A Reason to Exist

Chapter 4

Mum was diagnosed with Grave's Disease, a thyroid disorder, just after my brother Tate was born. Being a pharmacist, she taught herself everything there was to know about the autoimmune disease. Soon, she gave up her job at the chemist and made a career out of her illness.

She's the best-selling author of 'Save my thyroid,' putting out weekly blog posts and videos on her website and she has her own range of adrenal and thyroid support supplements. She's the leading voice for alternative thyroid treatment in Australia and has an online community of over three million women internationally, and growing.

That night that I'd dyed my hair, mum was cold and withdrawn. We ate our spirilised zucchini with beetroot bolognaise sauce in silence. I tried telling her about my A in the English test on Tuesday and how Zuri and I were going doorknocking for the Heart Foundation appeal. But nothing impressed her because my hair had been dyed green and my head had been soaked in life-threatening chemicals.

I felt guilty and scared and reckless. What if she was right? What if I'd disrupted the hormones in my body? What if I was going to end up with one of the many autoimmune diseases? I knew I was more susceptible than most people. It's in the family. I decided I'd throw out the spray-on deodorant I'd been secretly using and the MAC lipstick I'd hidden in my sock drawer and live a toxin-free life. Three years prior, mum had spent a fortune getting water filters put on the taps and in the shower and an air purifier in the living room. She engaged a mould removal specialist. She threw out our Teflon frypans and got lead-free hoses for the garden. She'd done her best to create a clean living environment. And now I'd gone and dyed my hair without thinking it through properly.

We watched a show called the War on Waste and ate kale chips and coconut date rolls as a Saturday night treat. Mum wore her blue-light blocking amber sunglasses, so the TV watching wouldn't unsettle her sleep. At 8.30pm she turned off the TV. She always wants us to have an hour of screen-free time before bed to allow our bodies to unwind. I went to my room and read a book.

She turns out her bedside lamp every night by 10pm, so she can get at least 8 hours of sleep. At 10.20pm I crept into the study and grabbed a pair of scissors from her sewing basket. In the bathroom I switched the lights on, turning the fan off so I didn't wake her. I ran my fingers through my green tips. I smiled at myself in the mirror, observing the lush colour of my hair. I looked like a real skater girl for a day. Then, I picked up the scissors and I cried as I cut the disease from my hair.