After such a fiasco with the clinic doctor, I was so discouraged. I stopped my search for about a week or so. I had to take the lowered dose that I was given. What choice did I have? I did have some of my regular dose saved up, but those wouldn't last very long, and if there was no way for me to get that dose again, I had to find a way to live with the lowered dose. So I took the lowered dose and every day it seemed like I was just watching my life disappear. Slowly, as I adapted to the lowered dose, I was awake less and less, my body started to hurt literally from head to toe. My hair hurt, broke off, fell out. But the pain quickly became excruciating. Just lifting my arm would make me scream out in pain and cry. One day I couldn't bear it any longer. I called my husband and asked him to take me to the hospital ER. I felt hope that the doctor there would do my blood tests and give me back my regular thyroid dose. In the meantime they hooked me up to an IV with pain medication in it. Morphine maybe? I don't remember. My blood tests came back, and in 10 days of lowering my meds, my TSH went up almost 2 whole points. Still, the doctor decided to give me 500mg oxycodone plus an anti-inflammatory, rather than adding 12.5mcg of my thyroid medication. Why is that? I'm trying to find logic in this. Give a highly addictive narcotic with side effects of depression, possibility of suicide, to someone with Hashimoto's disease including a high incidence of depression, INSTEAD of adding a very small dose of thyroid medication they were already on and IN WRITING by a specialist who had treated the patient for 4 years. How can that be? He actually gave me enough medication to kill myself. He's lucky I didn't do it because I admit it crossed my mind. At certain parts of the day that was all I ever thought about. Being in excruciating pain with absolutely no end in sight, option is being stoned AND in pain? No contest.
Turns out I didn't take the oxycodone. I couldn't make myself to do it. I did, however, take the anti-inflammatory. Which worked well enough for me to be able to get out of bed. Still in pain though. But this wasn't a solution. I had to find a doctor.
So I started phoning around again. Only this time I phone hospitals. And I begged. I told whoever answered the phone about my Hashimoto's disease and asked if they knew anyone who would take me - just me. After about an hour on the phone, the sun came out. One nurse said she knew a doctor who was going to be taking new patients in the next month or two, and she gave me his number. I thanked her profusely and then made the call. All of a sudden I was on the waiting list and they would call me with an appointment! Relief! I could finally start taking my little stash of my regular dose! I counted the pills, and found I had enough to get me to my appointment with my new doctor. All that was left was the waiting. Waiting to see if he would do the same as the one in the clinic. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.