Spare some pity for the S.O.

The S.O. and I are generally pretty well matched. We're both pretty laid back most of the time and in general have no problem with procrastination. There is a project list, but as long as the stuff on it gets done eventually neither of us stresses about it much. Or at least that's the way it used to be.

Spare some pity for the S.O. It turns out one reason I wasn't the most ambitious person on the planet was hypothyroidism. When I went for the annual physical in early summer and had lab work done for the usual wide range of stuff doctors like to test for, the TSH results fell, as we medical editors like to say, "outside the reference range." (Why use two words - "not normal" - when you can use four instead?) My body wasn't producing enough of whatever it's supposed to produce, which resulted in a slowed metabolism. Symptoms of hypothyroidism include weight gain, stiff joints, fatigue, weak muscles, and a whole host of other things that the average person files under "Fuck. I'm getting old." Blood work gets repeated; results still show Not Normal. So my primary care physician prescribes levothyroxine sodium, aka Synthroid. Being a cautious person, one of those rare physicians who believes most allopaths tend to over-prescribe drugs, she starts me off at an extremely low dose.

Thirty days later, blood work shows the TSH is back within the reference range. That low dosage is apparently sufficient. All is good, although I still feel (as far as I can tell) exactly the same. Both my PCP and the nurses ask if I'm feeling more energetic. Nope. Still as lazy as ever. I step on the scale. Everyone is expecting me to have lost weight because that's usually the first and most noticeable effect of taking Synthroid (there is a minor black market in the stuff because some people want to use it as a weight loss drug). I've gained three pounds. Everyone kind of shakes their head. Obviously, I'm not the typical patient.

Well, it took another month or two, but the increased energy has kicked in. I'm sleeping less, I'm feeling more ambitious, and generally, as the old saying goes, am full of piss and vinegar. Only one problem: the more ambitious I feel, the longer the honey do list grows. I have lots and lots of ideas and projects I want to tackle and almost all of them require the S.O.'s participation. We need to fill the second woodshed before serious snow gets here! Guess who has to man the chainsaw? We need to clean out the barn loft! Guess who has to be on the ground receiving whatever gets handed down? And so it goes. . . even my sewing projects somehow end up with the S.O. getting dragged in. I'm feeling great, getting up at oh dark thirty and baking pies. The S.O. is beginning to look just a tad frazzled. Not that we've actually done most of the stuff on the list yet, but I think he's worried that we actually will.