There are two words that changed me forever. Deep down, altered me. Not in a good way. Not at first anyway.
I had been to doctor after doctor after doctor for five very long years. Five years of swollen ankles. Five years of begging. Five years of bringing up lab results and pointing out possible issues. Five years of being dismissed. Five years of being completely ignored. Five years of waiting rooms and copays and waiting just to be made to feel like I was too much, too needy, too dramatic, too much trouble, and even hints of whispered out the doctor’s exam room of, she is just being a hysterical female, she is a frequent flyer, and I don’t know what to do with her.
Each time I went I filled myself with false hope. This time the doctor would listen. This time they would find something. This time they would listen. And each time I left disappointed, upset, and frustrated. Then one day a doctor walked through the door, looked at me, and said two words that broke something loose in my chest.
“What now?” It caught me so off guard I had to make him repeat it. Again he stated, “what now, Christy?” Over the disbelief and hurt, I dug deep and gathered up the courage to say something I had been holding in for a while… “I need one doctor, one doctor… just ONE, to actually care about me as a person!” I just knew this would be a turning point. As I sat on the exam table with my feet and ankles swollen to the point I had to wear my husband’s size 11E shoes, he tapped something out on his computer and stated coldly, “here is a new prescription, see you in two weeks” to which he stood and walked out.
It was all I could do to make it to the car without totally imploding. As I sat there alone staring at the steering wheel I began to cry, then sob, then the anger flooded through me like a wave. That man just literally sat in a professional setting in which he works for me and told me to get lost. There was no committee to review his actions, no process to file a formal complaint, no repercussions for what he had done. If the president of a company did that to a client he would be fired on the spot. Even if I did fire him, he wouldn’t feel it and probably wouldn’t even notice that I never came back.
That happened five years ago. I spent those five years carrying that moment around with me like a heavy stone buried deep in my chest. I continued over those five years to walk in and out of different doctor’s offices. Waiting, paying, waiting, crying, going home on repeat — braced for the blow of finding out that doctor didn’t care either, all the while tripping over my now size 11 feet.
Then something happened that I never expected. Through a series of unfortunate events we ended up moving 17 hours from home. I thought at first it was so my husband could have an easier job, or so my children could have better jobs. I never dreamed God would move my entire family that far for me… me. Because although I had forgotten the ultimate healer cared, He hadn’t. So when I walked into my new doctor’s office and sat, waiting for the blow… God was working.
In walked Dr. Ptacek. A young, well spoken doctor that seemed to command the room. He sat down in the doctor’s chair and did something very odd… he looked me in the eyes and said, “so tell me, what is going on?” I mumbled something about my last surgery and what had happened with the pump that had been implanted. I told him how I had told my doctor once a week for 3 months and two weeks that it wasn’t working just to be told it was fine, they just needed to increase the medication.
He stopped me mid-sentence and said that I had had the surgery back in October of the previous year. I shook my head to confirm and waited for the blow. The dismissal. The get lost part of the visit. He then asked if I had been telling them the entire time that it wasn’t working. Again I shook my head to confirm. Then he did something so odd, I almost didn’t believe I had seen it. He looked at the floor, shook his head no, and said he was sorry.
My husband was there so I tried with all my might to hold back the tears as I said in a trembling voice, wh… what? He then repeated he was sorry that someone would ignore me for that long and that it was completely unacceptable. I couldn’t hold it in any longer and tears started to crawl down my face slowly. He began to talk to my husband about how my MRI looked and why the pain was so excruciating and the fact that I had been in pain like that for so long that he needed to move fast. Five minutes later he did a test right there in his office that determined in less than a minute that I was right… it was not working. It was so simple to check… yet my other doctors had just refused to listen and would rather give me more and more medication than take five minutes to find out the truth.
As they walked me back to the pre-op area two weeks later, I asked the nurse at this new hospital if they had an ultrasound machine to start IVs and he said yes. I then very timidly asked if we could skip the 14 pokes and go straight to the ultrasound. I was blown away when he said sure.
I couldn’t believe my ears. At my last surgery, on the 8th poke they had gotten a vein and the nurse immediately drew blood from it even though I begged her not to. Then I told her that the vein had collapsed. She felt around it and said it’s fine. When the anesthesiologist came in to talk to me I told her and she said she would check it. As I entered the freezing cold OR I told her again that it was blown. Most people don’t know it because the meds work so fast, but the medication they use to put you to sleep HURTS. I imagine it feels worse than straight acid in your vein. As they administered the full dose, I began to plead with them to stop. They did not listen. I said again, please, that vein is blown. She said over my voice to give her another dose. I began to frantically beg her not to but it was too late and my entire arm was on fire. I began to cry.
As the tears slid down my face in that OR, surrounded by an entire surgical team, I had never been so alone in all my life. I had no advocate, no husband, no voice. Finally the anesthesiologist walked over and said in a completely confused voice, “she is still awake?” DUH. I wanted to scream. I wanted to curse. I wanted to gather what was left of me and march out of the room. But instead I did like a good patient and just laid there pleading with her one more time to redo the IV. My vein was blown. She finally listened but it was too late… the damage had been done and there wasn’t a single thing I could do about it.
So when the nurse immediately brought in the ultrasound machine to do my IV I was blown away and moved to tears. The nurse mistakenly thought it was the pain from the needle… it was not. I can stand to have a needle jab in me over and over without shedding a tear or even blinking. It was the fact that they listened. The IV held and the surgery went well.
Afterwards I had a seroma develop under my incision. That is just a fancy word for fluid build up beneath the skin’s surface at the site of an operation. I called the doctor and he had me come in right away. He said that it looked so painful, did I mind if he drained it. I said that would be great. When he had drawn 160cc’s of fluid off, I looked into his eyes and with all the sincerity I had in me I told him thank you. He was about to walk out but he stopped and looked back at me — the nurse still working on the bandage, and said, “you don’t have to thank me for doing my job.”
When it finally registered what he had said I thought to myself, oh yes I do. They told me to call back if anything else happened or felt off. But I don’t know if I will. It feels so odd to have someone actually do what I ask and believe me. I am not sure what to do with myself. Trust my doctor? Such an odd feeling.
The whole recovery process has been odd. Usually my husband comes for the surgery and stays with me for a night but then has to go back to work. So either the kids, who are grown now, take over, or his mom comes. This time Aaron chose to stay and help. He has been the one to bring me meds, make food, change diapers, wash clothes. And it feels kinda horrible. I feel like I am a problem, a burden, like I should be powering through it like usual, like when I got MRSA and my spine was hanging out. I always just carry on and deal with the pain and the exhaustion after everyone has gone to sleep. Where I can cry without questions. Sit in the dark, quietly without questions. Scream in my head that I am done with it all, that I am never going back to another doctor again.
Could that all really be over?
I don’t know yet. I am still learning what it feels like to be believed. Still sitting with the strange, quiet weight of being cared for.
But I know this, every needle poke, every closed door, every ignored plea was for a reason.
Maybe that reason is you.
If you are on your own OR right now, surrounded by people and completely alone, I see you. I believe you. And I am not walking out that door.
With love,
Christy 🧡