Chopped Off Fingers, Jagged Arm Bones and Writer in Demand Again.

I was still in Deposit Services when this happened. We had a dog at that time. I came home from work one day in 1992 and my three children bounded about me at once each saying, "We're getting a dog."

"We are?"

"Yes, mommy said we're getting a dog."

This was a total surprise. We had some cats, Christine, Tigger and Annie, a group which would grow, but no dog. I had grown up with dogs always around, but my wife never had a dog. And she complained often about the backing of a neighbor's pooch. But she came out and said it was true, she thought the kids should have a dog.

I xhanged and was hustled out the door sown to the shelter on A Street in Wilmington, The Humane Association. We ambled through the kennels and there was this little yellow lab puppy. How did a yellow lab puppy end up in a shelter. His name was Tucker and we adopted him.

My wife had promised she would care for the beast, take him on walk, whatever. You know how that worked out. He was very energetic and she did walk him, but as he grew she came home one day and said she couldn't handle him. From then on I became the dog walker.

He was a very good dog, very smart. In one day he was housebroke. Even on his walks he would not squat and leave any pile behind. I never had to carry plastic bags and a scoop. He would go nowhere but our backyard. The bad part of this is when on a walk, if he had to go, he would race for home dragging me along.

One Saturday morning I took him out for a walk, as usual, but this proved unusual. Somehow the handle on the storm/screen door cut into my left index finger as we left. As was typical, Tucker took off, but my finger was hung on the door. Blood was flowing. I mangered to pull Tucker back and inside the house, but the damage was done. There was a deep cut three quarters of a way around the meatier part of my finger. I looked at it and wondered, "What is this white stuff?"

The white stuff was the bone. The flesh of my finger had been pulled around a quarter inch up on the bone and the flesh was bunch up near above the knuckle. I pushed the flesh back down over my exposed bone realizing if that bone had broken most of my finger would have been lsying out on the stoop.

I went looking though the hall closet for a bandage, but we didn't have any, so I drove to an ACME Market that was about a mile from us then. It isn't there anymore. Total Wine, where my son works, is in the building now. In the first aid row I picked up some gauze and adhesive tape. I had a paper towel wrapped about my bloody finger. At the checkin, the lady before me, who said she was a nurse, was concerned. She said I should go to the emergency ward and get it stitched.

I hadn't the time. I had promised the kids I would take them to Longwood Gardens that day to see these giant insect statues that were on temporary display. I went home, wrapped some guaze about the wound and then the adhesive tape. At Longwood, Darryl said I was bleeding. I had brought the stuff with me, so I rewrapped my finger as we walked.

The gauze was a bad idea. The next morning the guaze was all semi-healed in the wound and I had to pull it out, thus opening everything up again. What to do? I got the cardboard roll from some toilet paper and cut it down to finger size. Taped a lid on one end and then taped this over my finger to protect it. It was amazing how many times I bumped that finger over the next few weeks.

I could remove my shield and look down into the wound and see things moving inside. I think it was the nerves and flesh and all healing. It took about a month before I could discard the cardboard sleeve. By that time it had healed over, except for the scar. The finger became super sensitive then. If I ran my fingertip along my jaw, my whiskers felt large and like a wire brush. Everything I touched was magnified. I wondered if this feeling would ever go away. It eventually did. I've never been able to bend that finger down to my palm ever since. Oddly, I got arthritis in my right hand some years later and I can't ben that finger either. It was like it was impersonating the injured left.

In 1995 my middle child, Noelle, was in middle school at Talley. I get a phone call about mid-morning one day. The lady introduced herself as the school nurse.

"Just be calm," she said, "there is nothing to get upset about..."

Now you know when someone starts this way that there is something to be upset about.

"Your Daughter, Noelle, broke her arm in gym. We called an ambulance and sent her to Christiana Hospital."

