("Did you say 'hello'?"
"No, I said ''allo'!")
Right, then. We're going beyond treating the symptom, and getting aggressive about finding the cause; she took one look at me and basically said, "Okay, that ain't right."
I have been interrogated and palpated. It has been verified that really, my thyroid's fine.
Her: "Okay, you just had your thyroid tested in August."
Me: "And I hear it takes six months to a year to go bad - but people poke me 'bout every three months anyway!"
Her: "Well, we really want it to be your thyroid. Because that would explain all of the symptoms and be easily treatable. We like it to be tidy like that!"
So. Seriously, dudes. Not the thyroid.
I have had eight vials of blood pulled; among other things, she's testing me for celiac disease, a gluten intolerance. Which is sense-making, actually, being as I was allergic to wheat as a teenager and am very allergic to MSG.
And also I am to have a chest/abdomen/pelvic CT scan, to rule out a tumor. She didn't feel anything funky when she was palpating me, but we're in the ruling-everything-out stage.
The CT scan, if unhelpful, will be followed by *wince* upper and lower GIs to rule out digestive malfunction, and I swear I could go my entire life without drinking or shitting barium ever again, dammit.
I am to report to her office in two weeks for a weigh-in and to look over the results of the CT scan.
For those of you who care about food-logging: My phlebotomist was way ready for lunch when she stuck me, and kept rhapsodizing about McDonald's fries - so lunch is two cheeseburgers, a medium fry, and a chocolate shake, thankyouverymuch. *nod* Eight fucking vials. And they were all the big vials. I deserve crappy food.