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My Hashimotoâs Success Storyâand How to Create Your Own
When I was diagnosed with Hashimotoâs in 2009, I was working as a consultant pharmacist for a case management agency in Southern California. The agency was dedicated to helping people with disabilities live the most fulfilling lives they could live.
I was part of a team that included physicians, nurses, psychologists, case managers, and often a behaviorist or psychiatrist. The role of our team was to figure out if there were underlying medical, situational, behavioral, pharmacological, or psychological issues that were contributing to our clientsâ health concerns.
Most of the clients were not able to articulate what was going on with them due to their disabilities, so oftentimes the only way we knew that they were in pain was when they became aggressive, had vocal outbursts, or were uncooperative. I was the sole pharmacist on the team and performed case reviews for thousands of clients in my time with the agency.
While my official job title was Consultant Pharmacist, I really felt that the most important part of my job was to help advocate for individuals with disabilities who could not voice their health concerns. I ensured that they were getting the most benefit from their medications, that they were not overmedicated, that they had access to medications that could potentially help them, and that they received the proper care they deserved.
Many of my clients had been placed on heavy-duty psychotropic medications when their caregivers deemed them uncooperative, aggressive, or loud. Our job was to prevent this from happening.
I loved my job and was excited to start my workday every morning. Advocating for others who were suffering in silence had fulfilled my lifelong goal of helping people, yet like my clients, I too was suffering in my own way.
I had embarrassing problems that I did not want to share with anyone else in my life: acid reflux that manifested as a chronic cough at the worst possible times (during client meetings, presentations, and so on), irritable bowel syndrome (IBS) that made the bathroom my âsecond office,â terrible anxiety that made me break into a cold sweat when it was my turn to speak up in team meetings and jump out of my seat every time someone knocked on my office door, constant leg cramping, and muscle pains. To top it all off, I had carpal tunnel in both hands that shot up my arms and was so bad that I needed to wear arm braces to perform my job functions and eventually had to use dictation software for all of my emails and reports.
Additionally, my forty-hour workweek and commute were leaving me exhausted. I had dreams of going dancing with my husband, meeting friends in Los Angeles hot spots, learning a new language, and writing in my spare time, but all I could do when I got home was eat, watch TV, and fall asleep on the couch.
I couldnât grasp how our disabled clients were able to go to day programs or jobs for forty hours each week. Here I was an âable-bodiedâ young woman who needed to go to bed by 9:00 P.M. every night just so I could wake up at 8:00 A.M. to start my nine-to-five job.
And of course, I looked fine. Though I felt bloated and out of shape, I technically wasnât overweight or underweight, and I didnât need crutches to walk. I had hair on my head, and I didnât have visible scars, rashes, or bandages that would make people think I was in pain.
Working with people with disabilities made me appreciate the health I did have, but at the same time, my compassion for them made me minimize my own suffering. I had always been a person who put everyone elseâs needs before my own, so naturally I was drawn to the healing professions, but sadly my care for others led me to put off my own care.
As much as I tried to ignore my own health problems, the fact was, I was in pain every day and this was beginning to interfere with the job I loved, my ability to be the wife I wanted to be, and my lifelong dream of creating positive change in the world.
My symptoms only increased. I became allergic to everything, including my sweet dog and all of the native trees and bushes in California. I was cold all of the time. I found myself taking numerous medicationsâcough suppressants, acid reflux medications, nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drugs (NSAIDs), and allergy medicationsâwhich of course came with numerous side effects!
Worst of all, I was losing my memory. In high school, college, and grad school, I would joke that I just had to look at a piece of paper to remember everything that was on it. I was always super sharp and quick, and I had the ability to remember details of conversations that had taken place years before.
But now I had terrible brain fog. I would walk into rooms and forget why. I would lose common words midsentence (âYou know, that animal with the fur? Yes, a cat!â). It was a really scary feeling, and it got so bad that I took an assessment to rule out dementia. It was also exhausting trying to hide my embarrassing memory problems from the people in my life. I thought I was doing a good job at hiding them until one day when my husband made a comment, âWell, honey, I know how your memory is, so Iâve decided to write things out for you so you can look at them later.â I was devastated. I felt like I was losing myself and my mind, and now other people were noticing.
âWell, Youâre Just Getting Older . . .â
I went to numerous doctors with the hope of receiving some answers, but most of them told me that all the symptoms I was experiencing were ânormal,â ânot a big deal,â and some suggested, âPerhaps theyâre just in your head.â I was prescribed medications for allergies, acid reflux, and even an antidepressant for my âanxiety.â
One of the most amusing answers I got was âWell, youâre just getting older. We tend to lose our memory, get more tired, and put on weight when we get older.â Did I mention I was twenty-six at the time?
