Sushithyroid's Blog

It has been a little over a year since I found a magic pill that everyone who has only known me at 204lbs wants.  Or, so they think.  Metformin is not something I would recommend to everyone.  Especially, to people who unlike me, can work out and eat healthy to lose weight.  I was contemplating eating Styrofoam pellets for meals prior to going on Metformin as 1200 calories a day, cycling like a mad woman, and eating mainly salads just was making things worse.  How the hell does one work out so much only to have to buy bigger gym shorts every few weeks?  I have a ghetto bootay, but that and my size WMDs were getting way out of hand.  If I didn’t know any better, someone was spraying both with MiracleGrow in my sleep.

I’m on a hormone cocktail.  My friend told me I’m on tranny pills…. And mean that with no ill intent.  My body apparently forgot that it is female and I had to go on another hodgepodge to help my acne and hair falling out.  Did that mean I was both a boy going through puberty and also an old man?

On a good note, my exhaustion has gone away for the most part.  I still have crashes and periodic hot flashes since I guess I am also 50 year old woman.   On a bad note, it creates digestive issues.  Until you get used to it, life is a little scary in the morning.  Sometimes, I still have the issue of not getting out the door on time, to put it nicely.  Time away such as running around subways or in the woods can be a difficult situation.  For camping Memorial Day weekend, I went on a prune juice “cleanse” beforehand and had to skip my dosage.  This bear was not taking a shite in the woods.  Well, was trying not to.  The last morning of the trip was a bit of an emergency mossy log fiasco.

For those of you who keep gaining weight no matter how hard you work to lose but can’t even maintain get checked out for PCOS.  With my Hashi’s, then PCOS, then insulin resistance diagnoses it became apparent that two of my hormones were at “normal” levels, but in opposite ratios to one another.  My doc did a full work up on me across the board regarding my hormone levels and blood sugar levels.  Luckily, he is a smart cookie and recognized the bassackwards action going on in my body.

Metformin isn’t a diet pill.  It regulates your blood sugar so you have energy to work out again which will reverse you from developing diabetes if all goes well.  I still have energy crashes, weird cravings, and various body oddities I will get into later.  However, going from 135 lbs to 204 lbs with muscle wasting really makes all the negatives balance out in the end.  At least for me it has.  I am now down to 164 lbs after a year and slowly losing but gaining back muscle mass.

For those who think it is a diet pill, it allows for me to educate the a little more on what it is like to not look sick while living with several chronic illnesses.  I usually leave out the part about the morning bathroom cha-cha-chas.  Good thing I know how to dance.

This is going to be short as I plan to write something of interest very soon.  I needed to take a break from thinking about all my illnesses and go out and live life a bit.  Things have been going super well, which I will explain soon…  aside from what looks to be a blood clotting issue.  I’m not sure I can call the cops on my cats for what appears to be their inflicting kitty violence on my legs.  Cats bumping into me should not result in purple legs.

Hence, I shall be back soon with a rant or two.  Thanks for your patience on me going MIA.

My dayplanner was in my right hand with my hat and scarf.  I hurriedly shifted it over after realizing Shimon was holding his hand out to shake goodbye.  This had puzzled me, as my impulse was to hug him though I didn’t know him that well.  So, instead, I became withdrawn in my confusion of my lack of emotion.  I didn’t know what to do.

“Oh, yes.  Yes, thank you so much Shimon.  Really, thank you.” I reciprocated with a firm grasp and returned his smile before checking out.

For the first time in well over a year, if not over two, I was leaving a doctor’s office without being a bawling ball of frustration and anger.  I was in a state of shock.  Could I possibly just receive the news I had been awaiting?  Was my long fight finally over?

Some friends have referred to my diagnosis as bittersweet.  I, however, am ecstatic.  It took countless appointments and doctors, thousands of dollars out of pocket, and every ounce of my strength to brush off every time a doctor suggested I was depressed and binge eating.  Finally, thanks to the recent unsightly stretch mark on my stomach, I had proof of my rapid weight gain and a doctor concerned enough to listen.

Now, I was incredibly scared as Shimon went through my labs step by step.  My fingers were crossed and nestled under my leg.  Everything was “normal” across the board.  My thyroid is happy, my pituitary is happy, cortisol, sex hormones, a little anemia, but everything was within range.  At that point, I really didn’t know what to think aside from the fact that maybe I was crazy.

And then, he pointed out my FSH ratio to my estrogen while explaining what each does.  While they are within normal range, they were opposite to where they should be in relationship to each other.

“You came here for help.  I said I would try to help you.  As I suspected, you have insulin resistance due to PCOS.  As I mentioned your first visit- if you would like, we can try Metaformin to give you a fighting chance.  Right now, your body is turning everything to fat.  This isn’t a miracle pill- you will have to eat well and do your working out.  But is should help.  Then come back in 3 month and we will see how you are doing and talk about birth control pills as you should go on them.”

