw their flushed, sweaty faces above the blankets they had pulled up to their necks and tucked in around them, that I was being an accessory to heatstroke.

After a drive that had us all miserable, I asked, "Do you see now why blankets are a bad idea when you're hot?"

The answer? "You gave us a blanket that was too thin. It lets the heat through. If you'd give us a thicker blanket, it would work."

"No! If I gave you a thicker blanket, your brain would start to cook! No more blankets! Unless it's COLD!"

We continued to have these ridiculous conversations on an almost daily basis. One day, I sat in astonishment in the front seat, and wondered what planet I was on, as my child yelled in outrage from the back of the car, "I can't believe it's this hot back here and you won't even give us a blanket!"

Then, finally, the weather cooled, and the arguing stopped. Ah, I thought, we've moved on. Nope.

We had an evaporative cooler instead of an air conditioner. It was a bit too big for our house, which made it fantastic during the summer. One day that winter, my child said, "It's cold in here. Can we turn on the cooler?" And it all started again.

"No. We run the cooler in the summer, when it's hot. Now it would make us colder."

"No. It would make us cool, and cool is better than cold."

And thus went the winter.

The next summer, when "it's hot, turn on the heater" started again, I said, "We have discussed this over and over. I never want to have this conversation again." But guess what conversation I had all summer that year, too, and what conversation I had all that winter?

I demonstrated mixing hot and cold water for their baths. I pointed out that the furnace was on all winter, and the cooler was on all summer. We discussed and discussed - and my children could not believe that I was so dim that I didn't "get it."

I am just too tired to spend two years having these kinds of conversations again. I. Am. Tired.

Of course, it's not just when the kids are small that you have conversations that you never thought you'd have. Sometimes my kids seemed incapable of simply saying, "OK;" like when I said to a teen with their driving permit, "You went through that corner pretty fast. Slow down through the corners."

The response was, "I don't think I need to."

"I think that you do. Slow down."

"I don't think so. I think I'm fine."

"I didn't ask what you thought. I asked you to slow down. Who's been driving since before you were born, and has a perfect driving record, and who's been driving for a grand total of about 5 hours?"

"I just don't think I need to slow down. I think I'm doing fine."

"Well, I am the driving instructor, the parent, and the owner of the car. You will slow down going through the corners."

"But I don't think I need to!"

I. Am. Tired.

Then there are the conversations that I knew I'd have, but I thought that there was an expiration date. Telling a teenager who's old enough to be holding a job to use toilet paper and to brush their teeth seems ridiculous, but I've spent far too much time doing so. How tough is personal hygiene, really? I mean, toilet paper? Seriously?

When I felt compelled to point out to a teen who worked in a food serving capacity, "Customers will not want you to serve them if you have body odor or bad breath. You don't want them to complain to you or your boss," I was unprepared for the response to be, "You are ruining my self esteem!" Really, Child? You know what will really do a number on your self esteem? Complaints from customers or reprimands from your boss! I sugar coated this message as much as I could - they will not.

When a high school senior repeatedly complained that they "don't have time" to hang up their wet towels instead of leaving them in a heap on the floor (directly under the towel bar!), I demonstrated, by counting "one one thousand, two one thousand," that it took literally two seconds for them to pick it up, fold it, and drop it over the towel bar. And yet, the insistence of, "I don't have time! Why can't you do it?" continued. Finally, after realizing that I'd been fighting this battle since the children were old enough to bathe alone, I said, "Fine. Next year, when you're off at college, and your roommate says, 'Didn't your mother teach you how to pick up after yourself?' you'll have to look them straight in the eye and say, 'Yes, she did, but I ignored her.'"

My child looked stunned. "Because they will say it, I guarantee it," I said. "You think your roommates are going to want to pick up after you? They'll be far less patient about it than I am!" This possibility had not occurred to my honor student.

I. Am. Tired.

Of course, it's not just the conversations with the kids; it's the conversations with the other parents. "Connect with other parents," the experts say. "You'll feel less alone." Nice try, experts. In actual fact, talking to other parents can be extremely alienating.

Take the hygiene issues: When my kids were young and I'd have these conversations, people would say, "Oh, just wait until s/he hits puberty. S/he'll become obsessed with cleanliness." HA! I mean, no offense, Advice Givers, but HA! And it's not just one child. I have a teen who spent an entire week at camp in the same swimsuit, never changing or bathing. (Child's take: "I was so clean! I went in the lake every day!") I've had to almost forcibly remove favorite but dirty clothes, not from my little kids but from adolescents who were sure that wearing dirty "cool" clothes was better than wearing clean "uncool" clothes. I had one child with, unfortunately, very naturally stinky feet who rebelled at the thought of washing their smelly sneakers. ("You want me to wash my shoes?")