I left work, got Lois and we went to the hospital. Noelle was in the Truama Area. We were led back to her, where a doctor was working on her arm. He had given her a shot of morphine. Noelle was sitting calmly on the cot watching everything the doctor did. She didn't cry or even go ow. She was stoic. In those years she wanted to be a surgeon. She had a collection of operations on VCH tapes that she would watch.

They then took her right out to an operation room. She had a three hour operation to piece back her

arm. She had broken both the radius and the ulna a few inches below the elbow. The ends of the breaks and pieced out her skin, so this was a compound fracture. They had been doing fitness tests in the gym. One consisted of running from one wall to another the length of the room. Noelle apparently pushed against the wall to stop and her one forearm snapped. The gym teacher was across the room and said she clearly heard the snap, it was very loud. Noelle had then walked out to the nurses office on her own, holding her arm, and saying to the nurse, "I think I have a problem here." They then called the ambulance.

This caused me some hassles later. I had a good health coverage on the family, but it did have networks. The ambulance company the school called was not apporved by Blue Cross/Blue Shield and I received a ridiculously high bill of several hundred dollars from the particular company. I finally got a write-off because I argued I didn't call them, the school did. This injury in Junior High almost interfered with her joining the Army later. The photo was taken on a trip we took to Gettysburg, the cast was off by then, but a brace was still taped on her left arm for a good while longer.

1995 might have been a rough year medically, but it did get me writing professionally again. The internet was still fairly new to the public. A popular use in those years was Chat Rooms. They were bad in the beginning. You choose Chat Rooms to enter based on interests. I was in some Christian Chat Rooms and eventually talked about writing. A contact I made in the room was with a Repertoire Theater Group in Florida and they contacted me about writing a play for them.

I write a play called, "Leslie in the Lyons' Den". It was a modern day take on "Daniel in the Lion's
Den". It dealt with a character named Leslie (a name I chose because the part could be played by a male or female actor) who worked in a business office. Leslie was then faced with being asked to do things that were not right by the tyrannical boss, Mr. Lyons. Leslie was faced with her Christianity morals verses holding on to her job and also facing ridicule. The troupe was called "Hearts of Tampa" and they added my play to there repertoire.

In 1996, I was also asked my to write a Radio Ad for their host organization to promote their group, which I also did. It was called "Hotlong". I had done a couple radio ads back in the 1960's for the Knight Corporation that published the Philadelphia Inquirer and Daily News.

It was probably good I returned to writing in 1995, because it came just before the big change in my job situation.

HEARTS OF TAMPA BAY RADIO PROMO

by

Larry Eugene Meredith

Lawyer: (Very rapidly, somewhat monotone) The Heart of Tampa Bay is a Christian networking organization meeting every third Tuesday at the Colony Motel with guest speakers.  Options include job networking.  This is a promotion of Christian ideals in the work place. Not a member of the FDIC.

Announcer: Whoa, there.  What was that?

Lawyer: I'm your lawyer and that was your legal disclosure.

Announcer: Legal disclosure?  We're not a bank or auto dealer. We're a Christian Networking Organization that gets together to job network and discuss ways to promote Christian Ideals in the workplace.

We are called the Heart of Tampa Bay and meet every third Tuesday of the month at the Colony Hotel...Do you know where that is?

Lawyer: Ah...no.

Announcer: We meet every third Tuesday at the Colony Hotel at (fill in address.) where we have a guest speaker and our discussions.

Lawyer: So, if I am interested in networking from a Christian perspective I should contact The Heart of Tampa Bay?

Announcer: Yes, (give information telephone number if there is one).

Announcer: (Rapidly, somewhat monotone.)  The Heart of Tampa Bay is a Christian networking organization meeting every third Tuesday at the Colony Motel.  Lawyers are welcome.

Lawyer: What was that?

