Okay, I'm not wallowing, despite what that last bit would have indicated. I just wanted to get that out of my head.

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Today I went to the endocrinologist, who says I absolutely do NOT have a thyroid condition, and that my psychiatrist is nuts to give me Cytomel. I asked him, "So, is this like swatting a fly with a hammer?" "No," he said, "it's like swatting a fly with a thermonuclear device!" His conclusion is that I don't have an endocrine problem, I shouldn't be on medication, and I'm just going to have to do the hard work to lose weight. "Ah," I said, "the specter of personal responsibility rears its ugly head." He almost laughed (almost, as he apparently had his sense of humor resected at birth; however, his grammar apparatus was intact and he used it to note my failure to use the subjunctive case at one point, I kid you not).

Now, who's to say that the symptoms I experienced this spring weren't the cause of endocrine imbalance, rather than the result of it? I will talk to the psych and the naturopath (the lovely Kelly Wright) and put the puzzle together as best I can.

The good news is that, after I left the endocrinologist's office this morning, a kind of calm descended around me. I ate sensibly. I successfully set aside the internal critic for most of the day.

I feel it has all ended well, this little exploration.

And now, the precipice of new adventure.