Back in April when I went to the doctor for my annual
wellness test, the blood work showed that my thyroid was low. I could have told
him that without the lab work---my hair is falling out at an alarming rate and
I’m always cold no matter how many layers of clothing I wear. And let’s not
even talk about how hard it’s been to keep my weight in check. The doctor
wanted another test in six weeks before upping the dosage of my thyroid
replacement medication. Sure enough, that second test proved it's still falling and a
new prescription came in the mail this past week. I have to get retested again in six
weeks to see if the dosage still needs adjusting. Every summer there seems to be something to
remind me that I’m married to the medical community. Bummer!
I’ve had thyroid issues since I was fourteen or fifteen so
this isn’t new. What is new in this century, though, is me acquiring an
autoimmune specialist and her suspicion that thyroid antibodies are causing the
chronic hives that I get every four or five years---the first time before I could even walk---and that stick around for
months at a time before they go away as mysteriously as they appear.
Translation: I may be allergic to myself and there is nothing that can be done about that. So when I go to that nursing home someday and
I’m covered in hives and my roommate is blasting a baseball game on TV I can
look forward to oatmeal baths to get away from her. And did I mention I’ll
have a broken hip as well? Thyroid replacement medications leach the calcium
out of your bones thus my three broken bones since menopause and my three fake joints and still
counting. Why does aging have to be a blood sport? I take daily injections to strengthen
the insides of my bones but that will be coming to an end later in the summer
because you can only take that drug for two years. Most treatments for
osteoporosis only strengthen the outsides of your bones, or so I am told by my
bone doctor. I’m hoping the next treatment I get will be the one where they
hook you up to an IV twice a year. Oh well, if thinning bones, chronic hives
and hypothyroidism are the worst health issues I have to deal with I’m actually
pretty lucky compared to some people my age.
I didn’t plan on doing it but half of Memorial Day I spent watching a marathon of The Last Ship,
a doomsday series about a naval destroyer and its crew that is forced to roam
around the world looking for ways to stop a pandemic that is killing off most
of the earth's population. Hey, it was that or noon-to-dark Saving Private Ryan type movies that I’ve
seen a million times. Throughout the afternoon of binge watching I was also jumping
up and down to do the laundry, get my trash ready for pick up, finish up the
last baby sweater I’ll knit in 2015 and water my houseplants---the normal stuff I
do on Sunday or Monday. Rather than depress me like it did two Memorial Days
ago, the doomsday marathon actually cheered me up. The world’s
very survival doesn’t depend on me finding a cure for a deadly virus. It's all good after that. The only thing I really have to worry about is
an insect bite I probably got at the cemetery when I cleaned up my husband’s gravestone over the weekend.
That sucker was/still is red and swollen and, of course, the doomsday marathon has me
believing the bite was actually the deadly virus transmitted to me from my flat
screen TV. Oh course I’m kidding about the TV giving me the virus but what’s
the point of watching stuff like that if you’re not going to get caught up in
the yucky-dos and what if’s of the series? However, I am a wee bit of a germophobic
so the TV show worked as good at scaring me as Poltergeist
did on a whole generation back in the 1980s. (By the way, pay attention the next time you wash your hands and see if you're actually washing your thumbs. Many people do a good job on their fingers but miss their thumbs.)
Am I happy the Memorial Day weekend is over? You bet. I have
my sense of humor back and I found a sock that had been missing since last winter, plastered inside the leg of a pair of pants and here I thought the washing machine ate it. But I have to say that after watching
the marathon I’m totally sick of seeing Viagra commercials which begs the
question: Why does the pharmaceutical company who makes it think the men who
watch The Last Ship all need their
product? ©