Jagged Bones and Yellow Eyes and becoming a Big Shortchanged

Back in 1992 something happened I haven't mentioned. That shows how impressed I was by it. In mid-October I was named an Officer of the Bank; Operations Officer to be exact. My title was now Bank Operations Officer, Operations, Methods and Project Manager, a bit overly long and redundant. My Officer designation would change over the years: Operations Officer, Retail Officer, Financial Officer and I finished out as a Marketing Officer.

Being named a Bank Officer was considered quite the honor. Personally I could never take it all that seriously. I told people the benefits of being an officer were:

I got to go to a boring quarterly meeting with all the other officers to hear announced what we usually already knew. This required going to the Gold Room at the Hotel Dupont in the late afternoon after normal hours. A cocktail party was held immediately after the meeting with plenty of free booze. I hated cocktail parties and avoided them like the plaque. I was not a particularly good schmoozer and I had no taste for standing about gulping down cocktails. I am surprised half our officer corps weren't wiped out in DUI accidents following these meetings.

I got my picture in a whole bunch of different newspapers.

I was able to sign certain transaction. This proved a real nuisance. People in the office were required

to obtain an officer's signature on many of the transactions they wrote. I became a prime signer for these clerks because I tended to be more available. There were a lot of these mundane slips, too many to read. Heaven knows what I was signing for. I just hoped no one was slipping their car payments in there.

This did give me the right to eat in the Officer's Dining Room, meaning I could pay more for basically the same meals served in the Cafeteria. I wasn't going to go to the Officer's Dining Room. It was located in downtown Wilmington, by Rodney Square, in the headquarters; my office (pictured right) was in the Wilmington Trust Plaza in the New Castle Corporate Commons. We were behind the Wilmington Airport and the Air National Guard. I would have hd to drive up I-95 and back to eat there and the drive would have cost me my lunch hour.







There is always a certain pattern to each year. On March 1, 1994 came Laurel's birthday.  It was hard to believe that this was the year she turned 16. This meant she might be riding horses today, but she might be driving cars tomorrow. In the picture, with her cake, is Laurel and her brother, Darryl. I stand between them, what shows of me. I really wasn't feeling well that day.

We had Easter dinner at the Spring City Hotel in 1994, my parents paying for us all.
April 20 was opening day of Little League season. Darryl had been drafted by the Orioles, which was the same name as his first team when he was in the instructional league. Mark Tracy was the manager. I was on the team as the bench coach and record keeper. One of the other coaches went out and bought everyone on the team an official Baltimore Orioles cap. Some of the league officials were upset with this, but we wore the caps all season. The coach on the left is the one who did this. Mark Tracy, Sr., the manager, is the second adult from the left. I'm the guy all in dark clothes on the far right. Darryl is the second boy standing to my right and I believe that is ark TracyJr., his right.

I believe that was the year started playing first base. He also pitched, but he didn't like that position.

He had come into his own batting the year before. Now he was up near the top not only on the team, but also in the league, for average. He was very fast, so could often stretch a hit into an extra base and was always a steal threat. He became our best power hitter, something Mark TracyJr., better known as.

Darryl gave me one of my biggest thrills this year. We were behind the Tigers by 2 runs in the ninth. They were contending for the playoffs. We had two outs and one of our players on base. MarkJr., at the plate. The Tiger manager told his pitcher to walk Mark to get to Darryl. You never saw this in Little League, any intentional walk. I never understood what that manager was thinking. Darryl not only had the top average on the team, he also led in homers, which is exactly what he did then, hit a homer to left field, driving in 3 runs. We won the game and that lose put the Tigers out of the playoffs.

Right after the season ended, one of the coaches held a swim party for the team at his home on June 17.  It was a Friday evening. We left the party and headed home later in the evening. I had the car radio on and we were startled by a strange story. The football player and actor, O. J. Simpson, was in a slow motion police chase on a Los Angeles Freeway.

We didn't live far from the swim party and were home in minutes. We rushed inside where the TV was following this very surreal slow-motion chase of a white Bronco, slike a scene from the "Twilight  Zone".


