The Thing about Maintenance Medication in the Face of a Global Pandemic

Summary

The author discusses the challenges and anxieties of managing lifelong maintenance medication during the COVID-19 pandemic, particularly the fear of running out of essential thyroid medication.

Abstract

The article delves into the author's personal struggle with the prospect of maintaining a supply of necessary thyroid medication during the uncertainty of a global pandemic. The author, who has been dependent on this medication since birth, expresses the heightened anxiety of potentially facing a shortage, especially given the high cost and the inability to stop taking the medication without serious health consequences. Amidst the disruption of normalcy and the added financial strain, the author grapples with the emotional toll of this dependency and the envy towards those who can eventually cease similar medications. Despite understanding the need to remain calm and deal with the situation rationally, the author admits to the difficulty of not fixating on the potential scarcity of their life-sustaining pills.

Opinions

The author has a deep-seated anxiety about the possibility of running out of thyroid medication, exacerbated by the pandemic.
There is a sense of injustice regarding the high cost of medication, which is a significant financial burden, especially during times of economic uncertainty.
The author feels a mix of jealousy and resentment towards individuals who have the chance to stop taking thyroid medication, as they do not face the same life-threatening consequences.
Despite the rational understanding that panic does not improve the situation, the author finds it challenging to avoid anxious reactions to the thought of medication shortages.
The author values the support of friends and family in managing their mental health during these trying times.
The conversation with a naturopathic doctor reinforces the author's unique and permanent need for thyroid medication, which is a sobering reminder of their condition.

A quick insight into how I’m trying to maintain my mental equilibrium about just one thing

The other day, while reading about stocking up on whatever medication you might need in the face of a possible quarantine, I had what felt like was already my twentieth anxiety attack in the face of COVID-19 (it was probably my third, but I digress).

You see, like most of the population, I have maintenance medication that I need to take every day. I’ve been on this medication since I was born, and I will be on it until I die. And it’s not a terrible thing; taking two or three pills every day feels like a pretty worthwhile exchange in order to stay alive and in pretty good health. And normally, when the world is in good working order, my medication is simple to get a hold of — though paying $90 out of pocket every month does feel like a gouge (while not nearly as bad as what some people with long-term illnesses pay for their maintenance medications).

But right now, nothing is normal. In fact, more often than not in these passing days, it’s been feeling like nothing will be normal again — and like others with anxiety, reshuffling my mental shelf-space is taking a lot of work and energy that I was not prepared for. Luckily, I have amazing friends and family who are helping me with that.

However, there is something that is weighing heavily on me, and no matter how hard I try, I just can’t edge my way around it: what if I run out of my thyroid meds?

Now, this isn’t the first time I’ve had this thought. Hell, this isn’t even the first time I’ve written about this thought. See my other post about that here.

But before, all my thoughts and theories about running out of my meds were whimsical musings written from the safety and security of my warm room, with my full medication bottle and the knowledge that my endocrinologist was just one phone call away…rather than a visceral outpouring of fear and resentment, written with a pounding heart in a fetal position under a snuggie, praying for normalcy while simultaneously celebrating the presence of dolphins in the Venice canals.

A few months ago, I went to see a naturopathic doctor for the first time. I just wanted a new perspective. Dr. J stood in front of me, looking over my chart, and mused, “You know, with most of my patients with hypothyroidism, normally my thought process is helping them get off their thyroid meds eventually. That’s just not going to be a possibility for you.”

Not that I’d expected any different, but it’s never exactly a joy to hear. “So there’s no hope for me?”

“No, but at least you’re unique! I’ve never treated someone with congenital hypothyroidism before, and I’ve treated thousands of hypothyroid patients.”

Well, thanks, Dr. J.

That conversation isn’t one that I dwell on. It’s not even one that I’ve thought of twice in the six months since I’ve had it. But two days ago, when I went to fill my prescription for the next month, I was seized with a really intense resentment for the people who can transition off of thyroid medication safely. In this moment, I’m so jealous of them. They would actually have the opportunity to fight the zombies. But the issue is that once my pills run out, I’ll probably have one healthy month before I get so severely sick I slip into a coma. Maybe two. And I resent that. I resent the fact that a pill is all that separates me from a slow death, and that those pills are really stinking expensive in a time when money is hard to come by.

Like every other rational human, I know that the only way to do this is to take it one day at a time. Logically, I understand that panicking and crying are not making the situation better: believe me, I would really, really like those not to be my go-to reactions either. And while I can’t see the bottom of my pill bottle, things are okay. But that’s not going to last forever, and I’m having a hard time not focusing on this forest right now.