Holy CRAP!  So, basically my body has been turning my food into fat cells and storing it- and my cells are starving because of it.  So, this is why I am now obese and ridiculously exhausted all the time.  Not to mention my periods that last 6hrs-3 weeks at intervals of over a month, to over 3 months.  The metaformin should regulate my blood sugar and assist in me converting what I eat to actual fuel for my body.

Today is the end of day 3, and I am already up to a full dose.  I don’t know if it is the medication, or the fact I have hope, but I was hyper today for the first time I can remember since first finding out I have Hashimoto’s.  At work, I had to make sure I was slowing down my pace when speaking with people.  The grin on my face was sincere and not one trying to mask my body fighting me to keep moving.  I have been happy, but always with an underlying ache here or numbness there.

So, cross your fingers for me.  Later, I’ll get into my thoughts on how this happened- I have known I probably had PCOS all along and that going off of Depo Provera was the straw that broke this camel’s back.  But, for now I am going to rejoice in the fact that I have hope and joy.

And, for giggles, I am going to do a plaster cast of my torso in its 200lbs of glory.  My goal is that that layer will be the biggest I will be ever again, if not for a while… but I learned a lot from my body in its current state and would like to honor it.

Besides, I am Sushi Thryoid- which means this will be a never ending battle, but at least the rules have changed in my favor for once.  If this works, and I do lose some weight before my next visit with Shimon, I am so hugging that man.

Just shake your rump!

If you get the chance, drop into a Zumba class.  There are videos all over Youtube to show you what it is about.  I normally am not into fad-ish workout routines.  THIS, however, is crazy fun.  The goal isn’t to do the moves perfectly, but to keep moving and have fun.  We have an instructor that comes to work once a week.

One of the things I have found is how ridiculously exhausted I now get after working out.  No results, and super tired = I gave up on working out.  Then, I picked up a cardio-kickboxing twice a week when I was feeling a little better.  However, that hurt like hell.  So did Yoga.  How Yoga hurts…. dunno…. ask this stupid disease.

At least with Zumba, I can flounder around and act like a goof.  There are enough breaks to chug down water, and I get to do what I am referring to as “the stripper roll” to that crazy “Fireburning” song.

I’m up to a size 16 after my thyroid being “regulated”.  Pssshhh.  So, for the time being, I am going to try shakin my not-so-money maker as much as I can so that I might be able to send my JLo on vacation for a bit.

Is there something else I am missing, here?  Before, if you said hard wood, I would have thought of the fallen timber my mushroomed ass must be feasting on.  I would think of how I felt like that earthy, not necessarily pleasant scent.  I would think of how much I sweat at times, how my complexion has changed, and how sometimes I get heat rashes where my big ole thighs stick together.

But today, you say “hard wood” and I think of the flooring I want under my sexy ghetto bootay as someone ravishes me.  I think of the fond times with both sides of the fence and all the crazy times in college making out on the drunk bus, and beautiful times with the person I had promised forever to.

I don’t get it, but I am horny as all hell and have to wank off 1-4 times a day.  How did I go from nothing, to all?  So, of course, I am attracting some real winners during whatever chemical change this is.  I’ve had to rain on the parades of 3 guys, recently, since they were all practically in love with me during the first date.  One said “our relationship” BEFORE a date was had.  Needless to say, an official date never occurred.  I don’t do clingy.  I have fabric softener for that- it’s called Bounce.

So, is this normal?  Is it a self esteem thing since I have now owned the fact I don’t have control over what size my body chooses to be on any given day?  All I know, is that I went from no sex drive within the past 5 years, to wanting to hump telephone poles <hard wood> at the age of 30.

My body just wants to party like a rock star, and my brain is trying to maintain rationality.  Rarrrrrr!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  I think I need go play “Guitar Hero” with one of my plastic pets.  BRB……

She huddled off with the other doctor that I had fired, to discuss the fact I had been on Effexor (for a month or two, for what was probably the hyper end of what would later be dubbed as my Sushi Thyroid).

“Are you still taking your anti-depressants?”

“No. They made me violently ill.”

“Well, maybe you should have talked to us about going off of them.”

“I did. Dr. ____ wanted me to play Russian Roulette with the generics by going to different pharmacies until I found a script that didn’t make me puke my intestines out.   $50 a bottle? Did you know, the extended release is not available as a generic till 2010?   She gave me extended samples.   The generic sat in my stomach like a projectile brick.   I just wanted a sleeping pill.   And, she wouldn’t let me off Effexor.   And then, I just wanted an anit-nausea pill.   And, she wouldn’t do it.   And, that is NOT why I am here.”

Blah blah… blahblah blah blahhhh……yadda yadda.

