Bye Happy Joy

So, happy Joy didn’t last very long…as usual. I’m so frustrated. So tired of having no support system. Tired of being made to feel like I’m worthless and some kind of druggie because I am sick and have to take medication. I woke up this morning to a barrage of insults about how nothing is ever done around the house…about how I just stay in my room (hell yeah! It’s the only room with AC) and take medications and smoke cigarettes. How can he say anything when he smokes and takes medications? How is it possible that he doesn’t understand that I didn’t choose to be sick? I didn’t choose to have to take medications, and I didn’t choose this life. All of this was chosen for me by a higher power.

So, as of now I have adhesions, fibromyalgia, prediabetes, hypoparathyroidism, and now hypothyroidism. It seems my body is attacking itself. The first to go was my thyroid. What will be next? Hopefully the rheumatologist will be able to figure out what kind of autoimmune thing is going on when I see him next week. But all in all it really doesn’t matter. I will still be seen as a lazy, good for nothing druggie. Sometimes I wonder how different my life and illness would be if I had a support system and less drama. I think it’s time for another trip to my sister’s. I really don’t want to be around any of this right now. I shouldn’t have to put up with someone trying to judge me and insulting me.

I Hate My Life Sometimes

Image credit: http://briansroom.com

Image credit: http://briansroom.com

I hate my life sometimes. Today is one of those days. This morning the alarm on my iPad goes off to let me know that it is time for my pain medication. I open the drawer to retrieve it and…BAM! It is not there. Panic mode set in and a million thoughts went through my head:

  • Did I move it?
  • Did someone steal it?

    Image credit: http://drgenecobb.com

    Image credit: http://drgenecobb.com

  • Where would I have moved it to?
  • Why would I have moved it?
  • Was someone in the house?
  • I haven’t had any visitors.
  • Did someone break in?
  • I just knew I should have purchased a safe.
  • Why haven’t I priced small safes?
  • This can not be happening?
  • What will I tell my doctor?
  • Will he believe me?
  • Will he replace it?
  • There’s no way he would replace it.
  • What am I going to do for the next week without any pain medication?
  • I will be completely bed-bound. Worse than I am now.

I proceed to go on a wild goose chase looking for my pain medication. I re-checked the drawer. I pulled the drawer completely out to look to see if it had fallen behind. I checked the other drawer (meaning I pulled every bit of junk out of it – and there’s a lot of junk!) to make sure it wasn’t there.  I looked under the bed. I looked on top of the bed. I looked in my crochet bag. I sat down and cried. Then I had the strangest thought. Did I throw the box away? I checked the trash in my room, but I had taken it out the day before. So out I go outside in the cold (without a jacket because like I said, I’m panicking) to bring in the trash bag from outside. I cut open the bag and found the smaller bag from my bedroom.  I cut it open and began pulling things out. Finally, I found a box. I’m thinking, please God let this be it.  Luckily, it was.

I bet you’re thinking “well, if you found your meds, then what’s the problem?”  Well, the problem is that life shouldn’t be this way.  Not for a 32 year young woman. First of all, I shouldn’t have had the brain fog that would allow me to throw almost a whole box of medication away. Second, I shouldn’t have to panic and worry about the immense suffering  that I would go through without my medicines. That one thought alone scared the shit out of me. I’ve been on medication for a long time and it seems my pain was just starting to rear it’s ugly head when I started taking it.  The one time that I forgot to take any of my daily medications was because of a partial seizure. It’s easy to forget medicines at a time like that because with partial seizures you don’t feel pain. When I finally came out of it, the whole day had passed and it was around 5 or 6 in the evening. I had missed at least two if not three doses of my medicines. When the sensation of pain finally hit me, I was miserable. Actually, miserable does not come close to describing what I felt. So the thought this morning of going back to that kind of pain truly scared the shit out of me.

I am just starting to calm down a little thanks to a dose of Ativan. My thoughts now are in pricing a small safe in case a visitor or a thief decides to “borrow” some of my medications. Of course I know that’s not what caused the panic this morning, but there is absolutely nothing I can do about the brain fog making me do stupid stuff. I will, however, try to be more aware of what is going on around me. I mean, I go into my medicine drawer four times a day. I should have noticed before today that the box was no longer in there.

