There is no easy way to explain chronic illness. Every
condition is vastly different including symptoms, severity and prognosis. Even
harder is to explain an invisible illness. It has taken me four years to gather
the strength to search for The Doctor who would not face me, hands resting on
their cheeks, bored as they listened to my laundry list of symptoms. Instead, I
set out to find one who would listen to me and nod their head as I explained
the havoc that is making itself at home in my body. It was not easy. I vowed to
never see a specialist again after the Last One told me (again) to change my
diet, and drink more water.
It’s funny to think about needing to build up the tenacity
to search for a doctor. When you feel miserable and are not getting the help
you’re needing from doctors, there comes a hopelessness that you welcome to eat
you alive if it means that your mind will focus on something other than the
ways in which your body is revolting against you.
In proper fashion I let the hopelessness of this defeat get
the better of me until I was literally wanting to crawl out of my skin because
of the discomfort in my body. When this happened, I was referred to a doctor
who again, could not help me but instead of throwing her hands up in the air
and rushing me out, she scheduled me to see a doctor whom she thought would be
able to help me.
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