On Monday, my father and I will be embarking on a 2 hour journey that I have come to dread – going to the Children’s Hospital. Though it is quite apparent that people took great care in designing the interior of the hospital with its fun bright colors and playful shapes, when I walk through the doors I can’t help but feel tidal waves of shame, anxiety, and fear hit me like a brick wall. For the past year, I have been struggling with an undiagnosed “mystery” medical condition that has become more and more debilitating as days go by. Torturous bone pain plagues me through the night making sleeping a arduous task. Intense spells of nausea and dizziness have resulted in my appetite becoming barely existent and relentless fatigue makes life seem impossible.
The doctors have found abnormalities in my blood results, but they can’t seem to put their finger on why on earth I have been feeling this way. Sometimes I fear the doctors believe I am a hypochondriac or someone who is suffering from a somatization disorder. I mean, I must fit the profile. During my stint at Rogers Memorial Hospital, the idiotic psychiatrist dumped the diagnoses of depression and anxiety on me (which I believe is completely incorrect. Who wouldn’t be depressed and anxious when they were forcefully shipped to a psych hospital and had limited parental contact!?!?!?!?!?!). Folks with somatization disorders usually struggle with depression and anxiety. Oh and guess what – they’re also usually female. So looks like I could be easily lumped in that category! Isn’t that just fucking dandy?
So as you can imagine, I really do not want to go to the doctor again because I don’t want any MD telling me I have a malady that was conjured up in my god-damn mind. I know the only way for me to piece together my complex health puzzle is to continue to go to the doctor, but to be honest I would rather continue to suffer than be told I am going crazy.