The Crane Kick

Like most people in South Africa, I opted to maximise my annual leave over the Easter period by taking a few days off from work. Before I went on leave, one of my tasks was to meet the new intern for our team, show her around a little and take her through what I actually do. Imagine my surprise to find she was my daughter’s age. The exact same age. Then, having a conversation with my daughter, she casually mentions that her boss, the Dean of the faculty where she works and studies will soon be celebrating her 50th birthday. Like I did, not so long ago.

I couldn’t help but compare my late mother at the same age. My mother was already a grandmother, and both my sister and I were pregnant at her 50th surprise party. At that point, 50 was OLD. People of that age dressed a certain way, behaved in a certain way and had achieved a certain status in life.

The one thing my friends and I have in common at this age is discussing how stubborn our parents are when it comes to their health. My mother was a prime example.

They refuse to have regular checks. They abandon prescribed medication. They mix medications. They self-diagnose. They hide pain and illness. We debate amongst ourselves whether it’s coming from a previously disadvantaged community that makes them so. Where sick leave was unheard of and many of our grandparents worked until they dropped. We argue that its fear. The fear of doctors, of hospitals, of needles and being poked and prodded until an unwanted diagnosis is found. We try to be grateful that it’s because they don’t want to bother us, which just ends up being worse because something that could have been treated at an early stage becomes something much more serious.

Now, with the mountain of criticism I have levelled against the old folk for not being proactive about their health, try not to paint me with the same brush when I admit that I ignored several warnings about my health for over 12 months. Every symptom was attributed to low iron (which I have struggled with my whole life) or low estrogen (due to early menopause – post menopausal at 46……….which is a story……or book…… for another day!) or just a really hectic life, without getting sufficient rest. And so it went on. I ignored that bone deep fatigue. The blurred vision. The unsteadiness on my feet, swaying from side to side just to keep upright. The inexplicable weird aches that surfaced but never in the same place twice! The 2pm slump that knocked me off my feet to the point where anyone who set up a 2pm meeting had many bad words spoken about them in my mind. Even doing the school run had me dragging myself to the car to drive just a mere 4kms down the road. The extremely low heart rate that very often had me checking my salvation, just in case that day was the that day I met my maker! I started taking photo's of my heart rate on my watch. Just to prove that it happened. Yep-the pic below shows a heart rate of 86. But below that.......a few minutes before...... it had been 45bpm.

No matter how often I complained about it, no-one seemed overly concerned about these symptoms because taken in isolation, they really sound like every day aches and pains.

If I think back on all the symptoms, this has been rearing its head for a while now. Longer that 12 months. I can pinpoint certain activities or events where I felt really ill, but I just pushed through. Imagine complaining of being tired when I got to work from home a couple of days per week? Imagine complaining of not having energy when I had a very balanced diet, took supplements and could take a nap on my very comfy couch on the weekends? I started to think that maybe this was a form of depression. Maybe I had chronic fatigue. Maybe, just maybe, it was all in my head. I amped up on iron supplements. I amped up on vitamin B supplements. I was at the gym with a trainer throughout December and January until that one day. That day where my friend was bugging me about taking me out for my 50th, which had happened a few weeks before and I said, “I don’t think I can manage sitting down for a meal”. If you know me, then you know food is an integral part of me. The gathering around a meal is a thing for me. I love cooking. I love feeding people. And I said no to a meal.

Fast forward a couple of blood tests, multiple discussions with doctors and the diagnosis was spat out. Much gratitude that I have access to medical aid and good doctors. After my 1st doctor gave 2 wishy washy consults, I had to move on.

Gratitude for doctors who consulted with me all the way from Kwa-Zulu Natal, without even bothering to charge me for the consult. Doctors who, even after I explained the diagnosis, took the time to painstakingly discuss every single line of the blood results a second and third time.

Hashimoto’s. Sounds like a place Mr. Miyagi visited in the Karate Kid and then a place that re-surfaced in Kobra Kai.