“No, I am not depressed.   Believe me, I would know…. No, I am not binge eating….. No, I am eating vegetarian.   No, I am happy….. No, I am not depressed….. Yes, I AM sleeping too much- but it is because I can’t freakin’ move.   NO, I am not depressed… I got the job I really wanted….. I am effin’ happier than I have been in a long time.   NO. I AM NOT depressed….. Yes, I do have a history of PTSD…. But the cancer fiasco put an end to that.   Old dude with hearing aids, shoving a Novocain shot where no man has gone before?   Calm as a Hindu cow, since then…….. I would be smoking and drinking, if I were depressed…. Believe me, I would freakin’ know.   I’m on the Community Watch team… I volunteer at the HIV center, I have a job where I do landscaping on weekends so I am getting sun and vitamin D and all that jazz……. Kill myself? NO!!! Listen, lady… my fucking shoes don’t fit- I have to wear flip flops to work with my business suits…. 10 years of shoes, gone…… And my dentist won’t even do a cleaning until you test my thyroid levels!   MY SHOES DON’T FIT!!!!”

“Are you feeling guilty about anything, Ms. S?”

“No. I am Jewish.”

So, after much more of my non-characteristic screaming, she had labs run.   And while I waited for the results, I wore my flip flops every day.   I drew little frown faces near the pinky toe of each foot.   People noticed.

“What is THAT?”

“Oh, yeah. My shoes don’t fit.   My doctor says I should be on anti-depressants, because my shoes don’t fit.   So, my feet, are depressed.   They need meds.   They are sad.”

When I went in for my results- she looked at my feet, never questioning.   Nor, did she ever say she was sorry.  Then, like she did me some huge favor, she explained she ran the anti-body test and I came up positive.

Welcome, to Hashimoto Thyroiditis.   Here’s a pill.   Good luck.   Oh, and how about going back on Effexor?

*$#)*)_#@#@#@!!!!!!!!

New blog post is coming soon, in memory of my 1 year anniversary.  But, I’m over run and over tired in July.  Just wait till August… boy, will I have a rant built up by then!!!

I could tell my temperature was rising. I hoped he didn’t notice. Beads of sweat formed above my lip and I could taste the saltiness on the coffee lid. Well, this interview seemed to have been going well, aside from the river of sweat on my back. My hope was that this was not perceived as me being overly nervous. You can’t be nervous in a sales position.

I thanked my new boss for the job offer and coffee. Upon standing up, I realized just how wet my underwear and pants were. A quick glance down to the chair resulted in what I feared…. a big wet mark on the fake wood grain. Oh, lord. Did I pee myself? Nah… oh…. yeah.

Years ago, when I bowled every weekend, I gave up underwear. It was one of those things I spent too much money on and fidgeted with every time I walked up to the lane. My co-workers would make fun of me readjusting my panty lines in the hopes of rolling a Turkey. And, thanks to the Depo shot, I didn’t get my period. So, yeah… commando-yo.

Now, I need an extra layer to prevent other issues. There are these nifty pantyhose material ones by Hanes, I think. They at least acquire and disperse my pre-pre-menopausal outbursts. Ridiculous.

Never, would I have guessed I would have such a problem. I mean, really? I can be freezing with goose bumps, and sweating to the oldies down at my hoo-ha. Am I going to have 20 years of menopausal symptoms? THAT is pretty darn scary. So, in the mean time, I have to be more diligent about furminating my furry monster so it stays something along the lines of happy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zkHM8xG6i8o

Since right before the end of year 1 B.T. (Before Thryoiditis), my intestines and I have not fully been getting along.  *Being that we do not know when, specifically, the disease started, the time after diagnosis shall be referred to as A.T. (anno Thyroiditis- or Year of our Thyroiditis).

During the years of B.T., not much changed in regards to those good ole BMs.  Things made sense.  There was a proper ebb and flow to my visitations to the ivory thrown.  In the years of A.T., however, my biggest fear is no longer shooting my drink out of my nose or peeing myself from laughing too hard.  No, the concern is often if I will make it to the bathroom before, oops….  Sad to say, “oops” has happened a few times, this calendar year.  No one should have to carry panties to work with them unless there is hip thrusting involved (not advocating sex with co-workers as it is not good to shit where you eat/sleep… oh, crap.).  

 It is end of quarter for my company.  I support 7 field reps and a director.  And while I should be overseeing the work flow of nearly $3M in orders, I am stuck in the lieu with a case of acid ass.  Nothing beats your co-worker wanting to talk to you while trying to make a run for it, only to have them also enter the rest room, right as Niagara Falls breaks loose in your stall.  I spent an hour, there, Friday.  I had to Crackberry my one trusted team member about the fact I was being held hostage by my colon, and not out for a joy ride. 

And then, in probably a week or so, the tides will change and I will be downing more prune juice than your grandmother. 

How, please tell me, am I ever going to have an intimate relationship, again?  Up the butt is most definitely out of the question.  Yowza.  I guess A.T. has brought with it an end of an era.  When the guy’s taking Viagara, I’ll be taking Immodium.   Ka-Pow!!!