Not everyone speaks your language

I was raised by a nurse and a laborer - Dad worked swing shift at Harrison Radiator before Dephi took it over.

I grew up hearing nursing terms and having the "general pick up" note marked with shorthand that I still to this day have no fucking clue what it means. I spent the greater part of my childhood sitting in the garage with my dad occasionally asking him to tell me about the parts of a car. If I wasn't there, I was in the pool or in the kitchen because that's where things happened with my family. We never really were "living room people." Life did not revolve around the television .

We have awesome conversations. But when it all comes down to it, we speak different languages within our professions.

When autoimmune disease runs rampant

Three times now my blood work has come back and I've been told to stay on the same dose.

Three times I've gone in and been told my TSH was "elevated."

I'm exhausted. I'm cranky. I'm yawning halfway through my first cup of coffee and I know it isn't just because the caffeine hasn't kicked in yet, or rather *now* I know.

The problem with autoimmune disease and being blessed with two of them is, for me, sometimes not knowing if it's just a case of poor sleep that leaves me fighting to stay awake at 10 a.m. or if it's too much coffee at night (which I rarely drink at night) that keeps me from actually falling asleep.

Is it lack of sleep because I stayed up too late writing that causes me to go from 0 to RAGE in a matter of seconds over something as inane as my child asking me to turn the water on in the bathroom for her to wash her hands or should I really be that miserable and pissed off because she won't just do it herself? Am I just a shitty parent? Why isn't there a fluffy pillow and a box of tissues here right this second so I can have my miserable cry fest while questioning everything I know to be true about me?

This is the face of hypothyroidism. It's also the face of hyperthyroidism.