Fireside chat. (No thyroids allowed!)

Happy holidays from my neck of the woods!


Heh. Neck.  See what I did there?

2013 is drawing to a close and, between frantic Christmas preparations, end-of-semester busy-ness at work, and children zipping in and around the house, it seems like a lovely time to take a break from the hecticness and update you all.  I'm going to grab my cup o' decaf and settle down here.  You want to get yourself a hot cuppa, too?  Maybe a Christmas cookie?  G'head, I'll wait.

Okay, then. If you're comfy...

Let me take you back...

The last of summer's sizzle was still upon us, the wicked sticky heat was flashing vicious claws, slicing deftly through our thin skin of centrally air conditioned bliss, dragging those foes swelter and scorch inside to curl damply around our ankles and slide lithely up our spines.  Ahh, summer days!  100 micrograms of Synthroid had me feeling mostly human, despite the baked August.  I was a bit slow and fried-feeling, but happy to be altogether still Tiffany.

 I returned to work, both excited and nervous to be back among the normal folks.  My first day was a success; I arrived home sleepy yet satisfied.  I'd forgotten what a ten hour work day was like and I was unprepared for how my body would feel with my new, artificial thyroid hormone.  Day 2 threw another curveball my way; while applying my makeup at 5 am, my eyes became suddenly, terribly, painfully irritated.  We're talking fire dancing across my lashes.  Lava on my eyelids. Flames at the edges and in the creases.  This was hot.  I left for work that morning with a freshly scrubbed face and a brain full of frustration.  Was I mysteriously, suddenly allergic?  Was this from the radiation?  What was going on?   Experimenting and googling both lead the the same results:  for whatever reason, I was now unable to wear eye makeup. I was devastated.

This affected me more than any other change I'd experienced. I could deal with the heavy swoop of a scar across my neck.  I could get used to the change in the texture of my hair, the subtle differences in my skin.  I could work with the inability to eat anything for four hours after taking my thyroid meds. I could even reconcile myself with having to take that pill every morning at 4:20 am. I could learn to get comfortable with the too-frequent doctors' appointments, the never-ceasing bloodwork, the knowledge that I'd be tested and treated -and on guard - for the rest of my life.   But no eye makeup?  Sob!    As small and silly as that may seem, it sent me reeling.  I'm a woman who loves her liner and savors her shadow.  I've never been particularly girlie and many a time I've happily faced the public au mostly naturel...but not without my eye makeup.  And, with everything else the summer had brought me, this seemed like one more stupid, unnecessary injustice.  Looking in the mirror, the person staring back at me seemed foreign.  Less vibrant, less engaging, less attractive.  Walking out in the world sans sparkle seemed almost uncouth.  I felt like an imposter.

But, life moves forward whether we slather purple on our peepers or not.  Days and weeks and months and still my naked face looked back at me.  I stared with unadorned eyes, getting used to this new me.  Did people notice? Sometimes.  Did my new look terrify the masses? Nope.  No small children ran screaming in horror, no old ladies beat me off with their bags, no one recoiled in disgust.  And, slowly, I got more comfortable with me.  And I found one rather obvious truth:  no one really cares all that much what you look like.  We take vague pictures of people we encounter and carry them with us as impressions. It matters not to your memory if I have a sweep of shadow below my brow.  It matters more what I do, what I say, how I carry myself, if I smile widely at you and am pleased with your presence, how my being makes you feel about you.  These are the things stick with you.  Do you see me more fondly if I have my signature cat-eye?  Probably. But, 20 minutes later, you'll have forgotten that, too.

The ol' standard.

Sans sparkle, avec my love.

But, even with my newfound comfort with me, I still had no idea why I was suddenly experiencing these problems.   I declared it my mission to find the answer.  All avenues lead back to my thyroid...either radiation or imbalance.  Eventually, a dermatologist dubbed it eyelid eczema and gave me two options: time or a cream that had been known to cause cancer when taken orally.

Erm.  Think I'll wait this one out.
 

In the meantime, I switched medications from Synthroid to Tirosint. This stuff rocks!  Within a week of switching, I shook off that vague groggy, fatigued feeling that I'd been fighting for two months.  And, my TSH , or Thyroid Stimulating Hormone, took a dramatic drop. Wahoo!  Previous blood tests had announced that my levels were higher than recommended, that in order to control cancer, I'd need to lower my TSH from the 1.49 it was coming in at to the recommended .1 -  .4.  (You can read more about that here.) Six weeks on Tirosint returned lab results of .59.  Getting there!

Also in the mix: I changed Endocrinologists.  At the recommendation of just about everyone I met at the ThyCa Conference, I found an Endocrinologist at University of Penn. Reading over all of my previous labs and reports, he unhappily announced that my surgeon had left too much thyroid tissue in my neck and, thus, he was going to approach my treatment aggressively.  According to the doc, if my Thyroglobulin starts to rise (an indicator of thyroid cancer a'happenin'), he'd not call it a recurrence, he'd consider it spread of the original cancer.  He's ordered ultrasounds for January to see what's going on in there and upped my Tirosint to 112 micrograms. This increase should drop my TSH to that optimum suppressed level of .1-.4 and will effectively make me hyperthyroid.  This comes with it's own set of potential problems, from anxiety to tremors to heart issues.  While it's not something I'm overjoyed with, it is something that's necessary to kick this thing's butt - and keep saving mine.  By now, you've probably realized how medical intervention freaks me out (I'm not a good pill-taker, for a multitude of reasons!), so upping medication to a level that is specifically too much and more than what my body wants is a bit a lot scary.  I'm keeping my focus on the end result through; images of destroyed, ineffective, uninvolved cancer cells leaving my body counteract the fear that shimmers in the background.   As Matt tells me constantly, we've got this.


These past couple of months have been eventful and not in just the cancer category.  On the super high note, Matt asked me to marry him and I gave him the finger.  Don't worry; it was the best one! Upcoming nuptials are planned for April 2014.  Yay, cake!

The front-runner invite.

Otherwise, the kids are writing out their lists, getting excited for Santa's arrival, and our new puppy, Gidget, is tearing around the house, getting excited for anybody's arrival. Life is wonderful, though crazy, and I couldn't be more grateful and happy.  This past year has brought us over much hilly terrain and through some pretty intense weather.  With Matt by my side, we've managed to stay on course and donned some fantastic storm gear that has kept us mostly warm and dry. And, I'd like to think that we've arrived comfortable and safe, ready to snuggle up by the Yule log and enjoy this season of joy and peace with the people we love.
 (And, as a bonus Christmas miracle, I've managed eye shadow for three whole days now. Yaaaay!)

Now refill your empty mug, have another cookie, and tell me what your holiday holds...