Shit. My clothes don't fit the same. I'm gaining weight. I'm 28. No, I'm not pregnant. I just had my thyroid removed. My slow and faulty thyroid has been the cause of so much in my life that probably matters so little.
Slow metabolism. Dry hair and skin. Weight gain. Fatigue.
I am 20 or 21 again, right before diagnosis. Right before the pills. I am at the gym, I'm watching what I eat and I'm not losing. I'm not gaining, so I guess that's okay. I am sad. I feel depressed. Out of place. Lonely.
A few weeks ago, I had this overwhelming feeling of acceptance towards my body. It was really a euphoric breakthrough that was deep and real. I had just learned that I may have thyroid cancer and I'd have to undergo a thyroidectomy. I finally got serious about the best diet for Hashimoto's disease/goiter/hypothyroidism. Also, maybe this diet could help with my love-handles! A mostly veggie diet was leading to a soft middle section, so I started eating meat again in a big way by doing high protein/low fat/healthy carbs. It worked before when I was younger. It worked in a different way now, but I am also different.
Along with my body, my perceptions have changed. I've loved in this body in a pure way, I'd been loved in this body in a pure way, this body felt the pain of watching its first home and source take her last breath and, now, this body was going to go through more changes. (And there will be more to come in life. . .no list needed!)
Now that I have no metabolism and no real control over this weight gain (but an end in sight - THANK GOD),
I am just enjoying the crappiness. Yes, I'm freaked out about feeling bloated and "un-svelte" in this body for a little while and of course I'm not eating pizza and hamburgers every night, but I'm going to experience this extra jelly the best way I can. Besides, it'll probably be gone in a month once I start taking my thyroid meds again and my thyroid level stablize.
While I was under anesthesia for the total thyroid removal, I dreamed. The surgery took place at the same hospital I'd been admitted to when I was 10 and had to get stiches on my forehead after a bike accident. My mom and I went to the emergency room alone and together. No brothers, no dad. She was nervous and worried at first. A lot was going on in her life. I was the calm one. When I came home after the bike accident, with exposed flesh and blood dripping down my face, she was hysterical.
"Your face! Your face!" She screamed.
"Don't worry, Mommy. Don't worry. I'm okay. . ."I assured her.
I was very self-conscious about my body at 10. I was made fun of for being fat. I was developing earlier than my peers. The doctor asked my mom if I started mensutrating yet. I cringed and felt embarassed.
"No," my mom answered.
"Not yet, but soon." I was confused. Did she know something that I didn't? The following summer she would send me away to sleepaway patrol camp with maxi pads "just in case." I was bewildered and embarrassed. I got my first period a few months after camp.
While I was under anesthesia, I dreamed of 1994 and 1995. I dreamed of elementary school. No worries except worrying about what would happen to my body during puberty. Worrying about not being in control of the things happening to it, but not really worrying at all because I couldn't help it anyway.
And, after regaining consciousness after anesthesia, I woke up crying. The cold post-op room. The beeping. The unfamilar faces. I wanted my mother, much like I did the day I got my first period. She was so happy that day and welcomed me to the club. She gave me a hug that night before bed. There were two women in the house now and she was so proud. I didn't worry. It didn't hurt.
"I want my mom. I just want my mom," I said out loud. The nurse told me that she was out in the waiting room and I would see her soon.
"No, I won't. She passed away."
The nurse may have muttered "sorry" or may have not. I don't remember. It doesn't matter.
Worrying about every pound I'm gaining doesn't matter either. Neither does worrying about my voice ever returning to normal. Neither does worrying about what's going to happen next.
Neither does thinking about why everyone hates Anne Hathaway. All I need to worry about is taking care of myself and being well. I also want to focus on thanking people for their kindness, accepting the love I'm being given and giving love in return. That stuff matters.
Thanks for reading.