I hate feeling this way. I hate the fear. I hate the fact that I NEED this type of medication. I’m sure my day will get better, but for now, I am throughly freaked out.

 

What do you do to protect your controlled substances? Do you have a safe? If not, do you ever think that you might need one?  How does it make you feel to have to take this type of medication? Do you ever think about what your life would be like without it?

 

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BOs

BO. No, I am not going to discuss body odor. However, what I am going to discuss may be just as disturbing, so let’s just say you’ve been warned.

BOs: in my world, the world of pelvic/abdominal adhesions, the one fear we live with on a daily basis is BOs or bowel obstructions.  The adhesions usually like to wrap their way around bowel, which is the point where doctors decide that surgery is too dangerous.  Once the bowel has been compromised, we are left to battle symptoms such as bloating, nausea, vomiting, and the ever present constipation on a daily basis. We live in fear of the day when the adhesions have a good grip on the bowels, causing a partial or full bowel obstruction.

From what I have learned from the adhesion groups on Facebook, the obstructions feel almost like childbirth. You have these strong, painful cramps and feel like you should be pushing. If it is a partial obstruction, then it usually passes and you are able to evacuate. However, if it doesn’t pass and you start to vomit, it is usually time to head to the ER and means surgery is eminent. These are the surgeries that our doctors dread the most. It is a life-saving surgery and there is always the chance that the person has waited too long and infection sets in or the person can end up coming out of the surgery with the dreaded colostomy bag.

Why am I telling you all this? Many people with severe adhesions eventually adopt a liquid diet to help to avoid BOs. I thank God every day that I am still able to eat. I worry about the day when I will have a partial or full BO. That is just part of life for people like me. One day, it will happen. I try to be prepared. I am on a variety of laxative-type medications every day to keep things moving and prevent a BO. My fridge is stocked with various protein shakes such as Ensure for when I must adopt the liquid diet (even if it is temporary).

I write about these unpleasant things so that you understand my worries, my pain, my life. So that if you ever meet a person with adhesions you understand them, their worries, their pain, and their life. So that you understand how the severe pain of daily living causes many to have to quit work. They are not lazy, they are in pain. Not just physical pain, but the emotional pain of being told by the doctors that there is nothing more that can be done. That no more surgeries can be done unless the “situation” becomes life threatening, and worrying daily if you will be able to get through the day with a lesser amount of pain than the day before and without having the dreaded BO.

First day of Occupational Therapy

Today was my first day of occupational therapy.  It went better than I thought it would.  Since it was the first visit, we mainly sat and talked, well, I talked and she listened or asked questions.  Of course I had to go over my whole back story with her so that she would understand why a 32 yr old woman needed occupational therapy.  I’m sure it looked funny to her.  If not, it looked funny to me because everyone else in the waiting room was over 50.

I am being seen for ADL or Activities of Daily Living.  According to pbs.org, this includes activities such as:

–  Bathing

– Dressing

– Grooming

– Oral Care

– Toileting

– Transferring

– Walking

– Climbing Stairs

– Eating

– Shopping

– Cooking

– Managing Medications

– Using the Phone

– Housework

– Doing Laundry

– Driving

– Managing Finances

Granted, most of these things I can still do quite well.  What I do have problems with are cooking and housework.  It has been a long time since I have cooked a whole meal on my own, and even when I am able, I am hurting so bad by the time I finish that I can not eat.  Housework is a big problem for me.  So much needs to be done, I just can’t find the energy to do it, and when I do, I pay the consequences the next day.

So, after our talk and once she understood the things that I needed help doing, she got my pelvic pain specialist’s name and number to see if he has any restrictions on what I can or cannot do such as amount of weight I can lift, etc.  Then she explained that the best way to tackle something like that is to make a schedule.  First was to pick the time of day that I have the most energy.  Next, I’m supposed to prioritize.  Examples of that is bathing.  Since it is a priority, it needs to be the first thing scheduled and the rest follows after that.  Her goal for me is to do two personal care and two household items each day.  Of course, I won’t start out at two, just at one, but she needs to check with my doctor still to make sure he has no restrictions.  She gave me a paper on Energy Conservation and one on the Principles of Joint Protection.  There are a few things on that sheet that I don’t understand yet such as “Become an expert on body mechanics”.  That’s not something that people just know…they have to be taught.

