So here we sit.  Again.  For the second time post thyroidectomy, we are in the hospital.   The girl doesn’t feel well.  She just doesn’t.  End of story.  But, not too many people seem ready to listen until she’s in a full on physical crisis.  Even then sometimes the numbers are frighteningly low. Yesterday she knew.  She NEVER tells me to stay home from work.  She KNEW.  And my pediatrician heard it in my voice.  She was admitted soon after he saw her.  He wanted it to be the flu.  In some ways I did too.  A little Tamiflu and some rest.  Buts she’s negative for flu.  No real surprise.  Too simple a diagnosis for my girl. Since her surgery in February,  her TSH (Thyroid Stimulating Hormone) which is supposed to rest somewhere between 4. and 4.0 has been lingering well over 10, despite numerous medication adjustments. The TSH is supposed to be down regulated when the synthetic thyroid hormone takes the place of the T4 and T3.  Enough thyroid hormone and the TSH decreases.  Not enough and it increases causing hypo (under active) thyroid symptoms which can range from bone crushing fatigue, to generally feeling unwell and a whole host of issues in between. He medication has been adjusted upward with no effect – several times. I know it takes time.  I barely remember my own battle with thyroid hormones over 20 years ago.  The veterans of this surgery tell me 6 months, a year…  I get it.  I do. But then there is the reality of watching your kid feel crappy every day.  The reality of watching her FIGHT with all her might to do the normal things others take so easily for granted.  And then I get impatient. To complicate things it may not just be the thyroid hormones keeping us hopping. That “lymph node” turned “salivary gland” is now back to a lymph node in the neck.  We are awaiting the ultrasound that I feel should have been done with her appointment last Monday. And there is a fever.  She never gets fever.  Not really.  And yesterday it was 102.  Today around 100.  No answer why.  Not even the White Blood Cell Count gave a clear indicator. And the reflux.  Painful.  Like fire. Lack of desire to eat much of anything leads to weakness. And the throat clearing.  Reflux? or lymph node? or something totally different? So we temporarily stopped the celebrex to try to solve the GI issues.  The medical equivalent of robbing Peter to pay Paul.  The joint pain – managed for now – is rearing its head. And why does a 10-year-old, with no gall bladder and a week of the worst reflux of her life – with no dietary changes – begin vomiting bile? Maybe just maybe we will meet up with a decent GI.  Girls can hope. So I sit.  We sit.  Waiting for answers to questions.  Waiting for answers to more questions than we will ever get.  But we are hopeful.  Anxious. At least right this minute the worst part of being here is passing the time with the stupid IV.