Color me irritated.
Over the course of the last year I’ve gained weight. My hair looks like crap. I don’t sleep well. I have hot flashes and night sweats. I’m tired a lot more than I ought to be. My skin has reverted back to its 13-year old self and I’ve just been generally off.
My initial doctor’s visit was to my OBGYN because I thought what I was experiencing was perimenopause (my mother started menopause in her early 40’s). After Round 1 of blood work my hormones looked normal but my thyroid did not. Turns out, I have hypothyroidism.
So I’ve started on medication for that.
Because I have an awesome OBGYN (I seriously adore that woman and think she is a fantastic doctor) she wanted to repeat the blood test on the 21st day of my cycle. Guess what? My estrogen level is low as well.
She wanted to wait to on hormones until after we’d sorted things out with my thyroid and found the right dosage of medication. According to the blood test I had earlier this week, my levels are within normal range.
Tangent: I’m at a new doctor’s office and, quite frankly, I think I’m going to resume my search for a primary care physician. I had to call and ask for my test results and a prescription because they never called me like they said they would. The last time this test was done I had the results in less than 24-hours. It took three days this time. When the nurse finally called me back she couldn’t give me a definitive answer on what the test results were or what dose my medication would be. She was totally flustered by my questions (my hand to blog, this is word for word what I said, “What were the results? Is she keeping me on the same dose?”), stammered over her answers and finally told me, “It looks like they’re probably within normal range because she’s keeping your dose the same.” I wanted so badly to ask, “Are you sure? Is my file even in front of you?” but I didn’t because 1) I need that prescription called in and 2) I thought her head might explode from the difficulty of it all. I’m not feeling a tremendous amount of confidence in this practice.
Back to the issue at hand, I hate what my body is doing. The weight gain has resulted into my emotions spiraling into a place that is not safe. I’m back in therapy (both regular counseling and nutritional therapy) because I was walking a really, really fine line and came far too close to lapsing back into dangerous behaviors*. I’m not comfortable in my own skin. I’m horribly self-conscious. I don’t like going out with friends I haven’t seen for a while because I’m so damn fat. I want to wear a blinking neon sign around my neck that says, The Extra 50-lbs. I’m Carrying Isn’t Entirely My Fault! How’s that for a fashion statement, eh?
I feel fat. And old. And tired. And I have to take all these damn pills which makes me feel even more old. It’s so irritating because I’m only 33 and isn’t this shit the type of stuff that happens once you’re well into middle age? Think I should start shopping for Matlock and Golden Girls DVDs and eating dinner at 4:30?
*In college I struggled with bulimia and anorexia that resulted in my weighing 97 lbs. and being hospitalized for six-weeks of inpatient treatment.