Speaking of surreal moments, back on April 21, the day after baseball season began, I was at the work when I received a phone call.

"Mr. Meredith?"

"Yes."

"This is the school nurse at Noelle's school. Don't panic."

Now when the nurse of your child's school calls and says, "Don't panic", you know it is time to panic.

"Noelle fell in Gym and broke her arm. We have sent her to the hospital in Wilmington. Everything is fine."

Really, everything is fine?  I told my boss, went home, picked up Lois and we went into the hospital.
Noelle had been taken back to a trauma room in the emergency center. The doctor and nurses were cleaning up her wound and Noelle was watching everything they did to her with rapt interest. At that time, she was 13, she talked about becoming a surgeon. She had a number of VHS tapes in her room of operations. She was a very stoic girl; although, I am sure the morphine they were giving her helped.

She hadn't actually fallen. They were doing fitness exercises in gym and were running from one end and back to the other. When she had reached the far wall she put her arms out to slow herself and when she hit the wall they said you could hear the bone snap clear on the other side. The impact broke both the ulna and the radius and the ragged bone ends were sticking out through her skin, which is what makes this a compound fracture.

It was a very serious break and she required a couple operations to piece the bones back together. She was put in a cast. She couldn't go to school as the Doctor had to keep checking her arm. She was finally alloed to return to classes on May 9. In the meantime she had a tutor who came to the house. Four months later, when we took a trip to Gettysburg in August, she was still forced to wear a brace on her arm.

At least it makes it easy to pick her out in the photograph. Laurel is to Noelle's left and Darryl traits along on her right.

The day after Noelle was told she could go back to school, I was at the eye doctor being informed I had cataracts. My right eye was the worse and needed surgery. The left could wait a while. It took a time to schedule the surgery. In-between life continued. On the 15 of May, Laurel (left) competed in an Ice Skating contest at the Wilmington Ice Rink. She was taking skating lessons that year. She did okay and didn't break anything.

In August we all went with my parents to the Rough & Tumble Museum in Kinder, Pa. This is a museum of antique farm machinery and once a year they have a big carnival-like affair called "Rough & Tumble Days" (right).


The Wilson Family Reunion was held the last Sunday of August, as usual, at Cousin Horace Wilson's Farm. There were 28 attending. Either the family is shrinking are people are losing interest. It was  more the latter. The patriarchs were dying off and the younger generation was that into it.

On Halloween I went to work as the "World's Ugliest Playboy Bunny".


I had my cataract surgery on November 14. I was quite nervous about it. I mean, this was my eye and they were going to cut it.

Preparation took much longer than the procedure. I was there a couple hours while nurses dripped drops in my right eye to numb it. It was also scary knowing I would be awake for this whole business. Finally they wheeled me to the operating room. I was placed face up on the table. There was a large bright light shining in my face.
The doctor, who I could not see, told me to relax and I would not feel anything but a pit of pressure. Not only was the doctor a disembodied voice, so were the nurses. I could see nothing but the bright light above. I saw nothing of the operation.

First the put a big metal clamp on me that held my eye wide open. The doctor made a small incision in my eyeball, went in and pulled out the cataract and my natural lens. He then put an artificial lens in. That was the only time I felt the pressure he had mentioned. There were stitches, but they were of the self-dissolving kind. The whole thing took about 15 minutes.

They slapped a pair of big, dark sunglasses on me and sent me home.

Wow! At home I was able to remove the sunglasses and what a difference. The colors seen with my right eye were so vibrant and also different. I walked about the house closing one eye, then the other to see the comparison. It was like when Dorothy walks out of the black and white scene into the technicolor of Oz. I looked at the dining room table and discovered the tablecloth was a pretty blue. I always thought it was green. You see, cause I sure did, the cataracts are yellowish and they give a dull yellow accent to the world. The yellow of the cataract had turned the blue tablecloth to green.

