It’s now six weeks since I had to accept that my Graves’ Disease remission had abruptly ended. I was losing strength and weight, becoming breathless with exertion, and developing a hoarse voice as my thyroid pressed against my vocal cords. Two weeks into this decline, I felt absolutely awful. My throat was sore, my heart was racing, and a dark cloud seemed to hang over me.

At that point, I would have gone to A & E if I hadn’t already known what was wrong. Instead, I sought a prescription for Carbimazole, knowing it would set me on the path to recovery. I also persuaded my GP to prescribe beta blockers, though he was reluctant. He considered a resting heart rate of 80 bpm normal. “It’s not normal for me,” I told him. It’s frustrating how often the medical profession relies on generalised norms instead of considering individual experiences.

A friend’s brother had a similar issue. A super-fit 70-year-old triathlete, he collapsed while cycling. On admission to hospital, his heart rate was recorded as 60 bpm—“normal,” according to the medics. But for someone with his fitness level, his normal heart rate is closer to 40 bpm. Once this was pointed out, they investigated his thyroid and discovered it was overactive.

Six weeks on from feeling truly unwell, I’m on the road to recovery, though there’s still a way to go. Over just a few weeks, I lost 6kg, 4kg of which was muscle. This loss has impacted my strength and left my body looking “baggy.” I’ve been here before and know I can rebuild, but recovery always takes far longer than the loss. At 65, rebuilding muscle is even more challenging than it was three years ago when I last went through this.

I’ve returned to the gym, and while it’s upsetting to no longer be able to deadlift 100kg, my strength is gradually returning. I’m confident I’ll be back to full strength in a few months—hopefully by my birthday in April.

What makes recovery more difficult is how Graves’ affects brain chemistry, causing carbohydrate cravings. Normally, we’re told to “listen to your body,” but that advice doesn’t apply when your brain has been hijacked by this condition. In the worst weeks, when I was too ill to cook, I relied on quick fixes like pizza and takeaways. Now, as my life returns to normal, I’m focusing on increasing my protein intake. Before, this wouldn’t have required any effort, but now I have to push myself.

For years, I’ve maintained a high-protein diet to support muscle growth, aiming for 2g of protein per kg of body weight. A recent Dexa scan showed my muscle and bone density in the top 10% for women my age, and I’m determined to get back to that.

One frustrating aspect of this journey has been the lack of information provided by the health service. Not only are patients often told to “Google it” but many don’t even get that advice. My experience has been: a blood test confirms your thyroid is overactive, your GP starts you on medication, and if you’re lucky, you’re referred to an endocrinologist. End of story.

There’s little to no guidance on how an overactive thyroid affects the body or what you should be doing to manage it. For example, the impact on eyes and oral health is significant – 70% of sufferers develop thyroid eye disease, and many experience tooth loss, exacerbated by difficulties accessing dental care. As a healthcare professional, I’ve done my own research to manage my condition, but it’s alarming that my care relies entirely on my initiative and not on advice from my GP.

Graves’ doesn’t just affect your body; it also impacts mental and cognitive health. Depression, anxiety, and disrupted cognition are all common symptoms. While my anxiety hasn’t worsened, I did feel as if a dark cloud had descended, and I avoided driving because I didn’t trust myself behind the wheel. Thankfully, that cloud has lifted, and I’m less absent-minded now, though my balance remains slightly off.

This is the third time I’ve been seriously ill in my life. On the previous two occasions, my recovery was followed by periods of intense activity and new challenges. Being ill forces you to reconsider your priorities, and life is short, so I always felt the need to “go for it.”

This time, however, I’m leaning toward slowing things down to avoid a relapse. I don’t need to fill every moment of my day with activity. As a first step, I’ve taken a temporary withdrawal from university—and I may not go back. I’ve already achieved a postgraduate diploma and an MA. Do I really need another one? I’ll decide in a few months.

I’m focusing in on what is important. For my body, mind, purpose and the joy of living.

For now, life is returning to normal, and my focus is on staying well. I never want to feel that ill again.