I hurried through the exit doors, eager to return home. Sandwiched between a work conference call and picking up my kids, I felt fortunate to finish my appointment early. The warm air felt refreshing against my skin as I removed my paper mask. I couldn’t help but smile, reflecting on how remarkably well the visit had gone. To my surprise, tears began to well up in my eyes—not from sadness, but from the realization that, for the first time in a long while, I truly felt heard.
For weeks, I had wavered on whether to contact my primary care physician. I picked up the phone at least ten times, only to hang up each time, rehearsing my words and adjusting my notes repeatedly. I understood that to receive the assistance I needed, I had to articulate my concerns clearly.
Over the past few months, I sensed something was significantly amiss. I felt persistently fatigued, bloated, and dizzy, teetering on the edge of physical collapse. My initial instinct that something was wrong emerged during my daily runs. I had been jogging the same two-mile route for over a year when one morning, it felt as if I was running through cement. My lungs were fine, yet my body felt immobilized.
Simple tasks, like climbing stairs or engaging in yard work, became increasingly challenging. Even jumping on the trampoline with my kids—a once-beloved activity—turned into a series of breaks, leaving them disappointed. No matter how much sleep I got, it never felt sufficient.
But how does one “prove” exhaustion? I’ve encountered medical professionals who have made dismissive or even sarcastic remarks when I mentioned fatigue as a symptom, often referencing my young children, full-time job, and—of course—my age.
This time, however, I was ready. I compiled a list of my symptoms, articulated why I believed it was something more serious, and researched potential blood tests that could provide insight. I was prepared to advocate for myself.
While I recognize that many physicians are exceptional, I also understand that some may not fully grasp the complexities of individual health. This awareness often brings a sense of anxiety when attending medical appointments. Yet, this time, I felt empowered because I knew I needed the doctor to listen.
And listen he did.
He nodded, smiled, and asked thoughtful questions. While examining my heart and lungs, he discussed possible causes for my symptoms, such as anemia, vitamin deficiencies, and thyroid issues. He also inquired about my current medications and how they were affecting me. His genuine concern made me feel valued and uplifted.
Women often experience feeling overlooked in medical settings, which can discourage them from seeking care. I’ve avoided discussing certain issues with healthcare providers simply because I dreaded the effort of explaining or validating my feelings.
The tears I shed at the end of that appointment were tears of pure joy. The doctor not only provided the necessary bloodwork scripts to help diagnose my condition but also restored my confidence. He reignited my determination to advocate for myself.
While I still await my test results, I want to pause and appreciate this small yet significant victory. It may have taken little time, but its impact on my health journey is profound. It was a reminder that no one knows my body better than I do, and my instincts deserve a voice in every medical appointment going forward.
For more insights on navigating medical experiences, you might find this blog post helpful.
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