We went to a restaurant for Thanksgiving, not to my parents or with them. Christmas was at our house and my parents came down. I know they were disappointed me wanted to have a separate Thanksgiving. I think they were disappointed on Christmas as well. Lois had roast beef and Cornish Game Hens for dinner. My mom would have preferred the traditional turkey dinner.

Thinks were changing, and next year would see a lot.

Thyroid, Thy have the Soul of a Demon

Back in those long-ago days, our development had its own community pool. It was a very nice one, L-shaped, Olympian-Sized. I had taken a family membership and my kids learned to dive there. It had a separate wading pool for little waddling, toddler kids, a snack bar, changing rooms and a shower.  (Left, Noelle venturing into the community pool.)

When I first joined cost was reasonable, but each year they raised the membership fee until it got too high and I dropped out. It must have been too

high for a lot of people and less went there until after a couple years more they closed it. A few more years passed and then the beautiful pool disappeared. It was totally broken up and hauled away, the hole filled, covered with dirt and turf and some playground equipment. Today it is only a small park and playground (right) and by this year 2017 probably a lot of residents don’t know a swimming pool had ever existed here. There are some people of Indian descent who go to the park in the summer and play cricket where once was sparkling blue water. 

Anyway, in 1989 I had a family membership to the pool and would take the kids down for swimming several times in the summer. (Left, Laurel jumping into the pool.) Lois only went one or two times. Like most situations where other people might be found in clusters, she avoided this one, too. During this summer 1989 I began experiencing a lot of muscle cramps, not just in my legs, but all over my body. There were some real terrible ones that clamped across my chest. Sometimes my face even cramped up. Was it caused by the cold water? I didn’t know, but I didn’t like it.

Beside these cramps, which continued to attack me even after swimming season ended, I experienced double vision that autumn. I would be watching television and there would be two screens, one just above the other. Not only that, but I could hardly stand to keep my eyes open outdoors. The sunlight caused me to suffer pain in my eyes. Even more annoying, it felt like I had sand under my lids.  I went to my ophthalmologist for an exam. He told me there was nothing wrong with my eyes, but double vision could indicate something else was going on in my body. He suggested I see my family physician. The fsmily physician, naturally, sent me to a specialist, this time an endocrinologist, a gland doctor.

Once more I was getting blood tests and also sent off to the hospital for several untrasounds. The results came back and he told me I had hyperthyroidism.

 

“But I have hypothyroidism,” I told him.

“You had,” he corrected. “You now have hyperthyroidism. It is rare, but sometimes hypo does jump to hyper. I see about 1 case a year.” He also explained to me that the disease usually strikes after the age of 50. I wasn’t there yet. He went on telling me it was way more common in women than men, 5 to 8 times as common. Oh, joy, why do I always beat the odds and get these things. It never seems to work that way on the lottery!

Besides the hyperthyroidism, I had Graves’ Disease. This was why I felt like there was sand in

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my eyes, as well as my sensitivity to light. Graves’ Disease causes an inflammatory reaction in the eye muscles and they swell. This swelling having nowhere to go due to the bone structure around them will begin pushing the eyes from the sockets giving one a protruding eye appearance. My eyes were pushed out enough that my eyelids could not completely close when I was asleep. Your eyelids lubricate the eyes, but with mine being partially open all night, my eyes dried out, thus the feeling of sand. (Left, with Noelle.)

The light sensitivity was gradually growing worse. It got so bad I was driving to work with one eye closed and a hand over my open eye and I was just peeking through the slit between my fingers. Not just the bright sunlight was a problem. Overhead lights, such as we had at work, were a problem. I had to take to wearing a baseball cap indoors and out.

Nothing else helped. Sunglasses did me no good, the light just went over the top. I did have to have that visor of a baseball cap to shade my eyes. Still, my eyes were so sensitive I was in constant pain and having difficulty seeing. I was sent to another lab where I underwent a CTScan of my head. I was pushed into a bulbous contraption that twisted and turned and made a lot of noise. I pretended it was an amusement park ride. It took all these images inside my skull. I told them they wouldn’t find anything in there.

