When I started college, I was challenged by my honors program director to do this one thing: “Don’t go back to the dorm between classes—stay out on campus!” The goal was for me to meet new people; discover my go-to spots; and overall, acclimate to the place I would call home for the next four years. After hearing that inspirational advice, I spent my first year at college in two places: class, and bed.
It’s not that I didn’t want to be out experiencing stomach cramps from a Richie’s coffee at 8 a.m. or going on dates with frat pledges that showed their entire camera roll to a girl upon the first meeting. I did—I wanted all those very normal, very Temple experiences. But for a reason I couldn’t quite pinpoint, my body always dragged me back to my twin XL.
Throughout the day, my head and muscles felt heavy and sore—something I hadn’t experienced since running cross country in high school. And I was not doing an 8-mile practice before Advertising 101…. I noticed that I would get out of breath quicker than normal and feel fatigued no matter how much sleep I got the night before. When I did get the chance to go out with friends or to a party, I always needed twice as much recovery time as them to feel decent again.
I had heard dozens of comments from my roommate at the time, asking why I didn’t leave the room or if I didn’t have friends. My response to that? None—I was too busy googling my symptoms and wondering if I’d have to take those medications that Hulu advertised to me between episodes of The Bear. Eventually, I called my mom and told her how I had been feeling.
As soon as I landed in my hometown, I went to my primary care doctor to get a blood test—and then another, and then another. The results? My thyroid is f*cked.
I was officially diagnosed with hypothyroidism, meaning my thyroid gland was unable to produce enough thyroid hormone, resulting in the aforementioned muscle pain, fatigue, and headaches. When I heard the doctor say it, I was relieved. This meant I could get on the right medication, and I would be fixed in no time at all.
Unfortunately, I missed the mark by a couple yards. I was completely unprepared for the experimenting with dosages, the changes I had to make to my diet, and the other symptoms that started piling on. At first, I noticed my face was a little rounder than normal. Ok, so maybe I should have kept up that gua sha routine. Nope—turns out, a puffy face is another symptom of hypothyroidism. When I started pulling clumps of my hair out in the shower, I thought I needed to stop brushing so hard and use a hair mask. Nope—turns out, hair loss is another symptom of hypothyroidism.
Even with my medication, I felt like I couldn’t escape the maniacal laughter of my illness. I was getting regularly tested in case a autoimmune disease cropped up alongside it (very common apparently); and I of course had to have the smallest veins known to man, meaning at least three pokes at every blood draw.
This all sounds very depressing, which it was. But, the good part about knowing what exactly was wrong was that I could actually begin making a plan to feel better. I started being more aware of what foods I ate, steering away from longer shelf lives; I started exercising again at a pace and capacity I was comfortable with; and most importantly, I was honest with my doctor about how I was feeling and what I needed.
If I could give one piece of advice to any college-aged girl struggling with a pesky mystery illness, it would be: you’re not crazy and you’re not making it up. The sooner you can be forthcoming about your struggles and symptoms, the sooner you’ll get the answers you need. Don’t let anyone try to make you feel weak or small for admitting you feel unwell.
Of course, I still have bad days with my illness, but I have learned to manage it in a much more productive and thoughtful manner than before. And although my hypothyroidism threw a wrench in a few of my college plans, it wasn’t strong enough to even scratch the bigger picture. I ace all my classes, I work multiple jobs, I run several clubs, I spend time with my friends, I go on dates, and I explore the city often. I also regularly get poked at by nurses trying to find a vein, save screenshots of my benign thyroid nodule ultrasounds, and have an extensive knowledge of levothyroxine side effects. Overall, my diagnosis forced me to learn twice as much as I previously thought I would in college.