And I've gotten (too much) advice on the subject, too. Some people tell me that, once they hit the teens, the child(ren) should to be left to their own devices, to be as smelly and dirty as they want, because the reaction from their peers will squash any ideas of doing it again. Some people tell me that I should do whatever it takes, including forcibly bathing and/or restraining the child, and preventing them from leaving the house unless they're sparkling clean and great smelling, because otherwise I'm an uncaring parent who will cause their child(ren) to be ostracized. Some people tell me that children would only behave this way if no one has taught them proper hygiene. And I want to scream.

You name the subject, and the advice pretty much mirrors this. I've spent too much time hearing, "All you have to do is..." when I have, and, "Have you explained...?" Until I'm blue in the face, thanks - and I'm articulate.

I. Am. Tired.

Even when discussions with other parents go well, it can be hard. I was once speaking to the mother of one of my then-17 year old's best friends. She said something about chores, and I said, "Yes, well, (my child) is convinced that all of the jobs in our house and yard belong to me, and the only reason I have anyone else do any of them is because I'm lazy and mean."

She looked shocked. "No, she doesn't."

"Yes, she really does."

"No! She's 17! She knows how a family works!"

"No. She really doesn't." Not for lack of our explaining it to her - she was just convinced that we were wrong.

The other mom was starting to give me a look that said she was wondering why I would say such outrageous things. So, I said, "Do me a favor - ask her. Ask her when I'm not around, so you know she's not directing the answer at me. And ask her when she's in a good mood, because when she's in a bad mood, she'll agree that I'm responsible for WWII."

Then we changed the subject, and I didn't think much more about it. I know that I have no control over the behaviors or opinions of others, so I don't tend to dwell on them.

A couple of weeks later, this mom pulled me aside. "Remember that conversation about chores? She actually does think that. I had no idea." Yeah - I know.

The kids are bright, capable, talented, articulate. I would give my life for any of them. And yet, all children are irrational.

I. Am. Tired.

So, here I am, not regretting having kids, or staying home with them, or taking on extras now and then. I do not feel lost or diminished or like I have "no identity" or purpose. I'm excited to be able to have "me time." And, I'm so tired that I just can't imagine taking it all on again. Not physically tired, but a deep, philosophical fatigue. I just can't handle the thought of having the same discussions again, over and over and over. Or having new, ridiculous, repetitive discussions. And this makes me, with my empty bedrooms, feel guilty.

One of my religion's books of scripture cautions that, "It is not requisite that a man should run faster than he has strength." I think that taking on more children might be running faster than I have strength. But I still feel guilty.

"I am old. I am tired."

Illness, Part 4: Symptoms

I know, usually symptoms are part 1 of an illness. Sometimes the timeline doesn't look quite so neat and organized.

After I had my thyroid removed in August, people said things to me like, "Was it making you just miserable?" Well... yes and no. I was certainly aware that the way I felt was not optimal, but it was very normal for me.

I really didn't care to discuss how I felt, either, as most symptoms were vague sounding and lent themselves to armchair diagnoses, and people telling me what I "should" do.

Take fatigue; it's been one of the overriding symptoms of my body chemistry gone wrong. Still, the fact that my body chemistry might be screwed was the last considered possibility on everyone's mental list.

It wasn't a new or alarming symptom. As a teenager, I never pulled an all-nighter, for any reason. Slumber parties always found me being the first one asleep. One of my childhood best friends had a slumber party at her house with half a dozen girls piled into the living room. The stereo was on, kids were dancing, the popcorn popper was going - and in the middle of it all, I was asleep on the floor. It was always like that. I was usually the last one awake the next morning, too. The other kids found me very odd.

I never understood the reasoning behind staying up late to study for a big test. Staying up late would guarantee me that I would do poorly on a test. I've never been intoxicated, but I completely understand why studies show that drowsy driving is indistinguishable from drunk driving. Being tired means that my thoughts, reactions, understanding of situations, reasoning ability, emotions, co-ordination and recall are all deeply impaired. If I wanted to do well on a test, it was best that I get extra sleep.

I've read that if you need an alarm clock to wake up, you're not getting enough sleep. That never made sense to me. "Your body will automatically wake up when you've had enough sleep to be refreshed," I remember reading. HA! I laughed. Without an alarm, I would routinely sleep 12 hours or more, and I never felt refreshed. Ever.

It's always been worse when I'm sick. A couple of years ago, when I had the flu, my kids left me alone until after 3 in the afternoon, when my son finally decided he'd better wake me up. (I'd gone to bed at 10 the night before.) Still, everyone's more tired when they're sick.

