Part 49 in My Bio

Written in late 2014, edited in 2024

The teens ended up being the worst years of my life, especially mid-2014 through 2016, and then beyond.

2014 was both great and horrifying. This time, the scary part had nothing to do with money but with my health. I came to realize that the number 4 was indeed unlucky, and then later learned that many Asian cultures believe the same. Once I realized it wasn’t my imagination after all, I was concerned when 2014 arrived. Since the year started off great and we got to the summer without any catastrophes, I was just about to relax and let my guard down until July 9th rolled around.

In late January, I found a new primary care doctor—a young and gorgeous 32-year-old I’ll call Dr. C. She was tall, blond, and blue-eyed, which is not my usual type, but her sexy smile and compassionate, personable nature won me over. I’ll admit, I developed a crush on her.

Dr. C diagnosed me with Hashimoto’s disease, which explained why my body wouldn’t respond to diet and exercise. I’d suspected either that or diabetes. Bloodwork also revealed I was low in vitamin D and had high cholesterol, the latter likely driven up by hypothyroidism and genetics. She started me on vitamin D supplements, 50 mcg of levothyroxine for my thyroid, and simvastatin for my cholesterol.

She referred me to an endocrinologist, Dr. D, who was my age and from Venezuela. Due to her packed schedule, my first appointment wasn’t until April and I can’t say I liked her very much.

Before seeing the endo, we had the trip of a lifetime! In late January, we spent a week in Ka’anapali, Hawaii, on the island of Maui. It was the BEST vacation ever. Flying first class was great.

We stayed in a $500-per-night room with an ocean view and loved watching the whales that had migrated from Canada.

We packed so much into that week: swimming, snorkeling, catamaran sailing, a luau, and even a submarine tour where we saw a sunken ship (deliberately placed for fish and sub-riders). The beaches were breathtaking, and swimming in the ocean was so much fun. The waves were huge, and timing was everything to avoid being knocked down. Tom wasn’t so lucky one time, and I laughed so hard, as did a woman nearby.

The luau wasn’t as fun as I hoped, but the catamaran ride was great, even if the food was bland. Snorkeling, though—that was magical. At first, I didn’t get the hype of looking at a sandbar, but once I ventured farther out—wow. The vibrant tropical fish and coral were like nothing I’d ever seen.

In April, I finally saw Dr. D. A normal TSH level is close to 0; mine was a staggering 32. After starting on 50 mcg of levothyroxine, it dropped to 12. Dr. D raised my dosage to 75 mcg, and I was okay at first, not realizing the stuff takes time to build up in the system.

Between the trip and the summer, we focused on home improvements. We painted, recarpeted, replaced old curtains with blinds, installed a new dishwasher, and swapped the dark brown carpet for a sandy beige shade called “Nomad.” We got new furniture as well.

Life was great—until one day shy of our one-year anniversary in the new house.

That morning, after Tom left for work, I found myself highly wound up. I had been for a couple of weeks, as well as short of breath, and figured it was simply me adjusting to having normal thyroid levels. I tried to calm myself but just minutes later, my heart began racing and pounding like crazy. Utterly terrified, I feared I’d accidentally overdosed. Though I wasn’t sure if it would kill me, the possibility crossed my mind as my head spun and fear consumed me.

I knew I needed to act. First, I had to call Tom to let him know in case something happened. Then, I opened the back door for the paramedics, just in case I passed out. My shaky hands somehow managed to work my new smartphone, and I called both Tom and 911. The dispatcher stayed on the line with me until help got to me. The paramedics arrived quickly, hooked me up to a cardiograph, and reassured me I hadn’t had a heart attack or taken a lethal dose. Relieved, I called Tom to tell him he didn’t need to rush home after all.

Months ago, I didn’t know nearly as much about Hashimoto’s, the medication used to treat it, or perimenopause/menopause. I knew in my gut that it wasn’t normal for me to feel that degree of epic anxiety, going into menopause or not, and that it was mostly connected to the medication. But what frustrated the shit out of me was that none of the doctors seemed to believe me. My primary care doctor was so sure that I had developed a severe case of anxiety out of the blue and prescribed a low dose of lorazepam to help. It helped to a degree but I also still knew my own body better and what was normal for it. If I hadn’t felt that way during the worst times of my life, why would I suddenly feel like that when things were at their best? Still, the anxiety was so overwhelming at times that I was grateful for the pills to take the edge off.

I continued to have the most god-awful feelings: my heart would race, I’d feel suffocated and dizzy, I had constant diarrhea, started losing weight rapidly, panicked, and felt like I was dying. It was the worst experience of my life. I’d rather gain 100 pounds than go through that again!

Eventually, I stopped taking all my medications, including my cholesterol pills. By then, I was terrified to take anything—vitamins, painkillers, nothing. While my primary care doctor was okay with me pausing the medication until I could see my endocrinologist for adjustments, she was adamant I needed to see both a psychiatrist and a counselor named Dana in Folsom.

Tom raised a valid point: I didn’t need a psychiatrist because I wasn’t crazy; I needed a lower dosage. Seeing a counselor was one thing, but being sent to a psychiatrist just to be given medication to tolerate another medication at the wrong dose was absurd. We realized we’d been too accommodating and had had enough of the incompetence, phone tag, and bureaucracy. That medical group, as a whole, was terrible. My endocrinologist was overbooked, her staff was incompetent, and while my primary care doctor was kind, I needed someone who would listen to me. After all, we found numerous complaints online from people taking the same medication. They certainly couldn’t all have suddenly been “just anxious.”

In November, we switched medical groups where I got a new primary care doctor, a new endo, and the same problem of not being believed and told that the medication can’t make you anxious because it’s the same stuff your body makes anyway. Don’t take my word for it though. When I say otherwise, look it up for yourself. Some people really are sensitive to this stuff, like it or not. I think a lot of doctors brush off side effects to make their jobs easier, which is a shame.

Dr. A, a young Ecuadorian physician, put me back on levothyroxine but at just 25 mcg for starters, since as she explained, the best way to deal with PTSD is to slowly expose someone to something they’re afraid of. Oh, I was definitely afraid of it all right, and had definitely acquired the case of PTSD!

Andy visited us in late November. It was wonderful to hug him for the first time in 15 years. While he talked too much about topics I didn’t care for—like celebrities, news, and God—it was still great to see him.

I’m no longer friends with Maliheh or Nane. Maliheh dumped me after feeling confident I’d keep her name out of my story. She befriended me under false pretenses, which shouldn’t surprise me considering her past behavior. I’m better off without phony people like that. As for Nane, I cut ties with her because of her hypocrisy and judgmental attitude.

I almost ended my friendship with Alison for a couple of reasons, but realized she has many more good qualities than bad, and the problems weren’t anything major.

I’ve been troll-free for over a year now, though I can’t say whether they still check in on me.

The park remains noisier than I’d like for a retirement community, especially during the weekdays. The constant landscaping and loud vehicles are a major annoyance. Another frustration is Bob turning his garage into a workshop. While I understand his need to stay active, the noise from his woodworking projects is still intrusive. Still, he and his wife are the best neighbors we’ve ever had.

Our rat, Romeo, passed away a few days ago. He was very old and, while not one of our favorites, he’ll be missed. We’re surprised Sugar, who had a stroke last May, is still with us.