Choices, Choices...Vanity vs. Radioactive Breasts

I've been MIA, I know. It's been difficult for me to blog lately. Partially because of an overwhelmingly freakish writer's block that is now showing signs of lifting (it's not gone, though. It's taken me more than two weeks to construct this single post. Sentence by painful sentence), but also because honestly I prefer to write about real-life, day-to-day things and there are things that have been happening of which I cannot yet blog. Someday soon, perhaps, but not now. And that act of holding back, knowing I cannot share specific items of my life, just feeds the block.

But something happened this week three weeks ago of which I CAN write.

It's actually kind of a bummer.

I'll be having surgery in September.

I've been struggling with Graves Disease and hyperthyroidism for just over a year now. Symptoms showed up in force after my daughter was born, though I think I saw a ghost of them years before. Shaking. Sweating. Heart palpitations. And then with my newborn also came my low milk supply.

The endocrinologist put me on a medication called PTU. And I've felt better.

But...

PTU has been known to cause liver damage, so it's not fabulous to be on long-term. And the alternative medication available doesn't work for my situation right now. So I can't stay on my current meds and I can't take the other one offered. And going off meds all together doesn't seem like a good idea, what with the heart palpitations, jitters, heat sensitivity, etc...  Adjusting my diet hasn't made much/any difference, it seems (I did try!). Sadness. And that leaves surgery.

There are two kinds of surgery being offered to me: the physical removal of the thyroid (thyroidectomy) and the killing of the thyroid (using radioactive iodine) whilst leaving it in my body.

The radioactive iodine was most recently the only treatment that my endocrinologist mentioned; however,  you cannot be breastfeeding if you get the radioactive treatment. That was enough for me to refuse the treatment when it was first mentioned and it remains a primary reason I've decided it's not for me at all. True, I'm not nursing very much any more, but our bed- and morning time routines still include it as a cherished moment, and I'm not yet willing to forcefully end it if my daughter still wants her milks.

Plus, even if I were to reconsider total weaning at this point, the doctors said that the longer it'd been since I'd been actively lactating the better/safer it would be for me in the long run. Thing is, the radioactivity apparently concentrates in breastmilk, which means that if I weren't completely dried-up I'd have radioactive bits of milk hanging out in my breasts for a while after the treatment. And that is not so great when it comes to avoiding things like, oh, breast cancer.

Also, patients having the iodine treatment shouldn't be around children for several days to a week (so Uli wouldn't be able to be in the house with me. Because how do you tell a toddler to stay on the far edges of any room Momma is in? Stay away from Mamma! No hugs!) and even around adults you need to be careful, flushing twice after using the toilet, and scrubbing down the shower/tub after you bathe. Kind of intense.

So I'm not doing the radioactive iodine.

Instead, I'll be having the thyroidectomy. And it's okay. The surgeon said that it's actually the best option for people with Graves because getting rid of the thyroid altogether will mean the antibodies currently circulating in my system an attacking my thyroid will hopefully calm down once the thyroid is gone (leaving less risk to my eyes and to any future fetuses' thyroids).  

But I'm still not totally thrilled.

I got lasik so that if civilization came to an end I would still be able to see even without contacts. That was important to me, to have healthy eyes that could help me survive in a time of crisis. And now I'm struggling to accept the idea that without my thyroid I'll be stuck relying on hormone pills for the rest of my life. Or I'll die. Die! I'll be a lifelong Walgreen's customer or I'll die. I hate that thought.

Also, and embarrassingly, mostly I'm worried about the thyroidectomy scar. Which, rather than hiding quietly below my bikini line as the cesarean scar so thoughtfully rests, will be right up there POW! on my neck. For all to see and gawk at and make Nearly Headless Nick jokes about.

Yes, I am hardly better than my thirteen year old self. I could be worrying about surgical mishaps, flooding and famine, car accidents, the night Uli will have to spend away from me while I'm in recovery. But no, I am concerned about a red line on my neck.

But that's how it is. I predict I'll be wearing a lot of scarves this next year. I'll pretend it's because I'm all into fancy retro looks, but you'll know the truth.