“MOMMMMMMY! Itchy!” I cried as my mother whipped me up in her arms and carried me to a bathroom sink filled with warm water and epsom salts. I was 3. Or at least that is the earliest memory I have of the eczema that would devastate my skin (oh the oozing, itchy, angry red eczema on my feet were some of the worst moments) every winter of my life.
Dermatologist after dermatologist gave my mother cream after cream to apply until I was old enough to continue the hated tradition on my own. Those creams did nothing to help me. I learned to live with it. I would hide my oozing, red hands in my pockets or behind my back or in gloves. I figured this was just who I was and I had to live with it. Or at least that was what my dermatologists had me believe.
Then an incredible thing happened. One winter my eczema didn’t appear. No eczema. This can’t be possible? After practically life-long eczema it seemed unlikely that it had disappeared all on its own. It was that same year that I had had enough with hypothyroidism. I wasn’t going to let this disease define me and I got into the best health of my life, digging through the scientific literature on hypothyroidism and reading anything and everything on hypothyroidism. Finding a fabulous doctor who really listened to me and I was feeling the best I had in years. And guess what? That eczema that I had endured for almost 40 years disappeared and it hasn’t reappeared for nearly 8 years now. If you’ve been following Hypothyroid Mom for any length of time, you know that I’ve mentioned that I suspect now that I had undiagnosed hypothyroidism since I was a wee child, for as long as I can remember having that eczema too. Do you see the connection?
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