| Kristin's Story | |
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.
 Kristin: Sept. 2002! |
September 2002 -- I've established some ground rules for the morning at my house. More often than not, my day starts with me saying, "Shhh. Coffee first." In addition
to silence and coffee first thing in the morning, there are two more things
I simply must have: Armour thyroid and Levoxyl. About a year ago, taking medicine was something I did for the flu or a headache. Now, it's something I do every day. When I was diagnosed with subclinical hypothyroidism, and told that I'd be taking medication every day for the rest of my life, I was not a happy camper, but now, it's not a big deal. I take it, and then I get on with my day. I exercise. I work. I play with my daughter. I swim. I socialize. I do yoga. I have my life back. |
A little more than one year ago, I found out that my thyroid was sleeping on the job and not producing enough of a critical hormone that affected my body profoundly. I was groggy, lethargic and cranky even after coffee. I got sick more often and gained weight like a champ. Tired and fuzzy-brained as I was, it was nearly impossible to concentrate. This made the act of writing ‹ my profession and one of my favorite reasons for getting up in the morning ‹ a dodgy proposition at best. Worst of all, I was no fun at parties. No fun at all. This was not my beautiful life.
Even after my hypothyroidism was "treated" with the standard T-4 medication, and my bloodwork was back in the "normal" range, I still felt lethargic and unwell. I argued with ‹ and fired ‹ four doctors who said I should be just fine, according to the blood work. Clearly, I was not fine, but I learned that just saying so wasn't getting me anywhere with these bean-counting MDs who wanted me to stick with the standard treatment, synthetic T-4 drugs.
So, I honed my sleuthing skills and immersed myself in medical literature that was complicated and often contradictory. I made friends with the cashiers at Barnes & Noble as I bought book after book. I called pharmaceutical companies. I learned about different medications and how they worked. And, armed with information, I wrote a paper that outlined my findings and the medical treatment I wanted. And one day, I got that treatment, because I kept on firing doctors until I found one who would listen.
Now, a year later, my body's back to normal again, and sometimes I even take it for granted when I wake up full of energy, ready to take on the planet.
I give my doctor an enormous amount of credit for listening to me. She's a general practitioner who specializes in health care for women. She actually looked up from the test results and listened when I told her that I just didn't feel well. She read the information I presented about alternative treatment, including the use of a T-3 drug called Armour thyroid. She said she'd never prescribed it before, but she was willing to try it if I was.
Within a month of starting treatment with Armour, I knew I was on the right track, because I was feeling better. Throughout the summer and fall of 2001, we tweaked the dosage, watched my bloodwork change, and tweaked the dosage some more -- it was a bit like making the perfect martini, only less fun. My bloodwork was already in the middle of the "normal" range, but I'd convinced my doctor that the lower end of the scale might be a better place for me. By gradually increasing the dosage of Armour, we got closer to that goal.
Finally, as the fall of 2001 set in, my doctor suggested that we drop a little Levoxyl in with my daily dose of Armour. From October through December, I gradually increased from half of the prescribed dose to the full dose, and slowly but surely, I was more energetic and better able to focus my energy. By the end of December, I felt great.
Of course, there was one little hitch. About 15 pounds that refused to leave my person.
For at least one year, I'd been doing my damnedest to lose the weight that came with the onset of hypothyroidism. This extra weight was more than unwelcome. It was against my religion. I wanted it gone. Naturally, I declared war.
First, I implemented some tried-and-true exercise and weight loss tricks. I grilled and ate veggies and salads. I drank water. I curtailed my pizza habit. I worked out four to six times a week, for up to 60 minutes each day, on the elliptical trainer. Friends at the gym joked that I should put a plaque with my name on "my" machine, because I was always on it.
I wore out sneakers. I made new friends at the gym. I ate a heck of a lot more vegetables. But I didn't lose a pound. Not one.
Fed up and tired of the relentless gym schedule, I bagged the elliptical trainer and took up yoga for a few months. I'd been feeling like a hamster on a wheel long enough, and yoga left me calm and energized, providing a welcome respite from the brutal schedule I'd been on. Gradually, as I'd tinkered with medications and dosages, my energy level improved, and so did my tolerance for exercise.
One day in early January, I noticed that my jeans were looser. Not much, but it was enough for me to brave a visit to the scale. I'd lost 2 pounds, and I hadn't even tried. After a few months of better living through chemistry, my body was finally ready to play ball.
First, I signed up for Weight Watchers. I became religious about measuring portions, guzzling all of the required water and writing down every last thing that went into my face. The pounds came off, slowly. Too slowly. It was time to put on some speed. Bathing suit season was imminent.
To jumpstart my slacker metabolism, I started lifting weights. After years of a strict cardio regimen, I was chastened by my startling lack of strength ‹ someone at the beach might indeed kick sand in my face. I was a wimp. After about one month of thrice-weekly workouts, I was lifting more weight at the gym, looking more like my old self and losing more weight every week. Finally, by April, I had lost all of the "hypo" weight and then some, just in time to shop for swimsuits. Two-piece swimsuits. I was psyched.
Now, as the seasons change from summer to fall, I'm feeling better than I have in years. After everything it's been through, I'm humbled by my body's ability to heal and recover. I'm so incredibly grateful for the opportunity to be healthy and strong again, even with my highly unmotivated thyroid. My body may not be perfect, but it has gotten me this far, and here is a pretty good place to be.
I'd like to express my sincere thanks to all the readers who shared their stories with me, and to the hundreds of folks who sent along their good wishes and support along the way.
Let me pass along the best piece of advice I ever received: You know what normal is for you. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
Be well.
