For as long as I can remember, I have been tired. My mother used to tell me I was so lazy I was even born late. When I was away at school, we didn’t have study hall on Friday night and could stay up an hour past our regular bedtime; I’d leave the dining room and go straight to my dorm. Even now, I sleep ten hours a night, and whenever possible I take a nap after our mid-day meal.
A few years ago my GP found that not only was my thyroid on the blink, but I am extremely anemic, which would explain my chronic “pale and interesting” complexion. He put me on an iron supplement which was strong enough to plate a battleship, and caused considerable, um, gastric distress. So I have limped along, trying to eat more raisins and spinach, which have the same effect, although mild enough that I can function.
My former endocrinologist retired, and my first appointment with the new one involved the usual interview and review of symptoms, mostly drop-dead fatigue. She also suggested an iron supplement, and I explained I had a bad reaction to that medication. “Nonsense! People get constipated from iron, not diarrhea!” Oh, we are off to a good start! Nothing like somebody who has never seen you before telling you that you don’t know how your own body works. “Take this for a month and come back for another blood test.”
I’m taking half the prescribed dose, and am answering the call of nature often enough for it to be considered a litany.
And I only thought I was tired before.
thisendoftheswamp 