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You don’t understand the catch-22 of enduring a medical mystery.” I pressed my palm against my forehead, fighting back tears. “You want answers so desperately, but at the same time, you pray each test comes back negative. You don’t want Lyme disease or some horrible heart condition. You don’t want lymphoma or stomach cancer. But with each negative result, you’re another step further from explaining why your body is betraying you, until finally …” My voice cracked. “You can’t decide which is worse: getting a diagnosis that could change the rest of your life or never getting one at all.”
God I feel that
God, I was so tired. Tired of my body becoming a minefield of symptoms I couldn’t predict. Tired of waking up each morning, wondering if today would be the day it all fell apart. Tired of smiling through meetings while my insides revolted. But most of all, I was tired of being afraid. Afraid of what was stealing my life piece by piece, afraid of losing everything I had left, afraid of the question that stalked my sleepless nights.
“Most people are incredibly busy,” I continued. “If someone’s going out of their way to set up appointments with doctors, it means something’s wrong. They’re reaching out for help. If the doctor doesn’t have the answer, that’s okay. What’s not okay is tossing them around like a hot potato with no follow-up. What’s not okay is implying, or downright telling them, that there’s nothing wrong with them, that it’s all in their head.”
A lot of patients are fighting a war with their bodies, with the medical system, with medical professionals who make them feel hopeless or like their concerns aren’t valid.” My voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “And when enough people don’t believe you, it starts to take its toll. There’s nothing more isolating than having the very people who’ve taken an oath to protect you be the ones who hurt you.”
“You start to wonder if maybe it is all in your head. And you go through your days, getting sicker and sicker, those words echoing in your mind: that you’re doing this to yourself.” The tears were flowing freely now. “I spent over 365 days in this battle, and there were times when I’d lay my head down at night, alone in my bed, sobbing, wondering if I could cope with another day of it.”
“By the time I landed in your emergency room, I had decided to give up fighting for answers. Not because I wasn’t a fighter, but because I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to get off that roller coaster. It seemed no one believed I was sick anyway. But thankfully, you encouraged me to keep going. One last time. And now, it’s finally over.”
“Thank you,” I whispered against his shirt. “For giving me my life back.”
