I refuse to have yet another doctor look at me like I'm a blood test...
...or a lab result...
...or an enigma of a lab result.
It seems like the higher level the specialist I see, the less interest they have in human interaction.
After a cursory 'hello' they lower their eyes to the computer screen and start spouting off anomalies or the lack thereof.
I sit on the crinkly paper and kick my heels against the exam table trying to make sense of it all.
I look at Mr. Jenny, who accompanies me to these appointments, and see his frustration.
I've had enough.
Last week I found a picture of me from four months ago and put it on my phone.
Last week when the specialist looked at their computer screen instead of even glancing at me I said...
"Excuse me. May I show you something?"
Before the doc could answer, I opened my phone to my picture.
"This is me. Four months ago. Four. Months. Ago."
He looked at the picture and looked at me.
Back and forth.
"Yes. This is me. And I'm here for help. Can you help me?"
He slowed down.
He explained more.
I actually felt like a human being instead of a lab rat.
It was quite empowering.
I wasn't rude. I can understand how busy these doctors are. I can understand how much pressure they have to see a million patients in 5.3 days.
We're not done with this testing/specialist phase of the chronic illness journey yet. I keep thinking we should be out of 'ologists' soon, but there sure seems to be a bunch.
And while it's great to have so many resources...
And while it's great to know what's NOT wrong with me...
And while I'm still hopeful they will tell me what IS wrong and help fix it.
I must continue through the process...
But I will not continue to do it invisibly.
I will do my best to make them see ME and MY symptoms and the woman I was only a few short months ago.
I will share my picture along with my plea.
And maybe, just maybe, one of them will find out what's happening.
This chronic illness does not hesitate to make itself known!
I am not going to hesitate to make myself known to these doctors.
I'm pretty sure a faceless person can't make much noise.
Hear me ROAR!
That was loud.