Lastly, she gave me a catalog of personal care devices that might help.  For example, a shower chair would conserve energy (or “spoons”) by allowing me to shower while seated.  She said to go through the catalog and see if there were any products I thought might make my life easier and then to try to find them cheaper on the internet.  That was a given once I saw the prices in this thing.  They’re OUTRAGEOUS!  They want $200 for a shower chair when I didn’t buy one at the pharmacy because it cost $70.  I think if I look around I can probably find a cheaper one.

Needless to say, I am looking forward to the suggestions that they can offer to make my life easier and help me get to the point where I am able to be completely independent again.  I highly suggest this to any of you who are struggling with Activities of Daily Living.  I will keep you all posted as to how my later sessions go.  I was worried about going at first, but the lady made me feel completely comfortable and was eager to help.  It turned out to be a pretty good day after all.

My New Church

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I found my new church today. It’s called Saint Patrick. I stopped by today to see when their service times were. I ended up staying for close to two hours talking to the office manager. She was wonderful. She took me around to see the building, left a message for the priest about joining the RCIA which is basically a class that teaches you all about the Catholic Church and explains why they do what they do and why they believe what they believe. Classes actually started in September, and then by Easter you are supposed to be prepared for your baptism. She is going to see if it is too late for me to enter these classes. She completely calmed my nerves about going to church with my cushion, and she even gave me my first prayer book so that I can start learning the new prayers. To someone who was raised southern Baptist, the Catholic Church is quite a change, but there are many parts of it that I enjoy. I like the structure of it. I like how very educated every priest is, and I like that it doesn’t matter which Catholic Church you go to, you will learn the same lesson. No worries like the Baptist churches that one church will preach something completely different from the next one. That stability is there and that is what I need in my life right now. I was made to feel very welcomed. Therefore, either on Saturday afternoon or Sunday morning I will be attending Saint Patrick Catholic Church. It was exactly the kind of welcome that I had hoped for.

My heart already has a little more peace in it, knowing that I will be well accepted into this church. That’s always the scariest part…the first visit. That fear was taken from me and smooshed into the ground.

 

Six Years

Six Yearsimage

Today was the end of year six, and the end of us.

I know the pain has changed me.
Has it really changed me that much, or are you just naming blame?

The one thing I wanted from you was understanding.
I never expected you to fix me, just love me and understand me…apparently that was too much to ask of you.

I just don’t understand what went wrong.
I don’t know where your love went…or was it ever there?

So many things I have found to be un-truths.
Were we an un-truth also?

Why would you tell me what you think I want to hear?
What I really want to hear is the truth…how you feel or felt.

You don’t even understand the damage you do to me when you walk by not acknowledging me.

Am I just a piece of furniture? Do I not exist?

And when questioned about whether or not your family’s love was true, you kick me while I’m down by saying “I guess they have their reasons not to love you.”

So, I’m not only losing you, but a family too?

I find out that you thought I was faking…until you heard the doctor and saw the pictures.
Was that not enough to prove to you that I didn’t make this up?

I didn’t want this. I wanted us. I didn’t mean to change, it must have just happened.
But you changed the most.

You used to believe me. You used to support me.
I used to not be a burden.

When did that change? When you found out it was real?
When you realized it wasn’t going away?

And if I was the one who changed, why did you say you were sorry…that things…you…would get better?

I don’t see things getting better. I see you walk by me as if I don’t exist. You don’t love me, but you “feel bad” leaving me this way.

Don’t worry about me…I will be stronger. I will be stronger without you and your lies.

It will take time for my heart to heal from the damage you have caused, but I will be fine.

I will grow stronger and I will have learned a very important life lesson.

I will not trust so easily, I will not love so easily.

