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Kristin's Story |
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Part 1: Getting a Diagnosis
Kristin O'Meara is a freelance writer who has subclinical hypothyroidism. She was diagnosed in April of 2001, and has volunteered to share her story as a case study in order to help others dealing with this problem.
 | I felt like an old woman, and no one knew why. My daughter was born in
1998,
when I was 36, and although I was delighted by her arrival, I couldn't
seem
to bounce back from the stresses of new motherhood the way others I knew
had
done. |
I felt lethargic and groggy, no matter how many naps I took or how well
I
slept the night before. I knew babies were a lot of work, but I never
expected to be as completely worn out as I was. Every morning seemed like
a
long, slow race to the end of the day, when my husband would come home
from
work and I could finally sit down.
Even worse, I kept getting sick.
"It's nothing serious," my doctors would say, "Just an upper-respiratory
infection," and they'd hand me a prescription for antibiotics.
Over and over, I complained about the way I felt.
"But I'm sick all the time, more than my daughter," I'd reply, "and I'm
so
tired all the time. This isn't me."
Over and over, my doctor would say, "You're a new mother. It's very
demanding. Give it time."
But it didn't get better. It got much worse.
By the fall of 2000, my daughter was 2 and a half, and I felt like I had
aged much more.
What shook me up the most was my weight gain.
I've never been what anyone would consider skinny, but I've always
exercised
and eaten carefully to maintain my weight. At 5'7" and 140 pounds, I was
still hoping to lose the last five pounds I'd put on with my daughter, but
I
felt reasonably fit and in good shape. I was much stronger than most of
my
peers, thanks to years of weight lifting and long cardio workouts. But
in
the months between October and December 2000, I suddenly gained 10
pounds.
And I mean suddenly.
A new pair of hip-hugger jeans, bought in September, just wouldn't
button
one day in November, and I thought they must've shrunk in the wash.
Then, when I unpacked my winter clothes in December, I discovered that
none
of my pants fit. "This doesn't make sense," I thought. "I'm still
working
out, and I haven't been eating more than usual. I guess I'll have to try
harder." And I did. I went to the gym at least three times a week, but
nothing happened. The weight stuck.
Between November and January, I got sick three times two bouts of
upper-respiratory illness and one severe stomach virus. I felt
incredibly
drained, but when I visited my doctor again in mid-January, somehow I
had
still managed to gain another 5 pounds. I had eaten carefully during the
holidays, and could not believe the scale. Once again, my doctor gave me
a
virtual pat on the head, said something consoling about the trials of
motherhood, and sent me on my way. I was utterly dejected.
I was so wiped out that exercising seemed almost impossible. In my free
time, I'd sleep. I'd sleep when I was supposed to be working. I'd sleep
when
my daughter watched videos in the afternoon. I was exhausted, and I'm sure
I
was getting on everyone's nerves with my short temper and cranky
disposition.
But then I got lucky.
One day, as I mulishly slogged away on the elliptical trainer at the gym,
I
found an article in a woman's magazine. The subject was weight loss, but
it
contained a list of about 15 symptoms for hypothyroidism.
I had most of them: Unusual weight gain/inability to lose weight;
fatigue;
inability to concentrate; dry skin; skin breakouts; brittle nails;
disorganized thinking; irritability; sleep disturbance; feeling
cold/unable
to get warm.
Of course, I doubted myself.
I assumed these symptoms could be blamed on many things. After all, I
had
been living with Crohn's colitis for 20 years, so maybe these problems
were
related. Nonetheless, I ripped the list out and took it home with me,
just
in case.
Shortly thereafter, I my daughter caught a cold, which spread to my
husband,
and I got sick again. Of course, they both got better after a few days,
but
I wound up with another nasty respiratory virus, one that took 3 weeks
to
clear up.
By now, I was fed up, so I brought in the big gun my husband, who'd
been
patient and supportive as he listened to my growing laundry list of
complaints over the months. I showed him the article with the list of
symptoms, and he agreed to come with me to the doctor to ask for some
thyroid tests. With a written list of symptoms in hand, we went to the
doctor's office together.
It was a very good thing that we did.
My regular doctor wasn't on that day, and the substitute was much worse.
A
young man in his early 30s, he exuded arrogance and condescension from
his
every pore. He was more than reluctant to give me the blood tests at
first,
and I felt so angry that I could barely restrain myself. Fortunately, my
husband was a bit more persistent and persuasive, and the doctor finally
relented.
My TSH came back at 6.51, (slightly hypothyroid by lab standards) and just a little higher than the normal range of
.4
to 5.5 uIU/ml.
Follow-up tests of T-3 and T-4 came back in the normal range, I was told
by
yet another doctor on the phone one day. "You're subclinically hypothyroid" she said, "and I've ordered some
medicine
for you. You should feel better in about 2 weeks."
Finally, an answer!
I was so incredibly relieved to find out that it wasn't all in my head.
First, I burst into tears. Then I made a beeline for the pharmacy. On
April
12, I started on .05 mg. Of Levoxyl, and I waited to see what would
happen
next.
Read Part 2 of Kristin's Story now!
