Looking back, I realize that my symptoms had begun at least five years earlier. I was often tired. My bed time kept getting earlier. I had to drag myself out of bed in the morning. My skin, especially on my back, was itchy. I bought lotions and bath oils to use but they only eased it a little. My hair, which had always been naturally wavy, became dry and straight—like straw in a broom.

I had periods of depression where I felt tired and unable to cope. Words I was looking for—usually words I knew well, would completely evaporate when I needed them. I knew I was getting older. But did I just have to accept it?

I took an assortment of vitamins. I tried to exercise, but it was an uphill battle to find the energy. I told my doctor, but he could find nothing wrong.

For the first time in my life I gained weight and considered dieting. But again, weight-gain is “normal” for women my age.

By Christmas of 1998, I could no longer handle making meals. My husband took that over along with everything else. I felt tired and worn-out and worthless. One day I realized I had all the symptoms of clinical depression. A light went on. I do not get depressed. In every other way, my life was going great—I had no reason to be depressed. There must be a physical reason.

In January, I had a complete checkup and went on hormones because I was post-menopausal. Much of the depression lifted, but the tiredness, the dry skin, all the rest, remained.

I would lie on the couch and be hungry. It was too much effort to even go and get an apple out of the fridge. I would have to get up, walk there, open the fridge door, open the crisper drawer, reach in, get the apple, close everything, wash the apple, bite into it, chew it, do something with the core…no, it was too much for me.

My doctor said my thyroid level was a bit high but didn’t require treatment. I was thrilled by his first words—something tangible we could treat! And depressed by the next—how high did it have to get before it was bad enough?

I hit the Internet and found books. I became convinced low thyroid was my problem, but how could I persuade my doctor it was already bad enough to treat?

He tested it again a few months later. A little higher but not high enough. He had learned the rules in medical school. You treated it at a certain number. Or if it became more serious. Like if you had swollen feet and ankles.

He sent me to a specialist who, quite frankly, was rude, inconsiderate, and patronizing. He, too, knew the rules.

If only my body had known them.

At the end of summer, I went back to my doctor, this time armed with a book that listed the symptoms of hypo (not enough) thyroidism. I set out the book and said, “I have all but a couple of these symptoms. Please do something!”

Sighing, he said, “We can do another blood test.”

As an afterthought, I rolled up my pant leg and added, “Oh, yes, I also have a rash on my ankles. We went to the Ex two days ago. Funny. I had something like this once before when we were at Disneyworld. Several years ago, in fact. I thought that was caused by the low-voltage shocks in one of the exhibits. But there was nothing like that at the Ex. It seems to be a rash of some sort.”

He took one look at my “rash” and said, “It’s tiny capillaries bursting because of swelling.” The only low-thyroid symptom I hadn’t had.

Then and there he wrote out a prescription for synthetic thyroid.

In September of 1999, my doctor put me on synthetic thyroid medication for hypothyroidism. We have been monitoring it ever since to make sure it gets to the optimum level and stays there. All of my symptoms have completely disappeared.

In April of 2000 I cut my hair because I wanted to see if my “new growth” was as dry and straight as the old. My hair came out soft and wavy—almost curly. After that, I had long-time friends not recognize me. It wasn’t just the hair—I looked younger, more alive.

I told people that the change they saw on the outside was a reflection of how I felt inside. I had energy once more! Enthusiasm. My mind was back! Mentally and physically, I felt like a new person.

My symptoms had come on so slowly and gradually that I truly forgot what it felt like to have energy.

And I almost didn’t have the strength to fight it.

No, my thyroid level never came close to the number (10) at which my doctor thought he should treat it. I have talked to other women whose doctors treated them when their level reached 3. I now tell anyone who is as high as 3 to persuade her/his doctor to do something!

