My doctor suspects I have Hashimoto’s, and I am pleased to be so exotic. It’s an autoimmune disease that attacks your thyroid, leaving you hypothyroid (and occasionally hyperthyroid, though I haven’t experienced that). Am tired as the dead; hypoglycemic; heart-racey; forgetful. You could cut my brain fog with a knife. Then there are the bouts of semi-apathetic anxiety and weird night vision. A little wikipedia tells me that, left untreated, I could develop a goiter (no, really). Maybe I’ll look like this some day. Will join the circus and scare children for a living.
I’m also on progesterone supplements, which make me high. Yes, I know what it feels like to be high. I have enjoyed many a potent pain killer in my post-surgical history. Part of my brain feebly calls out “This isn’t so good…” but I’m high so I don’t care.
I am straight up stupid now. When Cisco asks me a question, irritation pricks across my skin – annoyance over the sheer amount of effort it will take to form a coherent answer. Writing has become a hold-out. An oasis in the stupor – I sift and sort my thoughts; maybe my brains aren’t quite liquified yet. When they drip out my ears, I’ll have another mess to clean up. Balls.
Everything’s sort of funny lately – it’s so absurd, why not laugh? It will be fixed soon enough. Or not. I told Cisco that I wish he could pack me up in a little suitcase and carry me around. He was intrigued by the possibilities for party conversation: “Have you met my wife, Rose? Why don’t I unlatch my case so she can slosh around and smile vacantly at you?”
The flights of imagination are an amusing up-side. We got our first dog a few weeks ago, and he’s the worst. (Shut up, I know. The boys love him, and he’s very nice for a dog. There.) Shortly after we got him I dreamed that he ran away at a park. After a while, someone pulled up in a car and said, “Is this your dog?” Out hopped a mutt the size of a pony – its coloring just like our stupid Oats. “Yup, that’s him,” Cisco nodded, and I stared dumbly as he unloaded a cow-patty sized gift right in front of me. The pony, not Cisco. Ugh, sorry, this is going nowhere good.
And one more thing. Spiritual enlightenment is positively raining down on me. I scribble things on paper – wonderful, holy things that I don’t want to forget. Potent impressions that momentarily dissipate the haze of idiocy. I discover later that maybe they don’t mean much at all.
At least resignation comes easy when everything is so muffled. Why not offer it up?
Good, now a nap.