Posts Tagged thyroid
Short but heartfelt letters.
Posted by Lotus, aka Sarcastic Mom in Aging, Body/Health, Humor, Thyroid, Weight Loss/Getting In Shape on October 26, 2009
Dear Hashimoto’s,
Thanks for making every day harder. You’re a dick.
Dear PMS,
I do not like you. You do not actually make me more powerful, you just make me want to break people in half all day long. You do not help me deal with my emotions more effectively, you just make me cry at things that should not be cried at (the fight scene in Ice Age? Really? No. Really?) You do not make my son’s toddler habits easier to deal with, you make me want to run screaming from his presence. You are like a disorder all unto yourself. I am tired of you, officially.
Dear Braden,
Yes, it’s true. Your “farts are stinky like poopoo,” indeed. The amount of joy you bring into my life with simply silly things like that cannot be measured. Oh, but please don’t kick me in the eye again. That was the opposite of joy.
Dear Birthday,
I see you lurking there. I know, I know. I’m almost officially a whole year older. It’s really not even exciting anymore. It just validates the white hairs and the callouses. If you were really as awesome as you claim to be, you’d give me my old bewbies back. Now THAT’S a happy birthday.
Dear John,
I know you miss being at home. To make sure you feel welcome upon your return weeks from now, I am saving you all sorts of chores to complete! Nothing says loving like that, right?
Dear Debt Collectors,
Thank you for the recent letter demanding the thousands due in medical bills, immediately. The way the entire sheet of paper was pink truly made me feel the threat inherent in your message.
Dear Property Management,
I’m guessing the magic number for phone calls before you come and fix the light in the kitchen is something higher than 3. Even if you have promised “someone will be out tomorrow,” they won’t. You don’t really mean it. It was a joke – you were just kidding! I get it now. I hope you get explosive, burning diarrhea on your birthday.
Dear Jillian Michaels:
When I do the “butt kicks,” instead of holding my hands in fists in front of me, I hold out both my middle fingers. It totally helps me make it through. I’m not flipping you off, though. You are the toughest bitch I’ve ever not known but loved. In a completely platonic, non-I think of you naked when I’m in the shower kind of way. (Really.)
Dear Mexican (our dog),
Please just stop being gross. Seriously.
PS: I know. Watch your back.
Dear Body,
I know that you are tired. I know that you hurt. I know that it’s not your fault. I know that you feel bad because I always hate you. I am sorry. I’m still pushing and I’m trying really hard to get you healthy again. Please hang in there and work with me on this, damnit.
Dear Hair,
Did you hear what I said to Body? You are leaving me, and it’s making me frantic. I know you are just really tired of the antibodies in my bloodstream and the Hashimoto’s that is the result. I feel embarrassed that you are so important to me, in a way, but it’s true. You are important to me and I have cried several times already now, noticing how you are taking leave of me steadily. I do not like to see my scalp. Please reconsider. Please stay.
Dear Health Care Industry,
Please just fix it. Please stop telling me there is nothing you can do to help me. I am broken and you are supposed to be able to fix me.
You are supposed to.
So when I come in this next time, please do not turn me away again, telling me to keep waiting. I am done waiting. Ok?
Dear Reality Television,
You are still really, really stupid. Stop tricking people who I know are otherwise really smart.
Dear Halloween,
I hate the temptation of your endless bags of delicious candy. I love your ghouls and goblins, witches, werewolves, vampires, and ghosts. I delight in feeling your spirit as I watch horrible movies about undead monsters. As you approach, I tilt my head back in the dark and utter a high pitched cackle. When you are gone, please make any leftover candy disappear. My ass does not want to be dressed up as an elephant for the rest of the year.
Dear People Who Drive,
YOUR BRAIN. USE IT.
Dear You Guys,
Thanks for still coming here.
Hi. Here I am, being depressing again.
Posted by Lotus, aka Sarcastic Mom in Depression, Haiku, Mental/Emotional, Miscarriage on June 13, 2008
Almost seven weeks
since it started; we’re still stuck.
Would now be twelve weeks.
We are still not sure
when we’ll want to try again.
Sooner or later?
Some days, I think, “NO.”
Other days, I think, “maybe?”
It is confusing.
Afraid to chance it.
What if it happens again?
So soon, I might break.
Then again, it seems
no matter the length between,
the pain won’t differ.
Also afraid to
wait too long… time rushes by,
thyroid gets worse. *sigh*
Mostly we still want
to wake up from the nightmare,
our baby still here.
So probably not
ready to try again yet.
But still, there’s longing.
Braden’s latest word
is “baaay-beeeee,” complete with sign.
God, please help me cope.
Let’s make s’mores.
Posted by Lotus, aka Sarcastic Mom in Uncategorized on January 22, 2008
The time left until my big, exciting appointment with the Endocrinologist is s. l. o. w. l. y ticking away. Every day seems like a year. Every minute seems like an hour in which the world is sitting on my shoulder saying, “You don’t hold us up very well, woman. Your shoulders are weak. You need to workout more.”
Tabitha D’umo looks at me from the cover of her stupid Dance DVD. Mocking me. I entertain thoughts of burning her face up in a bonfire as I dance around it, naked, in my front yard. But it is below freezing, and I can’t find my matches. Darn.
Last week was a long, long week. Lots of good. Lots of bad. We fight. I snip. I apologize. We butt heads. We talk. I cry. We laugh. We cuddle in bed and then fall asleep.
The next day, it happens all again. I just want to sleep all day. Can I please just sleep all day? I don’t want to be a human today. I want to sit in the corner and stare at the wall. Also. I want to stop having frizzy hair that breaks if you look at it wrong, and brittle nails that do the same. My back locks up and my neck goes stiff on me. I find patches of dry skin on my feet that look like this:

On the days when I can actually get out of the house (like Monday, thank you, Alli!) things feel better. The motto is, “Movement in Sunshine.” It seems to help with the Depression Symptoms. But the lump in my throat. That choking feeling. And that world. On my shoulders. Oy.
Please help me, Mrs. Endocrinologist. And tell me this paper you sent that says, “payment in full is due at time of service” was just a mean joke you like to play. Please?
Oh, look. I just found my matches. Wanna meet me in the front yard, my friends? Bring your marshmallows.
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you said