See these web sites for helpful information about symptoms and so forth.

http://thyroid.about.com/

http://mythyroid.com/

Two books I found very helpful were:
Screaming to Be Heard: Hormonal Connections Women Suspect…and Doctors Ignore by Elizabeth Lee Vliet

Thyroid Sourcebook: Everything You Need to Know
by M. Sara Rosenthal, Robert Volpe

If you have a book or web site to recommended, please add it in a comment. And yes, having hyper (too much) thyroid can also be a big problem.

can't cope · depression · dry hair · fatigue · no energy · synthyroid · thyroid · tiredness · worn out

While entertaining guests in our living room one day, I happened to glance under the piano bench, and there in all its splendour sat – a basketball.

Was I embarrassed? Well, yes. But I remembered, not for the first time, a column by Erma Bombeck I read years ago. It was about her embarrassment at having a basketball in the living room when an important visitor dropped by.

With four active sons, I’ve had my share of basketballs in the living room—and soccer balls, volleyballs, footballs, baseballs, tennis balls, frisbees…I could go on. But the neat thing is that because of Erma’s column, I’ve been able to smile and say, “Erma would understand.”

As long as I can remember, I’ve enjoyed columns about ordinary life. As a child and teenager, I rushed to get the newspaper first so I could read Gregory Clark. Later it was Erma. It was my dream to one day write like them.

At university, I double-majored in Psychology and English, and I found the combination very meaningful—the one giving great insight into the other.

But practical matters needed to come first. Instead of living in a garret with my journals, I opted for teaching high school. (Much better pay.) And then came marriage and kids and….

When my husband and I moved from western Canada to Toronto, I thought it would be neat to write a column from the viewpoint of a newcomer to the city. I even managed to put a few thoughts on paper. But with three children under four—there was no time for more. And soon I discovered Gary Lautens, who wrote for the Toronto Star. Like Gregory and Erma, Gary helped me see ordinary things in a new way. Though I was living in a strange city where I knew no one, I wasn’t alone as long as I could read Gary’s column.

Time passed. In 1986 we were transferred to Markham after a year in Calgary. More experiences.

But I was busy homeschooling three kids while looking after an active toddler, added in 1984. No time yet to write.

When Gary Lautens died suddenly, there was such a hole where his column used to be that I longed to be able to write—not for the sake of writing, but because I missed his insights.

Quietly, I began to put down ideas as they came to me. Perhaps some day…. One by one, my children went off to high school and my homeschooling load diminished.

Shortly after my youngest son turned five, I began to find time to write. In fact, during the next eight years, I turned out over sixty magazine articles, several short stories, four novels for teens, a mystery….but never a column. In 2001, I decided the time had finally come, so I set some goals. What I wanted to write was the kind of column I’ve always enjoyed–talking about day-to-day life from a positive viewpoint.

I began by buying every “how-to write a column” book or tape I could find. I also attended a workshop taught by an experienced columnist. Afterwards, I pulled out the ideas I had jotted down over the years. Yes, there were things I could talk about. And there are other things, too. Having lived this long—over half a century—I have accumulated a whole host of experiences and ideas. And all of them will fit into my theme: life is what we live each minute of the day—good or bad, boring or joyous, tragic or comedic—and we need to make the best of it. By the middle of October I had ten columns written.

Now came the hard part. I dusted off my business suit and made the journey to the Economist-Sun office, and…there I was—a columnist!

That job lasted exactly 5 months, but I loved every minute of it. Right up until a new publisher bought the paper and fired all freelance writers on the spot!

Today, my sons are grown up and I have three grandchildren.

And my writing is doing okay. I have 9 books in print and another on the way.

But I still have all these thoughts about life that I want to share with others. I could have dusted off my resume and gone down, cap in hand to an editor. But…this is so easy!

So I’ll be writing about all sorts of things that matter to ordinary people: living in community, handling relationships, homemaking, juggling a career, raising children, living with teenagers, becoming an in-law and grandparent, taking responsibility for elderly parents, being aware of the environment, making it through the day, and, of course, not losing your cool when you find a basketball in your living room.

N. J. Lindquist (copyright Dec. 2005. Not to be reprinted without permission.)

clean house · Erma Bombeck · raising boys