Not unless I trust myself first. Not unless I love myself more…illness and all.

Even if it takes me six or sixty years to do so, I will love myself first.

Trapped

TRAPPED

Trapped in a body that’s not mine,
I want to run free, but I am in chains.

Trapped in a life that’s not mine,
I was meant to do more than this.

Trapped in a cycle of appointments,
Doctors, physical therapy, surgeries, procedures.

Trapped in a place I don’t know,
I want to feel safe, but I don’t.

Trapped in the cold,
I need some warmth…

Trapped in the heat,
I need some air.

Trapped because I trusted too easily,
Trust will no longer be free.

Trapped in a life I don’t want,
A life that’s not mine to take.

Trapped with so much love to give
And cursed with no new life to give it to.

Trapped because I loved too much,
This kind of love only traps me more.

Trapped in a cruel cycle of pain
Physical, emotional, more physical.

Trapped
And I see no way out.

 

Waiting in Line

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I am dreading tomorrow. Yes, since 8:00 this morning I have been on the verge of tears praying that something happens and I don’t have to do all the things I have to do tomorrow…either that, or money appears underneath my pillow offering me the assistance I will need to get through my day. I have no faith that either one will happen.

I get my check tomorrow. And for about the last year or so, I dread getting it because I know the busy day I will have running errands. Some days are good days. I am able to do what I have to do and return home without falling face first into the bed and sleeping for days…tomorrow will NOT be one of those days.

In anticipation of the day ahead, I have tried all week to get one of my doctors to agree to prescribe me a ‘thingie’. What is a ‘thingie’, you ask? Well, it resembles a walker, but has wheels, a padded seat, and a basket underneath the seat. This ‘thingie’ is exactly what I need for tomorrow, but I believe would also be helpful on other occasions when I have a lot of standing in line to do like…well for example like when I get my checks.  Other than that, I am completely capable of walking and doing what needs to get done thanks to my medication. Without it would be a different story, but since that’s not the case, it’s a story that I won’t waste my time telling.

Was I able to get the doctors to write my prescription for this ‘thingie’, you ask? HELL NO. Apparently my physical well being is not of importance to my doctors at this time. The surgeon who operated on my knee said that – oh, I’m sorry. I saw the bitch of a physicians assistant (and she’s not just a bitch because she said no, it’s just her nature) who said that – since my knee should be completely healed in 3-4 weeks, they just can’t give me a piece of medical equipment like that (THEM. GIVE. ME? My insurance pays for things like that and then I’m responsible for 20%) and that if it was an issue with my adhesions then I needed to talk to my adhesion doctor.

So, I called my “adhesion doctor,” my pelvic pain specialist. He usually makes sure that I have what I need…not this time.  He said that either the orthopedic surgeon or my general doctor needed to write for it considering that the ‘main’ reason I need it is because I just had knee surgery and shouldn’t be standing on it for as long as I will tomorrow (yes, I will get to how long…be patient, my dear reader). So, I called my GP. Told the whole long story once again to a nurse who also had a “are you really bothering me with this” kind of attitude. I found out the next day that he had said no to writing the script because he “was concerned that I would grow to depend on it instead of continuing with my endeavor to increase my strength, but he could send me to an occupational therapist who could help me.” AAARRRGGGHHH!!! Can an occupational therapist stand in line for me 6 hours tomorrow to get my car tag?

So, you say, why must I stand in line for 6 hours just to get a silly car tag renewed? Well, because I happen to have the luck to have chosen to live in a county that has declared bankruptcy. When I moved here, you could get your car tag at either one of two courthouses, or at one of six “satellite” centers. Perfect for the more than 660,000 people that live in this county (according to Wikipedia).  But, as the money started running out (or being mis-apportioned in my opinion) the satellite centers began to close one by one until all that was left open was the two courthouses…for over 660,000 people! The lines are so long on any given day, that if you go by, you can see people in line outside the building waiting to get to the line inside the building. I have personally waited in those lines for two years now, but at the time I hadn’t recently had abdominal and knee surgery in the previous month!!!