"You're sleeping too much," people said. "Sleep less and you'll feel better." It did no good to say, "No. I won't." I had two choices: feel like a total, barely functional zombie, or be functional.

Mostly, people said, "Lose weight and exercise more. Then you'll feel better." I got tired of explaining that I felt exactly the same when I was 12 years old and (literally) half my current weight (and still my current height). I fell asleep in high school classes (especially right after lunch) more often than I wanted to count. At 18, I once fell asleep at my office job. I was doing better as an adult, despite being heavier, because I no longer saw any possible benefit in pushing until I'm totally exhausted.

"It's just a habit," people said. "Train yourself to expect less sleep, and you'll be fine." Ugh. This, again, ignored the fact that, as a parent, I've had to function for weeks (and months) straight on very little, constantly interrupted sleep. I know what it feels like, and doing that for long periods is dangerous. It can be done, but it's not good for anybody.

It took me years to convince my husband that when we go on vacation, I can do early mornings OR late nights, not both. If I push too hard, I will get sick. "Illness is caused by germs," he'd say. "There's no way this will make you sick." He's one of those people who wants to be the first one in Disneyland for Magic Morning hours, and the last to leave Main Street an hour after the park has officially closed. I can't do that.

"You're imagining things. You think you'll get sick, so you do," people said. I'm not a hysteric or an attention seeker. I've actually had to go to an urgent care facility while on vacation on more than one occasion. I'd SO much rather be doing something else, but I can't. Attending a friend's wedding in Palm Springs in August one year, I contracted such a vicious case of bronchitis that it took 3 full courses of antibiotics to kill, and left me with permanent lung damage. Six years later, in Florida in April, my newly acquired asthma (thank you, aforementioned lung damage) left me unable to breathe and scrambling to procure an inhaler.

We learned to take it easy. Still, a vacation (which I truly enjoy) usually meant that I'd be sick, while still traveling or after returning home. Sometimes, my husband and kids would leave me in a hotel room to sleep all day one day, so that I could resume functioning for the rest of the trip.

Seven weeks after my surgery, we were taking a trip that we'd planned for over a year. It meant hotels in 4 different cities over 12 days, a lot of driving, amusement parks, museums, the zoo, the aquarium, family visits, the beach and the wild animal park, all with my entire immediate family of 7. We weren't sure how I'd feel, so I was prepared to take a day off if I needed it. I didn't.

One of the biggest surprises after the surgery was how I felt. "You'll be completely miserable for about 6 weeks," the surgeon had told me. "Then it'll slowly start to get better." I never got to completely miserable. I went from mildly uncomfortable straight up to better than I'd ever felt. Five days after surgery, I was shooting portraits.

I started waking up five to ten minutes before my alarm went off - not once or twice, but regularly. Once, I woke up a full hour before my alarm. I lay there thinking, "Is it just my bladder waking me up? Am I still tired?" Nope. So, up I got, and on with my day. It's happened again. Days when I could sleep in had me waking up and ready to go 45 minutes before my alarm went off.

I rarely needed a nap. I think I took maybe 3 naps in almost 3 months. That's unheard of.

We went through the entire twelve day trip, and I felt fabulous. I didn't sleep in, I didn't get sick, my asthma stayed quiet. I came home thinking, "Oh, it'll hit now." I had a full schedule of rehearsals, photos to shoot, early morning classes to take my son to, and I still felt great.

My husband couldn't get over it. "That trip would have killed you before! You'd be bedridden for days!" I know! It was amazing.

I also - and this was just as amazing - fell asleep within minutes of going to bed. One of the worst parts of the constant exhaustion I'm used to is that it's perversely accompanied by insomnia. It could take 3 or 4 hours to fall asleep, despite being so tired I was nearly in tears. ("It's because you actually sleep too much," people would say. I will not describe how annoying I found that attitude.) Too often, I resorted to Tylenol PM in an effort to fall asleep. Now, I lay down and actually fell asleep! It was amazing and exciting.

Another "normal for me" problem that I've had my whole like is hypoglycemia - low blood sugar. It runs in my family. I never associated it with my thyroid, or considered it "curable."

When you're hypoglycemic, you need to eat regularly, preferably high protein meals. Skipping meals, especially breakfast, can be disastrous. I have scars on my shoulder from the time I passed out, at age 17, while cooking eggs for breakfast and fell against the burner on the way down. Pregnant with my first child at 20, I passed out at the top of a flight of stairs. I learned to make breakfast my first priority.

