Following a phone call from my GP last night that put the fear of god into the Lovely Melanie, it seems I am blessed/cursed with an under active thyroid.
The GP rang our house yesterday evening and asked to speak to me; I was at work so he told the Lovely Melanie they needed to see me quote urgently unquote.
Could they tell her what was wrong, she asked? No, they said. But he needs to speak to us urgently.
I’m his wife, she persisted, could they not tell her and she could pass on the whatever needed passing on.
No, they repeated, but can he come in for an appointment tomorrow morning, first thing?
Er, possibly, said the Lovely Melanie, now very worried, and made me an appointment.
I’m not a big worrier, and since they hadn’t sent an ambulance round for me I rang them next day to say that, in fact, I had to work and what was the urgent problem?
Your blood test results from last week show you have an under active thyroid gland, they told me.
Well, gosh, I said, is that bad?
No, they said. We can put you on some pills to fix it. Would you like to go on some pills to fix it?
Do you think I should go on some pills to fix it, I asked?
We think you should go on some pills to fix it, they said.
OK, I’ll go on some pills to fix it, I agreed.
And that was that and everyone was happy – especially the Lovely Melanie, who always assumes the worst about this sort of thing.
But I wish GPs could be a bit more aware of the language they use when calling patients. Perhaps we might agree on some sort of scale, from “Could you maybe drop by the surgery at some point?” (trivial medical matter), moving forward to “Could you make an appointment as soon as possible?” (minor medical problem that needs addressing) right up to “Could you stand outside your house and wait for the ambulance to arrive?” (danger of death).
Because even in my happy little world “urgent” translates as “not good news” – have you ever been called in urgently by your doctor to be congratulated on being fine?
“Mr Carter! Glad you could make it in so quickly! Just wanted to say, congratulations, you’re as fit as a fiddle! Well done! Keep up the good work. Could you close the door on your way out? Thanks. Bye!”
But I digress.
Meanwhile, back on the thyroid trail, a bit of research reveals that this may well be quite a good thing: symptoms of an under active thyroid include tiredness, weight gain, lack of concentration, depression, poor memory – even a decreased sex drive! Now, I have been aware of my memory and concentration being a bit off lately, and of course I’m on anti-depressants, and I’m dieting to lose some excess weight, so it’s entirely possible that my energy levels have fallen, too, without me even noticing.
Wouldn’t it be nice if a pill could fix all of these things in one fell stroke? 🙂