Spoiler alert. After all the scheming, lying, fighting, revenging and Kobra Kai-ing, the 2 old guys die. Sort of a murder-suicide. Blown up on a boat. Ka-boooom.

Hashimoto’s. It belongs to the family of auto-immune diseases and affects the functioning of the thyroid.

Hashimoto's. I heard that word and did feel like Jonny Lawrence on the receiving end of the Daniel LaRusso crane kick. After I picked myself up, I felt relief. Relief that I wasn't going crazy. Relief that there really was something wrong with me. Relief that I had not ignored the symptoms any longer. Relief that it could have been so much worse. After the relief came immense gratitude.

Hashimoto's.

A medical synopsis: A deep, unrelenting exhaustion that rest doesn't seem to improve. Cold Sensitivity. Feeling cold even in warm environments. Heat intolerance. Feeling too hot all the time. Extreme weight gain.

Inability to put on weight. (Just for the record that wasn't me! I had what Hashimoto's sufferers call a moon face. A round face that looks swollen). Severe inflammation.

Brain Fog. Trouble concentrating, memory lapses, and difficulty finding words. (Yeah - this last one grates on my nerves because I have often said’ “That thing, that thing”, in absolute frustration and close to tears, fearing that I had early onset Alheizmers........and have been laughed at, with the response, “WHAT thing???”). Grrrrrrrrr.

The great news about this diagnosis, is, unlike many others that could have been a possibility, it is not life threatening. Huge gratitude to God for that. With the proper meds, a proper eating plan, plenty of rest and exercise, it is totally manageable and under control. Do I relish shopping around for all things gluten free? No.

Do I miss a toasted curry sandwich? Oh. Hell. Yes.

Did I cheat the other day and allow Roland to buy me a scoop of Paul's salted caramel dark chocolate ice cream? Baby steps.

The chief instigator is stress. Unless I can build myself a cottage at the top of Monks Cowl and remove myself from my family, my job and serving the Lord, stress is not going away anytime soon. It is left to me to figure out how to get those stress levels under control.

For now, I hold on to the recommendation from one of the doctors that massage is an excellent way to get rid of toxins from my body.

So is aqua aerobics and TRAMPOLINING. Yes. Jumping up and down is super helpful for the lymphatic drainage system.

Food is another source of what causes flare ups. My favourite, faithful friend food. How could life be so cruel? Good thing I Iove being in the kitchen. Huge gratitude again.  I love discovering new ways in which to cook boring ingredients. You need only to look at my profiles on any of the streaming platforms on my devices to know that I watch a lot of cooking shows. Imagine being someone who hates cooking and then being dished out this diagnosis and having to completely change how you eat?

The plan for the next 6 months is to head towards remission. Remission is achievable by addressing underlying triggers, such as gut health, stress, and nutrition. This helps calm the immune system and prevents it from attacking the thyroid. My dietician is completely confident it is doable. I’m pretty confident that God can heal me. I am very grateful that God has guided the medical practitioners and has given us wisdom on how to navigate this. I have great faith that anything is possible with God. While I am very grateful for the family and friends who go to great lengths to make sure I am well, no-one in heaven or earth can love me and care for me like He does. The same quiet voice that calmed the raging storms can calm the stress and inflammation.

I have good days and bad days. On a bad day, I’m grumpier than usual, more tired than usual and can barely come up with anything. Not ideas. Not writing. Not a swear word. Not even a meal.

On a good day I will start spring cleaning in the middle of autumn and keep going until I wear myself out.

In all of this, I am still focusing on being grateful. I have read countless articles about the disease. There are recipes, books, podcasts. Groups to join for support and to discuss new information.

Information (sometimes too much of it) is readily available. Grateful because I have access to what I need to feel better.

6 months. To learn that crane kick and retaliate. Remission.

#MoonFace

#Gratitude.