I was going to the Lab for blood work twice a week as the doctor sought what medication

might help me. As to my eyes, he put me on a steroid called prednisone. Now this steroid made the lower half of my face and my neck sell up. My neck was getting larger and my eyes were popping out. I was turning into a frog.

Prednisone was not a very great

thing to be on and I could only take it for six weeks. It changed my personality, as well as turning me into a monster physically. It made me feel angry most of the time. I easily snapped, threw things, even cursed for the first time in my life. I went to the Concord Mall one day and while walking across the parking lot I believed a driver came too close to me. I began running after his car, yelling and screaming. That was certainly not like me.

I couldn’t continue to chase cars because my muscles were getting so week from the Hyperthyroidism it was becoming difficult to stand up let alone run. The doctor decided to take me off the prednisone. The steroid was not having any positive effect on my eyes bulging out anyway. He sent me to another specialist, a radiologist at Christiana Care Hospital.

This doctor had a strong German accent. He told me he was going to have to give me radiation treatment.

“Do not let it vorry you, Mister Meredith. It may cause cataracts…but ve can remove cataracts. It could give you skin cancer…but ve can cure skin cancer. So, Mister Meredith, you have nothing to vorry about. It is perfectly safe.”

I was scheduled for treatment in early February 1990. First I had to go a week ahead for the technicians to do measurements on my face. They laid me on this table under this giant machine and began to map out where I would be zapped. They target dots and drew a grid on my face with orange marker connecting the dots. I was told I couldn’t wash or shower my face until after the procedure, so for the next couple of weeks I had to walk around with this odd mask of lines on my countenance. Maybe today with so many people getting their face tattooed with odd designs it would be shrugged off, but this was 1990, nearly 30 years ago and tattoos had not made a social splash yet. I just looked like some kind of weirdo. Or maybe a Super Hero, Orange-Faced Man!

To compound matters, I was one of the Bank’s representatives to ACES. I believe the acronym stood for “American Commercial Enterprise System”. It was a program for teachers where they could pick up continuing educational credits. The teachers would visit a number of local businesses over several weeks, a different one each week. They would be shown around and the operations would be explained. Wilmington Trust had about five managers from different departments of the company who would lecture about their area. I represented deposit operations.

The teachers loved coming to the Bank more than any other business they visited. Why? It was because Wilmington Trust had this place called the Rodney Square Club. It was very exclusive. People paid an annual membership to belong to what was essentially a restaurant located on the top floor of our headquarters. Actually, the kitchen doubled for the Executive Dining Room, located on the same floor behind a separating wall.  When the teachers came, after the lectures, we took them up to the club for a free meal. That was nice because it meant a free meal for we speakers as well.

I did feel a bit awkward because the week I got the orange grid work across my face was the week we met with a new batch of teachers.

In the beginning of February, I was down to Christiana Care Radiation Department for

treatment every day. I was ushered into a large, sterile room that looked like the scene from some science fiction movie. A table/bed was the only furniture I remember. It was in the center of the space. Above was this large piece of equipment. The technicians got me centered on the table and spent a few minutes lining up the end of the thing with the grid drawn upon me. Finally, I was told everything was perfectly safe, just not to move. Then they all ran out of the room and hid behind a barricade. Boy, didn’t that build confidence.

Have you ever noticed when warned you must not move how quickly you develop the need to scratch your nose or something?

The contraption did the trick as far as the swelling was concerned. The muscles grew smaller and my eyes receded back into the sockets; although, my right eye has always remained protruding a bit further than it should.

Even though I was looking a little more normal I still had the light sensitivity and the pain from that. It was so great that I was in constant misery. I couldn’t even sleep at night. I had to take a medical leave from work. I could not stand any light at all. I couldn’t even look at TV. Finally, all I could do was sit on the living room sofa with a blanket over my head to keep out any light. It hardly mattered. The hyperthyroidism had weakened my muscles to the point it was an effort to stand up or walk.