So, unless I can find the $200 it costs to buy the ‘thingie’ to help me out tomorrow, I will:
1) wait in line at the bank on the busiest day of the month
2) wait in line at 5 payment centers who also happen to be pretty busy at the first of the month for some reason (and no, I can’t pay online or by phone…don’t you think I would if I could?)
3) go to the pharmacy
4) run by the insurance company
and that is all before I:
5) wait in line to change the address on my license (yes, I know I should have done it before now, but who knew my day was going to end up like this?)
6) wait in line for only God knows how many hours to renew my car tag
And, if some miracle happens and I haven’t passed out and had the ambulance called on me, or tripped over my very weak leg and fallen and had the ambulance called on me, then I still need to go to W

Now, you decide, shouldn’t one of the three doctors have taken pity on me (and usually, I don’t want ANYONE to pity me because I may be sick, but I am strong at heart, but this is an EXTREME circumstance) and signed their name on a little piece of paper that would have allowed me to pay $20 for my ‘thingie’ and been able to sit down when I need to sit down and have something to hold on to when I have to stand up? But, this is life and you can’t always have what you want. So, I will cry myself to sleep (yes, I know it is only 4:00pm) but I need all the ‘spoons’ (strength) for tomorrow that I can get. And if you think you’ll have a couple extra ‘spoons’ tomorrow, send them over this way. If you never have enough ‘spoons’ then just send me good wishes or pray for me because I am more scared of tomorrow than I was of both my surgeries combined.

Wish me luck…I’ll update when my I have the strength back that that I need for my fingers to function in order to write and for my brain to make sure that what I write is cohesive.

Be Your Own Advocate

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co-written by IamAwakeNowTVM

Have you ever been afraid as you’re walking into the doctor’s office? You just had tests done and you’re afraid that your test will come back negative?  Most people hope, even PRAY for negative test results…’the cyst was benign, you don’t have cancer Mrs. B.’ or ‘the 24 hour heart monitor showed no problems, you’re heart is fine for now Mr. G’.  This is how it’s supposed to be…hoping that nothing is wrong because you feel fine.

There are many people out there, though, where this is just not the case. They know their bodies, they know something is wrong, and they feel pain…but they can’t prove it. They want a positive.  They are sent from one doctor to another, one specialist to another, each doing their own blood work, imaging (x-rays, CTs, MRIs), and other tests just to keep being told “No, I’m sorry Mrs. K.  There is absolutely nothing there that can be causing your pain.  Have you thought about seeing a psychiatrist?” In other words, it’s all in your head.  Are you going to take that?

For me personally, it took two years, one cyst, two surgeries, two GPs and two specialists to mention that I had Adhesions.  One of those general practitioners did blood work and x-rays looking for something that could be causing my pelvis/abdomen to hurt.  Of course, he found nothing.  I went back two more times with the same complaint, because the pain (at that point it was more of a constant discomfort) just would not go away.  The last time I went, my doctor was on vacation or for some other reason was out of the office and one of the other clinic doctors saw me.  He told me in a very antagonizing way that he had reviewed my chart and that the lab work and imaging that had been done previously had showed nothing, so he didn’t understand why I would repeatedly return claiming to have the same problem. I told him that I returned because ‘the problem‘ had refused to go away, so there had to be a reason for it; he in turn refused to listen.  I was informed that there was absolutely nothing he could do but to refer me to a psychiatrist.  I was so angry that he had blown me off the way he had that I was in tears as I was leaving… oh, but there was more.  To add insult to injury, as I went to check out, the receptionist (who had been a coworker of mine a few years earlier) told me in a low voice as she was handing me my referral (that I had absolutely no intention of using) “I just wanted to let you know that Dr. X just told me to add you to the clinic’s list of drug seekers”. I was floored…I hadn’t even asked for pain medication, just answers.  Needless to say, I never went back there again.  Once the pains started getting worse, I was able to describe them better, so this time I went to my ob/gyn.  He did some imaging because my abdomen started swelling besides the pain (which had gotten worse) and he found a cyst.  At first he tried to give it time to go away on its own.  When it didn’t, he scheduled surgery.  After that surgery was the first time I heard the word that now haunts me even in my dreams: Adhesions. He didn’t really explain what they were, just that he had cut them away so I would feel better. And I did…for a while.

