Day 3: It's time for the Regulator!

Last night, Matt caught me sitting quietly with two fingers pressed to my jugular.

"What are you doing? Are you taking your pulse?"

"Uh huh. Shhhhh."

"What's it doing?"

"The usual. Shhh! I'm just...checking up on it. My body isn't able to control a lot of the things it used to be able to control when I had a functioning thyroid.  I feel bad for it. I feel like it maybe needs a hand. Without my thyroid, it's unregulated"

"Uh huh. So you're...regulating it?"

I paused and thought for a moment.

"I guess not. I'm more like...cheering it on.  Offering it some positive encouragement!"

And yet he loves me.


Since one of the things the thyroid does is regulate the heart,  not having a thyroid means a slower, less consistent heart rate. And since I'm now (unnecessarily) mentally cardiologically-focused thanks to the anaphylaxis in the hospital, this means a slightly more cautious me.

Trying to regulate one's own heartrate from the outside while "going hypo" is a lot like trying to control your  teenager's behavior via nanny-cam while you're away on a business trip. If you see your living room suddenly flooded with noisy 16 year olds, what are going to do?  Call home and yell? The most you can do is hope that they keep their feet off the sofa and don't eat all of your food.

Or, y'know, you could turn off the screen and go have a drink in the hotel bar.

Without the Big Daddy Thyroid at home, cellular metabolism, heart contractions, and nerve function are all impacted. (You can read a little more on how busy the thyroid is here.)  The longer he's out of town, the worse the kids behave.

I'm currently saying a long-distance prayer that I raised 'em right.



This is the third day I've been operating without any hormone and, as with the previous two, I have had long, lovely stretches of feeling mostly me.  However, I put Lily down for her nap this afternoon, and 20 minutes later, was hit by the strangest, most awful fatigue I've ever experienced.

Those who know me well know I don't do tired. I loathe tired. Tired is, most definitely, one of my least favorite  feelings. Ever.  I'm either 100% awake and together or I'm rapidly progressing from rigid crankiness to immediate sleep.  If physical factors prevent me from sleeping (Let's say I'm working or driving or parenting my foolish children who don't yet realize the danger of not letting Mommy sleep),  I'll rally and second-wind it from deep within a slumber reservoir. There is no inbetween. I can't do tired.

Today, however, the reservoir ran dry.  Someone had yanked the stopper out of my bathtub and all of my energy was ferociously sucked down the drainpipe.  As the last of that vivacious viscosity flowed away,  I resigned myself to the couch.  I could not do anything else if I tried.

Blech.

The focus:  how great it feels when the energy returns and I'm not all washed-up. Those moments are many right now.  Let's see what Thursday holds.

I'll bring the rubber ducky; you grab the soap!