My parents were down for Laurel’s 12^th birthday (Left). I’m sure I was a lot of fun, hiding as I was beneath a blanket.
  I could hardly stand sitting about the house any more. I decided to take a chance on escaping back into the world. Even though I was very weak and wobbly I saw no harm in taking a little ride. Lois had the one car and was at work. I had this old Chevy Corvette I used. I took it and drove down what was called the Washington Street Extension. I turned around in the entrance to Rockwood Museum Park and headed home, except I hadn’t gone far when the car ran out of gas.

What do I do now? In 1990, the cell phone was still not very available on a wide basis. I certainly didn’t have CB radio in the car. I decided my best bet was to walk somewhere and get some gas, if I could manage to walk at all.

Well, I did. I walked out to Philadelphia Pike where there were some gas stations and other stores. I needed something to carry the gas in so I walked until I found an auto parts store and bought a 5-galleon gas can. I then walked back the way I had come to a gas station. It was self-serve at some pumbs, but you had to pay inside. I went in to the office to a counter. There were two women operating the station. I purchased a couple galleons and went out to pump it into the can.

I got the nozzle over the opening in the can, but I had to kind of squat down to do it, since I had to set the can on the ground. My legs had it by this time.  I began to do a knee bend and plop! I fell back onto my rump. I looked around. I figured those women were probably dialing the police about then. “Officer, we got some guy out here we think he’s drunk. He sprawled on the ground and he’s tryin’ to fill a gas can. Looks dangerous to us.”

No cops showed up. I managed to get to my feet with my can and somehow made it back to my car and poured it in the tank. I made it home, but knew I wouldn’t be making any more spur-of-the-moment jaunts for a while.
I felt miserable the entire month of March. On March 30 I was still home from work and suffering.

My parents came down on Easter. We went out to dinner at Schmacker’s Restaurant. My mom said I looked terrible. I certainly felt terrible.

My doctor decided my thyroid was not going to improve. The only alternate was to do it in. I came into his office and his nurse gave me a cup of poison to drink. I gulped it down. This was a radioactive iodine cocktail. Its purpose was to kill that nasty old thyroid that had revolted against me.  It worked and I suffered no side effects from it.

By May 6, I was feeling better and I continued to return to my old self after that. The every few days to the lab to get blood tests gradually phased out as my T levels became balanced. Since I no longer owned a thyroid, those T levels would forever have to be monitored and I was back on that one little pill a day for the rest of my life.

It took time for my face to return from frog to human, almost a couple of years. Due to that

evil thyroid my hair had turned complexly gray and my muscles were left in sad shape. I went back to weight lifting to build myself up again and walking more to lose any excess pounds. In case you are wondering, I am doing arm curls with a 35 pound dumbbell in each hand. (You can certainly see the splotches of my psoriasis in this photo.)

It wasn’t a big deal. I had always walked and also had started weight lifting while in high school as that skinny guy always getting sand kicked in his face at the beach. I was never consistent with it, doing it some years and not on others, but it helped keep me toned. I never looked like the guys on the cover of “Strength & Health”, but that’s okay; those guys were usually short, I was tall. I never reaching my goal of having a six-pack either.

My eyes more or less stayed in their socket where they belong, except my right eye continued to bulge out a bit. My eyesight was never good and it stayed funky after the Graves’ Disease. I

thought the Hyperthyroidism caused the Graves’, but eventually found out it was the opposite. I got hyperthyroidism because I got Graves’ Disease. Graves’, psoriasis and what comes later show my immune system was definitely out of-whack; a rebel against my own body.

The sensitivity to light never completely went away. I had to wear the baseball cap in order to

see whenever I was outside and often inside if there were overhead lights. If I am outdoors without the hat, especially on sunny days, I am basically blind. Without the hat I don’t know where I’m going.

Some may claim I never knew where I was going anyway.