I wish my little spiral notebook stored emotions because I’m really trying to muster up that anger and that disappointment that I felt this afternoon when I was dismissed by my primary care doctor who spoke to me like I was a little fucking whiny ass bitch with a toothache, looking for Tylenol 3. Been there done that whole routine. I don’t have the energy for the gym, much less a drug addiction.
Physically I feel like I am forty years older and the kicker is I got my Brain MRI results and it looks like my memory may be as well. It was a small victory for me, honestly. Just kind of hoping for that white matter for so you can show everyone else you’re not crazy. I mean…I may be getting there so that’s not like a definite. Anyways, as we were waiting for them to fax over the results, my doctor – who’s this short, very serious squirrelly little thing – he tilted his tiny head and looked up at me over his glasses and had the audacity to ask, “Do you think this could all be depression or anxiety related?”. You see, when you have a diagnosis such as PTSD on your medical resume, you have to accept that every single doctor that you see and trust enough to share with is going to look at a person like me very differently than say, a 37 year old stay at home mom that always brings the snacks to fucking lacrosse practice. They’re going to spend a little more time with them and actually hear their symptoms. Like such severe light sensitivity and brain fog that it’s impaired their ability to drive a car. We, those who share similar diagnosis codes, are treated differently. I can’t really describe it but if you’re asking me to, you’re probably a 37 year old soccer mom who wears pearls and in that case I’d say count your lucky fucking stars, bitch.
I did go through an incredibly traumatic experience that altered me and the course of my life and I would never have done it any other way because I now see it as a gift and not a curse. Not only that…I have very rarely let it show. I’m always smiling, always polite and the answers always ‘yes’. I still have dreams, still see him daily. Still deal with it. But prior to falling ill in December I was at the best place I’ve been in a very very long time. And actually, I remain positive and proactive, which is something I’m super proud of.
SO, UM, YEAH I DONT THINK I HAVE CHRONIC JOINT PAIN AND SHORT TERM MEMORY LOSS BECAUSE IM BOO-HOOING OVER A ‘BAD BREAK UP’ OR BECAUSE I NEED XANAX FOR LIKE, THIS SUPER HIGH PAYING JOB INTERVIEW.
From here on out I am going to do my best to drill something into my head that has really been helpful: I am the only one who knows my truth because I’m living in it. No one else will know more about you than you. Especially not some dull, uninspired family physician who’s probably popping Adderall for a non-existent deadline.