In what has become a familiarity, my psychiatrist called unexpectedly early Thursday morning. I was writing the day's draft of the book, deep in thought as I typed. By the tone of his voice, I knew something was amiss. He's not the sort of person to resort to hyperbole unless warranted.
Bloodwork conducted the day before had revealed a significant problem with the thyroid gland. This would explain the substantial fatigue that descended two months before. At first, I believed I had a serious case of sinusitis. Then, I thought I must surely have some sort of bacterial infection. Two courses of antibiotics proved ineffective.
I was instead informed that not only was the thyroid gland overactive and abnormal, the doctor suspected a malfunctioning pituitary was also part of the greater issue. I contributed more blood at a visit to the lab yesterday afternoon. A full profile, I'm told, will be necessary to locate the precise source. Ideally, I won't have to wait longer than Tuesday to know the panel results.
Oh, none of this is fatal, of course. Though I've been feeling awful for a while, I know that these are nagging ailments likely to be fixed sooner than later. It's the combined pill fatigue and the frequent visits to specialists that I get me down. In my nightmares, I end up like Stephen Hawking, with a rapidly deteriorating body and a still very active mind. That statement may be only reflect my anxieties, but I can't help but wonder if this recent period of illness is temporary, or will only increase with time. We'll see.
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