It took another 3 years, two cysts, one GP and four specialists to admit that it was the adhesions that were causing my pain.  I moved to another city to go school.  When the familiar pains and abdominal swelling started, I went to the first ob/gyn in my new town.  He found another cyst and told me that I needed a total hysterectomy…(crickets chirping…I was only 27).  I respectfully told the old man that he had lost his ever loving mind if he thought I was going to agree to that, so to try again.  My next option ended up being a fertility specialist.  He did one surgery and it felt so much better afterwards (well of course because the pain was gone…p.s. There is a huge difference between the pain I had before my surgery and normal post-surgical soreness) so anyway, when the doctor’s assistant came by to check on me I already had clothes on and was laughing and joking around. The lady did a total double take to check out what was going on and asked me if I was the one who just had surgery.  I said yes and she was amazed that I felt that much better that fast.  When the doctor came, he told me that he had gotten the cyst and that I had adhesions, but that they were pretty bad and that trying to cut any of them “would have been too risky”.  The second cyst and subsequent surgery was basically the same.  I kept hurting a little afterwards, (not like now, but hurting just the same).  I mentioned it to the doctor and he checked for a new cyst, but there was none.  He told me that he had no idea why I was hurting if there was no cyst to be causing the pressure inside that I was feeling.  He said that the adhesions could be a problem, but that it was beyond his area of expertise and I should see an oncologist because they were the best surgeons – which I did – only to be told that he was very sorry, but he worked with cancer not adhesions. I wasn’t really sure where to go from there, so I decided to start researching these things called adhesions that everyone kept telling me I had. The information said that they could sometimes cause pain, and I had every single symptom mentioned there plus the recurring cysts, so I figured there was a pretty good chance that this was the culprit.  The issue then was finding a doctor who knew enough about them to help.

I thought I was the only one who had adhesions.  I thought that I was some sort of freak of nature (well, at least that I was abnormal) until I found an online support group just for people with adhesions.  Although the support group was based in Australia, I found a lady’s profile on there who lived in Alabama like me.  She raved about the doctor she saw who’s office just happened to be in my town!  I looked the doctor up online and the lady wasn’t the only one who raved about him.  There were positive reviews about him, the other doctor who practiced there, and even the rest of the office staff.  Then I found out that the doctor who founded the clinic had passed away.  So, I focused on the assistant-turned-primary doctor. He had the exact same positive reviews as his predecessor. So I said to myself  ‘Self, I have got to see this doctor.  Maybe he can get rid of these adhesions and my pain will stop” so, I called to make an appointment.  This was a ‘pelvic pain’ clinic.  That was perfect since what I had was pain in my pelvis (are you seeing how this is all fitting together?)  My appointment was actually three months away (pretty busy guy, must be a good sign) but since I had requested to be put on the waiting list for cancellations, it only took about 2 weeks to get in.  The rave reviews had been right.  He was thorough during the pelvic and physical exam, thorough in his assessment of the issues, he asked the right questions, and he listened attentively to my story.  All in all he spent close to an hour with me.  And after reading the reports from the previous surgeries, he said the one thing that I had waited five long years to hear…”You are covered in adhesions; that’s why you’re hurting so badly.” Validation. I even remember telling him that the doctors before him said that they didn’t know why I was hurting because they couldn’t find anything on the tests. That’s when he explained that adhesions can’t be seen on any test.  The only way was by seeing them during surgery.  I still wanted to make sure so I asked him why they made me hurt so badly.  He explained that basically my insides were glued together…organs stuck to other organs stuck to bowel stuck to the abdominal wall.  Every move I made would pull the muscle which would pull the adhesion which would pull on one of my organs, and organs just aren’t made to be pulled on. I asked him if he would be able to cut them out like before so that I would stop hurting.  He kind of got this sad look on his face and told me that he was a good surgeon, but what I needed was a GREAT surgeon.  He told me that by this point, the adhesions were so bad and so much bowel was involved that it would be difficult to find a surgeon willing to operate, but he also said that in the meantime he would try everything he knew to do to help me control the pain until surgery was an option again.  He said “It will be a long bumpy ride, Joy, but I will be here with you the whole time.” I was so happy but so scared at the same time. I had a disease that no one knew about; that doctors wouldn’t admit to.  That disease was causing my pain and discomfort and I was just going to have to live with it.  There was no definite cure, only managing the symptoms unless I could talk someone into cutting out the adhesions, and then there was no guarantee they wouldn’t grow back.  But, on the other hand, I finally knew what was wrong with me, I had a doctor to validate the pain I had felt for so long instead of trying to send me to a shrink or say I was a drug seeker and, most importantly, I had a doctor that cared about me.

