Sunday, September 26, 2010

Speaking about ILLNESSES in English - Thyroid


I am that pinkish, butterfly shaped gland that straddles Joe’s windpipe
just below his Adam’s apple. I tip the scales at about 20 grams.
My daily hormone production is less than 1/2,800,000 grams. My
modest size and productivity would suggest that l am not very important.
Actually I am a power-house. I am Joe’s thyroid.
Had my hormones been absent at the time of Joe’s birth, he
would have grown into a thick-lipped, flat-nosed dwarf, an imbecile or
moron. My principal job for Joe today, however, is to determine the rate
at which he lives - whether metabolically speaking, he creeps like
a snail or races like a hare.

You could, I suppose, compare me to a blacksmith’s bellows. I
fan the fires of life, governing the rate at which Joe’s billions of cells
burn food into energy, I can either bank the Fires or fan them into raging
flames. If I were to produce a microscopic pinch too little of my
hormones. Joe would probably become puffy-faced, obese, sluggish,
dull-witted and in an extreme case, even semi-vegetables. On the other
hand, if I were over-productive he would develop a wolfish appetite
but become rail thin as he burned up his Food at a rapid rate. His eyes
would pop, may be so far that the lids would not close over them. He
would feel jittery, nervous- perhaps a candidate for the psychiatric
ward. His heart would race, possibly to a point of exhaustion and death

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