So, my thyroid ultrasound came back and everything looks good: No nodules, no giant tumor with tentacles, not even a goiter. This last is almost too bad, as I had a name for my goiter, and had been running around talking about it like it was a person.
“Does that salt have iodine in it? Because Gerty really prefers that.”
“Does this necklace make Gerty look fat? She’s very sensitive.”
Etc.
Only, there is no Gerty. To be honest, I was so happy that my neck was OK, I didn’t even remember about poor old Gert until Sgt Lucky pointed out that she didn’t exist.
“That’s right!” I said. “There is no Gerty.”
“She was imaginary after all,” said Sgt Lucky. “You have an imaginary friend, and I’m not at all surprised. ‘My name is Jen. I don’t know enough people in real life, so I’m inventing new people who live in my neck.’”
Like this:
Tags: goiter, hypochondria, hypothyroidism, sgt lucky
The friends in your neck will *never* leave you singing the blues alone on a cold Saturday night. Of course, they’ll also end up killing you sooner or later.
goiter is such a weird word. I’m glad you’re fine, but sorry Gerty had to go.