The moral of this story is that you have to be your own advocate.

 

You are your best Advocate

Knowledge Builds Confidence

Confidence Builds Enthusiasm

Enthusiasm Advocates!”

Listen, nobody’s going to do it for you.  Do the research, do the leg work.  Get all of your medical records together.  If you have a smartphone or a tablet, put the records on there including any x-rays, CTs, MRIs and then make sure to take it to the doctor with you.  If a doctor tries to say he hasn’t seen the test results…show them to him, right then and there. These doctors are working for YOU, not the other way around.  So if you go to a doctor who doesn’t listen to what you have to say, call them out on it – or better yet, just don’t go back.

 

“I have actually stood up in a provider’s office 5 minutes into a ONE HOUR appointment, reached out my hand to shake his, and said this: ‘I refuse to have my medical conditions and my intelligence insulted.  Would you mind having your receptionist refund my co-pay please?’”

Find a doctor that will listen.  You know your body better than anyone else.  If you know something is wrong, find a doctor who cares enough to find out what.  If you don’t know where to start, but are reading this post, then you are already in the right place…the internet.  Google your city and the type of specialist you need and go from there.  Look up each doctor listed individually.  There are lots of websites that provide reviews and other information you might need such as the hospital they are affiliated with, their address, and their phone number.

Lastly, the prescription drug abuse epidemic has made it nearly impossible for people to get relief from their pain.  Unfortunately, doctors DO look at your appearance and your attitude when trying to figure you out.  If you are too shy, too pushy, act like you are trying to “play” the system, look like an “abuser”, or especially if you don’t have much evidence to “prove” your pain, it is more likely than not that you will be overlooked and not provided appropriate pain relief.  I know that when you hurt, the last thing you want to do is get dressed up to go to the doctor.  You don’t have to.  But you can’t just roll out of bed (without washing your face and brushing your hair) and show up in your pajamas.  You have to be confident in your self and in your story.  But most importantly, be honest about your pain and your pain levels so that you can get the best pain management possible.

The thing is, I was lucky.  I only had to wait five years to get my diagnosis.  There are people who have waited 10 or 15 years…some take more and some unfortunately aren’t diagnosed until autopsy.  Don’t be one of those people.  Do your research, be your own advocate, and find a doctor who cares more about his patients than counting his money at the end of the day. Most importantly, be honest with your doctors so that they can help you.  If you already have a diagnosis but don’t believe you are getting the treatment you deserve, the same goes for you.  The doctor is supposed to work for you.  Find one that will.  Honestly, it will change your life…and for the better.  It will be worth all the work you put into it.

Edited on Jan. 1, 2014

Day 1

I have to admit that the thought of writing a blog is very scary to me. You know, 1,001 thoughts about how no one will read it, or how will mine be different, ect. are running through my mind right now. However, I asked myself one day “if God wants me here in this crazy life I find myself in, it must be to help someone.” So, here goes – my attempt to help others by sharing my story.

I am currently 31 years old and have been diagnosed with adhesion disorder. I live life around doctors visits and tests and when I can or cannot get out of bed. Many things that people take for granted like cleaning their house and doing the dishes and laundry I am a lot of times unable to do. I WISH I could do those things. I will try to write more as I build up some confidence (I don’t have a lot of that right now either) and as I try to figure out how to tell a story as long and complicated as mine.