Kimopolis

Lindsey, aka Malibu Beach Barbie

Today was my second day of physical therapy. After the whole back spasm ordeal, I needed some rehabilitating in a MAJOR way.

My physical therapist is everything you don’t want in a PT. She’s cute, blonde, thin, tan, and, if she was a doll, she’d be Malibu Beach Barbie. I hate her.* I know that seems harsh, but you didn’t have to stand next to her today in front of a giant wall-to-ceiling mirror while she made you use the Reformer. Actually, it was the stretching afterward that really solidified my deep loathing of this perky, petit woman.

You see, when I got dressed this morning, I decided to wear my khaki green shirt to bring out the green in my eyes. I thought I looked pretty snazzy, if I do say so myself. Cut to me standing next to MBB and resembling, for all intents and purposes, a giant COCKTAIL OLIVE. If I had been wearing a red hat, the look would’ve been complete. In fact, I think I may have just accidentally stumbled onto my Halloween costume.

Now, I know I am pleasantly plump, and I am working on being less so. However, I had no idea I was a BLIMP. A tub of lard. A fatso. Well, at least when standing next to MBB. Remind me not to EVER do that again.

So, then a few minutes ago, I called Dr. Field (the alchemist) to find out what my blood test results from last week revealed. As it turns out, the medication I have been using forever to control my hypothyroidism is non-existent in my body. Not even trace amounts showed up in my labs. How is that possible, you ask? I’m not a doctor! I have no idea!

Basically, a pill that I have taken religiously since I was 15 hasn’t been doing it’s job, and it’s job is a very important one…among other things, it keeps my metabolism up so I can actually eat more than a Triscuit and not gain a pound. No WONDER I am a so fat! I might as well have been popping a Tic Tac every morning instead.

And this is not news to me, since I’ve been telling every doctor I’ve ever had that there’s something wrong with my body and it holds onto every single calorie I ingest for dear life. Have they listened? No. Have they drawn blood and done extra tests? Yes. But apparently no one knows how to read those tests because they have been inaccurate for God knows how long. BASTARDS!

The good news is I have new medication to replace the defective one. The bad news is I have to wait 3-4 weeks to see if it actually works. And then have MORE blood drawn, wait for those test results, and cross my fingers the new stuff shows up. If not, then I get to try ANOTHER new medication and the cycle starts again. It’s a DRUG ROLLER COASTER, which is not as much fun as it sounds.

All I have to say is thank God I had a debilitating back spasm or I might never have known my Synthroid wasn’t working. Yeah, thanks, God. *rolls eyes*

*I don’t really hate you, Lindsey. I just wish you’d gain 50 pounds. I’m just sayin’…

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