Dear Thyroid,

This is not your fault.

You have done nothing wrong. You work just fine and you’ve worked just fine for forty years now.

You keep me from being too cold or too hot, you keep my hair from falling out and my body from shrinking or growing abnormally. You help me maintain emotional stability (my husband might question your total efficacy on this point) and keep my bones from crumbling. You keep my heart rate steady and my period regular. You kept me from being too tired or not tired enough and you keep my hands from trembling and my eyelids from twitching. You help my memory, regulate my fertility (thanks for the three delightful children), and keep my muscles from becoming overly stiff. Oh, and who can forget, thank you for your contribution to regular bowel movements.

Basically, you’ve kept my body at a reasonably functional level and I barely knew you existed.

And now? Now, poor dear perfect thyroid, we must part ways. I don’t blame you, this isn’t your fault. Some kind of alien creature has taken up residence in my body and it decided you looked like the best home around. Doctor D has to remove the alien before it spreads around and in that process, he will have to remove you, too.

I’m sorry.

I will bounce back. I’ll be on the rebound, as they say, and will turn to replacement thyroid hormones. I hope you don’t feel bad about being so easily replaced, just know I’d rather have you. But I can’t.

I wish we could have stayed together for all time. Alas. I will go on living (barring an unforeseen problem during surgery, I guess there are no guarantees, right?) and you will go to the pathology lab for further testing.

I did ask Doctor D if I could keep you, or have you back later.

He said no. Some blah-blah about pathology tests and hazardous waste.

I asked him to take a picture of you and he agreed, so, there’s that.

It is weird to think of part of my body being removed, being separated from me.

I mean, I’ve had three humans inside me and they all came out, but they weren’t me. They were just inside me. You, thyroid, are part of me. And now you have to die. Maybe I’m being overly dramatic, but that just feels weird and not a good weird.

So anyway, thank you and I’m sorry.

Here’s to one more night together and then, tomorrow, its snip-snip and au revoir, salama, nabad gelyo, go in peace.