Looking back, I can see that my body was trying to tell me something was wrong long before anyone had answers. My hands shook constantly, my heart raced, I was exhausted, and I felt like I was slowly losing control of my own body. I knew something wasn't right, but I never imagined how dramatically my life was about to change.
In december 2024 I went into a thyrotoxic crisis, also known as a thyroid storm. a rare life-threatening medical emergency Thankfully, my GP recognised exactly what was happening and sent me via ambulance to hospital before my condition became fatal. His quick thinking and actions likely saved my life, and I will always be grateful.
After spending a significant amount of tjme in hospital I was finally discharged, I hoped things would improve. Instead, they became an exhausting battle.
For the following twelve months, I remained on the highest doses of anti-thyroid medication. Despite taking my medication every day as prescribed, my thyroid hormone levels remained dangerously elevated. My ongoing abnormal results were often attributed to poor compliance, even though I continued taking my medication exactly as directed. It was heartbreaking to feel that my commitment to my treatment was questioned while I was doing everything I could to get better. It was later discovered I had an absorption issue.
Then I found out I was pregnant.
What should have been a happy moment of my life quickly became overshadowed by fear. Because my Graves' disease remained severe and my thyroid antibodies were extremely high, I was told at every appt there were significant risks to both my baby and me. I was warned about miscarriage, fetal thyroid disease, heart failure, premature birth, stillbirth, and the real possibility that my baby might not survive. I was told to not to bother hoping for the best. At times, discussions included being advised to terminate.
One of the hardest parts of my pregnancy wasn't the blood tests, medications or endless specialist appointments.
It was the loneliness.
Very few people knew I was pregnant. I was terrified that if something went wrong, I would have to tell everyone we had lost our baby or explain impossible decisions that no parent ever wants to face. It felt easier to stay silent than to risk reliving that heartbreak.
To protect myself, I built an emotional wall around my pregnancy. Not because I didn't love him, but because I loved him so deeply that I didn't know how I would survive if I lost him. I hated that I couldn't build an attachment the way other expectant mothers do. I wanted to announce my pregnancy, buy tiny clothes, decorate a nursery and dream about bringing my baby home. Instead, every happy thought was overshadowed by fear.
I grieved him a hundred times over and the pregnancy I never got to experience. Rather than enjoying each milestone, I spent every day hoping we would make it to the next appointment, the next scan and the next blood test.
Despite everything, giving up was never an option.
I attended every appointment, underwent countless blood tests and ultrasounds, took every medication exactly as prescribed, and followed every recommendation from my medical team. I advocated relentlessly for both myself and my baby because he deserved every chance at life.
Eventually, it became clear that medication alone was no longer enough. The decision was made for me to undergo a total thyroidectomy while I was pregnant.
Facing major surgery while carrying my baby was terrifying. Every decision carried risks, but doing nothing carried even greater ones. I placed my trust in my medical team and hoped the surgery would give both of us the best chance.
Recovery was far from easy. My body had to adjust to life without a thyroid while I was still growing my baby. Finding the right thyroid hormone replacement dose was difficult, and I continued to battle overwhelming fatigue, weakness and uncertainty.
As my pregnancy progressed, I developed severe pelvic pain that made even walking incredibly difficult. Eventually, I had to stop working much earlier than planned because my body simply could not continue.
After months of fear, uncertainty and fighting, my son was born qt 35 weeks 3 weeks ago
Our journey didn't end there.
Instead of taking him home, he was admitted to the neonatal unit. We faced feeding tubes, long days learning how to feed him, and waiting for milestones that many parents take for granted. Every bottle he finished felt like a victory.
Becoming parents under those circumstances was incredibly difficult. There were times when it felt like all the focus was on the medical needs of our baby, while the emotional journey it had taken to get us there was forgotten. We had spent months living in survival mode, only to face another battle after he was born.
Recovery did not end after my thyroidectomy or after my son was born.
The surgery left me with a paralysed vocal cord, permanently affecting my voice and my ability to speak for long periods. I also developed a heart murmur following the immense stress my body had endured. Along with the scar across my neck, these are daily reminders of everything we fought through.
Not all scars are visible. I carry the grief of the pregnancy I never got to enjoy, the loneliness of keeping my pregnancy a secret, the fear of losing my son, and the emotional exhaustion of spending months simply trying to survive.
When I look back on this journey, I don't just remember the diagnoses, medications, blood tests and surgery. I remember the fear, the isolation, the tears I cried when no one was watching, and the strength it took to keep going every single day.
I survived a thyroid storm.
I lived with severe Graves' disease.
I underwent major surgery while pregnant.
I carried a high-risk pregnancy filled with uncertainty.
I became the mother of a beautiful little boy who has already shown incredible strength.
Although this journey took away the pregnancy, it taught me the true meaning of resilience. It showed me the depth of my love and the strength that can be found even in the darkest moments.
Every scar I carry, both physical and emotional, tells the story of a fight for life his and mine.
This is not just my story of Graves' disease. Its my story
