My Diagnosis. Also? I think I have a mustache.
By Athenabees on January 04, 2013
Had you told the girl in this picture that in ten years' time she'd be sitting in the bathroom putting Rogaine on her head with hair remover on her lip and an estrogen patch on her butt, I'd wager she'd keel over. Either that or punch you. Probably punch you. I use to be really bitchy. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought that at the age of 32 I'd be dealing with the body of a 55 year old. The official diagnosis is estrogen deficiency. My body thinks it's in menopause. I've lost at least 50% of my hair, my ovaries have shut down, and for the past 6 years I've honestly thought I was losing my mind. The anxiety, depression, memory loss, COMPLETE emotional instability: ALL symptoms of estrogen deficiency. How did it take so long to figure out? Well, since I've been pregnant or breastfeeding since 2006, it was kind of hard to tell what was what. Certifiable problem or hormonal pregnant girl? Your guess. It wasn't until my body really started shutting down and I really started getting scared that I actually had dementia did I get full bloodwork. What's next? For the time being while we wait for Zofia to wean I'm on an estrogen patch. I shed my tears about the hormone replacement therapy drying up my milk and bringing an end to this stage of Zofia's life, but if left untreated, estrogen deficiency leads to osteoporosis, stroke, and heart disease. As my mom pointed out, Zofia would rather drink out of a cup than have me die of heart disease. Touche, mom. I'm not going to cut her off cold turkey though, so they aren't going to test for the cause of this deficiency just yet, such as tumors, as breastfeeding would skew the findings in lab work. (For now I'm going to pretend like there's never been any mention of tumors as I MIGHT FREAK THE FREAK OUT!!!!!!)
So, that's where I am. Estrogen patch firmly on my butt and a lot of fixing and healing to do. The toll that it has taken on my body, marriage, kids, career, and relationships is hard to put into words. The task of rebuilding everything makes me feel like an asthmatic acrophobic about to scale Mt. Everest. Impossible. I'm scared y'all. Real scared.
If you're the praying type, send me a prayer. If you're the hugging type, send me one of those. If you're the forgiving type, well thank the Good Lord for you.