When you're fat, and I am, people are very skeptical when you tell them what you eat, when and why. We were friends with the manager of a local pizza place, and he noticed my food one day while we had lunch at their buffet. I had 2 slices of pizza and a salad. "Are you on a diet?" he asked. "Are you trying to be good?" No. That's how I eat. If I felt like having half a pizza, I would. I not only don't feel like it, I'm pretty sure I'd throw up if I piled my plate the way some patrons do. That messes with people's heads. They're sure I do a lot of secret eating. I don't. I don't do a lot of secret anything.

I read weight loss stories where people tell how they'd down a whole pizza and a quart of ice cream, then order Chinese takeout before they changed their ways and lost weight and I think, "Holy cow!" I don't care how big or small you are, eating like that is a terrible idea. It's also nothing that I ever did. I don't binge; I don't starve.

When you tell people that you have a medical condition that requires you to eat regularly, or to stop for a snack during the afternoon, nobody thinks anything of it if you're skinny. If you're fat, they say things about "justification" and "denial" (in private if not to your face). It's SO aggravating.

Again, I'm not imagining these issues. Again, low blood sugar runs in the family.

I know the symptoms. If I don't eat correctly (read: regularly and high protein), first I'll feel nauseated and headachy. If I don't fix it, then I start getting disoriented, shaky and weak. If, heaven forbid, I don't fix it then, my ears will start to ring and the color will drain out of everything, leaving it black and white. If I don't get some juice or something else that absorbs quickly into my system at that point, I faint. The rest of my family gets similar symptoms. My son's vision has never gone totally black and white; he gets a pulsing black ring around the edges of his vision.

After the surgery, I've had no blood sugar issues. I once had a granola bar for breakfast and ate nothing else until 2 in the afternoon, and had no problems. It wasn't even a protein bar or a nut bar, just a plain old Quaker Oat bar barely bigger than a cigar. That, again, is unheard of. I didn't even get a headache.

I went in to my surgeon for a checkup after I came home from vacation. Since my thyroid is gone, I'll be taking daily medication for the rest of my life. He started me on a very generic "adult dose," and at my last checkup told me that he'd be increasing the dosage by 25 milligrams. "You should start to feel a lot better, and have a lot more energy. You should also start to lose some weight," he said. Feel better? More energy? That was almost inconceivable; I'd surely be able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.

Soon after switching the dosage, I started to feel run down. I wondered if I was finally getting a cold. Usually, by the end of November, as it is now, I've had two or three ugly ones. I haven't had any this fall.

Nope. Soon I was exhausted, all the time, having blood sugar issues, facing insomnia ... in short, feeling like I did before the surgery.

Worse, I developed one of the symptoms that they had warned me I would develop if I left my thyroid issues untreated - irregular heartbeat. I'll be lying down, trying to sleep, and my heart will start speeding up. Then, instead of a normal "bum bum, bum bum" rhythm, my heart would go, "bum bum, bum bum, bum BAM!, bum bum, bum BAM!" It wasn't even predictable, happening, say, every fourth beat. It happened at random, first after 2 or 3 beats, then after 10 or 12.

After spending almost 2 months feeling amazing, this retreat back into pre-op body chemistry is deeply disturbing. Having heart issues is alarming, so I immediately phoned my surgeon's office and asked to go back to the old dosage. I told them exactly why.

When I say "them," I mean voicemail. I love my surgeon and cannot stand how his office operates. It is harder to get a human being on the phone than it is to win the lottery. I called twice; the pharmacy I use called twice. I finally, days later, got a message on my answering machine from the nurse: "Go get blood work done. We can't change your dose until we know what your blood work says. It will let us know if you need a change."

The worst part of this is that, if they'd actually looked at my chart, they would have seen that my blood work was "normal" BEFORE the surgery. I spent literally 20 years with doctors saying, "Your thyroid is fine. Your blood work is normal." It wasn't until a sharp eyed PA became alarmed by the growths all over my thyroid and referred me to a surgeon that someone said, "Obviously this is not normal!" My surgeon was dismissive of my pre-op blood work, pointing out the gargantuan swelling and unnatural nodules all over my thyroid as being far greater indicators of whether or not something is wrong.

And he was right.

So I phoned the nurse's voicemail back and reminded her of this. Despite assurances by her recorded voice that, "I will get back to you by the end of the day," she did not call back.

Did I mention that I'm experiencing irregular heartbeats? This is not good! I'm shaving my pills down with clippers, trying in vain to cut back my own dose.

Tomorrow, I'm phoning the surgeon's office and simply asking for an appointment to discuss "post-op discomfort or complications." I will not shut up until I get an appointment. I will speak directly to the surgeon, face to face, in an effort to go back to the medication that actually worked for me. And frankly, I will not subject my already angry veins to more blood work unless I have to.

I want the feeling of those two months back! Who knew that "normal" was supposed to feel that good?