Voiceless Agony

I remember once,  before cancer, lying on a bed in an ER where I had been brought for some extreme symptoms including intense pain. I will not at anytime during my writings share things that some may find hard to swallow due to personal sensitivity.  So I will use terms like extreme symptoms in their place. Anyway, as I lay there writhing in pain and refusing the pain medication so they wouldn't write me off asa whiner or drug shopper, (I lived at the time in Florida where this is a real problem) a woman came in the room. It was a moment that I will not forget as long as I live. She was in her all too peppy scrubs and so was not right away identified as the Dr. she purported herself to be. She assured me that all of my symptoms stemmed from one simple cause. I was Fat. I was overweight, no argument, but that had nothing to do with my symptoms at that moment.

I was becoming frustrated because nothing I did would stop the gaining of weight, including refusing to eat. She did the most brutal exam I had experienced to date (or even since). She was a snobbish woman and treated me as though I was no better than an animal. She never ordered an ultrasound, never did testing beyond my blood sugar, even when I challenged her. At that time my son was just eleven years old. I worried about anything that could take me away from him. I still am. I knew it was more than being fat or, as she insinuated, absolutely gluttonous. I knew it in my gut. But I sat silently. I was so off put that after she shot down my challenging questions I went quiet. It is worth noting at this point that based on the growth and development of my cancer and its cell type I already had cancer for some time. A simple examination and ultrasound would have diagnosed my cancer with in a few days. The type of cancer that I have commonly exists with a normal pap smear. It isn't and HPV based cancer, so that wouldn't have helped me. I have learned that protocol would have been to do an ultrasound. I could be bitter. I could be angry. It wouldn't change anything and would only hurt me. By the time I learned exactly how many opportunities were missed for diagnosis, my heart did break a little. None the less, I clammed up.
                                                                       
The problem was, I was so hurt and upset after having been told that the only medication I needed was help to put a fork down. Her words. I never fought back. In fact I ate almost nothing and could barely move. Stairs proved impossible.  I understood that I was diagnosed with MS ( as I have said before incorrectly)but the she wasn't interested in the treatment I was or was not getting. Simply that I was fat and she believed I was diabetic. Did she listen to me? No. Instead, she did raise her voice about my refusal to accept the obvious. I would not be diagnosed as a diabetic until about 3 years later after my cancer was into treatment, After I had gained even more weight and became even more immobile.  I was moo-ed at in public and humiliated at each turn in reaching out for help. Which helped slow down my diagnosis another year. I found it hard to trust the medical community. I came to them for help and instead was reprimanded and chided. I am easily cooperative and do my best to keep accurate medical records and a complete family history at my Primary Care Doctors' office. Her cruelty very nearly killed me.

I am not saying that to get your sympathy, this just happens to be my story. I want to say that throughout the ordeal that went on so long, I was in the fight, no matter how often the people who could have helped me tried to push me out. Lesson number one- God gave you a voice, use it! He gave us instincts, so we need to listen to them. Trust our guts and then seek the advice of people who should know better, but don't be afraid to ask more questions, get second opinions, and fight for our bodies, for our lives. The Doctor on the other side of that stethoscope is human, All humans have bad days and make mistakes. One life has any more or less value than another. What is done with the life maybe, but not the life. If only...

The little moral of today's entry is this. That day in the hospital, while I was being called fat and told I ate too much and my blood sugar was to blame...my A1C which monitors the average blood sugars was a well in the normal range as it had been for months and months. I had early stage renal failure and they assumed it was diabetic related. It was not. It was related to the medications that I had been kept on for years to keep other symptoms at bay. I knew this in my bones. I Spoke to friends and family about it, but never argued with the Doctor about it after that first day,not once. Instead,  I waited until they left the room and cried. It very nearly cost me my life, and it did cost me my fertility.

 

To end on a high note or irony at the very least, my uncle, who upon reading this will know exactly to whom I am referring, used to call me ratchetjaw...ask around if you don't know what that means...its pretty funny. ( This picture is me during the ratchet jaw years, lol)