Through all of this, I thought of myself as a good role model of health. I hardly ever went out to eat and made most of my meals from scratch, opting for whole wheat, low-fat dairy, and minimal red meat. I often brought home-cooked quiches and baked muffins and pies to share with my coworkers, and I loved baking whole-grain cookies for my husband and even special whole wheat treats for our dog.
I tried so hard to be healthy. I would meet coworkers during lunch to walk or do workout videos, and I often hit the gym on my way home from work (but all of this made me more tired). I did not smoke and limited my drinking to rare social occasions. I was too tired to do anything social, though, since the demands of day-to-day life like running errands and cleaning my house left me exhausted!
I began to think this was my life and I just had to accept it. I had grown accustomed to my IBS, bloating, and fatigue. I had grown accustomed to waking up, going to work, coming home, eating, and sleeping without having the energy to pursue my dreams of traveling, writing, connecting with people, taking courses, and changing the world.
By the time I was twenty-seven, my symptoms had been with me for almost a decade and had been steadily getting worse. What started as minor symptoms that would come and go with minimal effect on my day-to-day life had now become life altering. I had given up on doctorsâmost of them told me that I was either depressed, stressed, or suffering from IBS and that I just had to learn to live with all of the symptoms I was having. Others said that all the symptoms were in my head. I knew I wasnât depressed, but I realized maybe it was time to just accept that the IBS, chronic fatigue, memory loss, and other mystery conditions were just part of my fate. I stopped seeking help and suffered in silence.
Then, things got so much worse. I began to have panic attacks. My husband would go out jogging, and if more than fifteen minutes passed, I would get into my car to start looking for him, fearing that heâd gotten into an accident or, even worse, that he had met another woman and ran off with her! Of course, I knew I wasnât being rational, but I couldnât help freaking out.
My hair lost its luster and started falling out in clumps (this was very difficult for a Leo who liked to check out her mane every time she passed a mirror). My skin started to look really dry, and I began to have wrinkles and puffy eyes, and my face always seemed to look bloated. I was in my twenties and supposed to be in my prime, but I felt old and tired.
I seemed to have become allergic to everything, and my chronic cough woke me up throughout the night and drove me crazy. I had to wear my carpal tunnel braces 24-7 and stop doing yoga, my favorite hobby, entirely. I had to cut back on client case reviews, which required a lot of writing and documentation. These had always been my favorite part of my job, because I got to meet with my clients face-to-face and complete a comprehensive review of their health needs.
Eventually, Iâd had enough. I was a newlywed and felt like my health and life were falling apart. My new husband and family members wondered why I seemed to be getting worse and worse. The chronic cough drove me crazy. I remember confiding in my colleague, âIâm just about ready to cut off my head if it means the cough would stop.â I began to desperately search for answers.
Can you relate?
I decided to go âdoctor shoppingâ again, but this time I had become more skilled at navigating the system. My time as a consultant pharmacist and patient advocate had made me aware of the fact that doctorsâwhile most of the time are very well-meaningâdid not know everything about my body. I was going to need to advocate for myself in order to get to the bottom of my health condition.
I went to various doctors and asked for diagnostic tests, looking for answers based on my symptoms. Some of the doctors were extremely caring and sympathetic, others completely dismissive, but I wasnât deterred and didnât stop until I got an answer.
A Diagnosis at Last
Eventually, I learned that I had the autoimmune condition Hashimotoâs thyroiditis, which had resulted in subclinical hypothyroidism, also known as mild thyroid gland failure. I finally had a reason for my hair loss, emotional imbalance, anxiety, fatigue, and most of my other symptoms. A part of me was relieved to have a diagnosis, but I was also very disappointed. I was a young health care professional, trying my best to be healthy, and yet my body was betraying me. After all, according to conventional medical knowledge, it was my own body attacking itself, not some mystery bug, and there was nothing that could be done to stop the attack.
The initial weeks were full of grief. I cried to my husband, mom, and best friend, expressing my worries that I would never feel better, be able to have children, or feel pretty ever again (I had lost over a third of my hair and ended up dyeing it blond and getting a bob cut to cover up the in-between hair spots, but they still seemed really visible to me).
But then I woke up one day and thought about my clients. If they could be happy with all of their limitations and keep going, then I too could do the same. I decided that if I was going to be a person with Hashimotoâs, I would be the healthiest person possible with Hashimotoâs.
At the time, I spent a lot of time on the P...