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"Let's Vaporize It."

I had my 6 month check up today with my endocrinologist.

First of all, can I just say I really like my doctor? Like, this guy knows his shit. And he listens. AND TAKES NOTES. So all through my appointment he was asking me about symptoms I had only briefly mentioned during our initial consultation. Things I had completely forgotten about. Because, you know, brain tumor.

So here's the update. Since I know that's what you're all really here for.

The tumor is responding as it should. My prolactin levels continue to drop. My thyroid is a red hot mess, though. So I get to start hypothyroidism treatment next (hurray!).

We talked about my diet and activity level. Since January I've been on a very customized weightlifting program. Heavy weights, lifted slowly, 4-5 days a week. I started balancing my macros about 8 weeks ago. I'm down 18.5 pounds. Which sounds really great, but the cabergoline had caused me to gain 15 in the first month of taking it. I showed the doctor my progress pictures over the past 18 weeks and ranted my frustration in the lack of progress. It's not that it's nonexistent. the progress exists! It is just very, very, sloooooow.

Then he told me that I might not lose weight at all during treatment.

What's that now?

Yeah, he said what I'm really doing is fighting a 100 pound weight gain.


And this treatment could last 2 years.

So that's cool. I'll keep working my ass off and have very little to show for it. Cooooool.

But he's impressed with my diligence. My heart, lungs, and blood pressure are that of an athlete. Perhaps in two years when I can stop treatment, I'll finally see some decent progress.

Oh yes, that's right, there's that pesky thyroid thing I'll have to deal with for the rest of my life. Maybe the medicine will help with weight, but it might not.

What does this leave me with?


I will keep eating healthy and stick with my weightlifting because I LOVE HOW I FEEL. I will do everything in my power to give my body the best possible chance. I mean, it's the only one I've got so I might as well treat it like I love it.

I have answers. I have REAL, measurable, documented answers for ALL the things I've been experiencing. And yeah, maybe people will always look at me a little side-eyed when I tell them I love working out and eating healthy. Maybe no will ever believe me (God knows my GP doesn't. Thanks for the obesity pamphlets, doc. I'm on it.) that I really am busting my ass every single day. I don't have the body to prove it.

But who do I need to prove it to?

My kid watches me as I squat and deadlift and all the other wonderful heavy things I do. He sees me try. He sees me never give up. And really, that's what's important. He'll grow up knowing his mom never stopped even when the odds were stacked against her. I never gave up even when I had nothing to show for it. And I hope he applies that to his own life experiences.

And despite the fatigue and the brain fog, I keep writing. It's my dream/goal/yearning. I fight for every word. I spend hours turning those words into paragraphs and then chapters. Slowly, carefully, deliberately.

I hope someday, when my child gets to a point in his own pursuit of happiness, that he remembers the parts where I didn't stop. And I hope it gives him the push he needs to keep going as well. I hope he remembers the joy in the journey and the satisfaction in the doing.

I hope he remembers I was brave.

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