Last week, I expressed my frustrations on social media regarding the ongoing Covid situation. I wrote a heartfelt post about my struggle with those who disregard Covid precautions, enjoying life while many of us, especially the immunocompromised or caregivers, continue to bear the weight of this pandemic. I empathize with healthcare workers who must be feeling both traumatized and drained. In that same post, I revealed that I have PTSD stemming from over fifteen years of medical trauma.
I didn’t intend to disclose my PTSD; for years, I had only recognized it as medical anxiety. It wasn’t until I met my therapist that I uncovered the truth. I had researched PTSD and believed I might be experiencing it. Admitting it felt liberating; naming the issue is half the battle.
If you were to meet me, you might never suspect I live with PTSD. Even if I shared my story, you might simply see me as strong and brave, as many do. People often commend my courage and positivity, which is true; I’m not pretending to be someone I’m not. Yet, there’s a darker side to my experience. I am worn out, traumatized, and haunted.
My Medical Journey
Fifteen years ago, I found myself in the emergency room, breathless and trembling. After being sick for over a year and consulting five medical professionals, my symptoms included constant hunger, excessive thirst, unexplained weight loss, chronic fatigue, depression, numbness in my extremities, weakness, and blurred vision. One doctor, frustrated by my ongoing health issues, dismissed me as a hypochondriac and accused me of causing my own symptoms. He couldn’t have been more incorrect.
In the emergency room, nurses drew multiple vials of blood, enveloping me in warm blankets. Soon after, a doctor entered with wide eyes, revealing that I was an undiagnosed type 1 diabetic. Minutes later, I was in the ICU on an insulin drip, fortunate to be alive. I was suffering from diabetic ketoacidosis, my body toxic and shutting down.
You might think that one life-altering illness would be enough, but eleven years later, I discovered a lump in my breast. Ultrasounds and mammograms raised no alarms, and while I felt relief, an unsettling feeling lingered. After seeking a second opinion, a biopsy confirmed my fears: I had breast cancer.
The following months involved MRIs, genetic tests, and numerous doctor visits. I opted for a bilateral direct-to-implant mastectomy. Fortunately, my cancer was detected early enough that further treatment wasn’t necessary. While I was relieved to be a survivor, once the appointments became less frequent and life returned to normal, PTSD began to rear its head. Anxiety became my constant companion.
Addressing My Trauma
I dedicated myself to addressing my medical trauma through therapy, learning meditation, exercising, eating healthily, enjoying time outdoors, and attending all my follow-up appointments. I reluctantly turned to anti-anxiety medication, but it left me fatigued. However, I persisted, journaling, continuing therapy, and reading about trauma to understand how my experiences had altered my brain and body chemistry. I realized I had been wired to remain in fight mode almost continually.
As if these challenges weren’t enough, this year, I was diagnosed with breast cancer once more. I’ve undergone three surgeries, twelve rounds of chemotherapy, and now, thirty-three sessions of radiation.
The Daily Struggle
Staying present can be difficult for me. I obsess over medical test results and find myself spiraling down research rabbit holes. My heart sinks every time I receive a call from a medical office. I remember every significant date: my cancer and diabetes diagnoses, surgery dates. I feel trapped in a cycle of dread.
Living with PTSD isn’t what many people imagine. I can make coffee, drive my kids around, and work, but the trauma is always lurking beneath the surface. Each day, I grapple with it, often subconsciously. Triggers can come from unexpected places—a song on the radio or a familiar sterile scent. I remember feeling triggered during dental visits, reclining in the chair and staring at the bright ceiling lights, reminiscent of my breast cancer surgeries. When Covid first emerged, I felt confined. Seeing people in masks brought back memories of feeling helpless on the operating table, masked professionals looming over me.
I could easily wear a brave face, but that can be exhausting. PTSD is a significant part of me, though it doesn’t define me entirely. I’m learning to face it in new ways, including EMDR—an effective form of therapy aimed at helping trauma survivors reprocess their memories. Choosing to pursue EMDR takes bravery, a trait I definitely possess.
Understanding PTSD
You can’t always see someone’s struggles just by looking at them. PTSD doesn’t have a single appearance, and it doesn’t just affect certain individuals, like combat veterans. It manifests uniquely for everyone; for instance, I don’t experience nightmares. PTSD is a complex issue that deserves more recognition and understanding. Fortunately, I believe my trauma can be addressed. I’m confident that the journey I’m on will lead to meaningful healing.
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Summary:
In this reflective piece, the author shares their personal experience with PTSD stemming from years of medical trauma. They recount significant health challenges, including undiagnosed type 1 diabetes and breast cancer, and how these experiences have shaped their daily life and mental health. The narrative highlights the importance of understanding PTSD, as it manifests differently for everyone, and emphasizes the author’s ongoing journey toward healing through therapy and other coping strategies.
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