Diagnosis Fat Druggie

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I’m crying in the doctors office again.

This is turning into the very worst types of patterns. I feel helpless and hopeless and the woman in front of me couldn’t care less.

The last time I cried in the doctors office it was for a different, yet interlocking reason. It was in another office, with another doctor in the same practice. It was during my first visit with my new primary care doctor, a slender yet very visibly pregnant young woman who somehow looked more like a rock star than a doctor.

That time I was crying because my doctor derailed our introductory visit to ask me the same open-ended question over and again.

“What about your weight?”

She asked, an overabundance of faux concern dripping from her voice.

I told her that all of the women in my family are skinny until they have kids and then look like me afterwards.

“What about your weight?”

I told her how I had gained weight with my first pregnancy, then gained more afterwards, then lost so much weight in my second pregnancy that I was below the chart.

“What about your weight?”

I told her I had lost weight when I had a routine walking schedule, but gained it and a little bit more when my schedule changed and I was unable to keep it up.

“What about your weight?”

I wasn’t crying yet but I was frustrated. What did she want me to say? What kind of question was that?

“I need a doctor who can treat me as a whole person,” I told her, fighting the tears in my eyes, “not just concentrate on my weight.”

She told me I would have a long hard struggle to find a doctor like that. And seemed fine with being an obstacle in that path.

Now I’m crying again in the rheumatologists office. Ever since my diagnosis of fibromyalgia a year and a half ago–I don’t know if my symptoms are worse or if I’m acknowledging them more? But it’s been hard. So much pain! Pain that tracks certain precise pathways, gathering at trigger points and shooting through my forehead like someone took a knitting needle and jabbed it from the base of my neck to my pineal gland, or  crippling me with pain in one shoulder so bad I can barely move only to abandon that shoulder for an equally intolerable pain in other one the next morning.

And when it’s not pain it’s fatigue. An overwhelming fatigue and/or brain fog that drags me down into uselessness and makes my brain barely functional.

The rheumatologist has me on a low dose of Gabapentine. Really low. I’m supposed to take 200 MG but I’m taking 100 because 200 causes so much fatigue I am afraid I’ll hurt myself or someone else, get into a car accident maybe.

But it’s helping. It feels like a blanket muffling my pain, muffling my brain, acting as buffer between me and this evilness that is my flare-ups. I can feel it from when I take it at night, and I can feel it wearing off roughly the same time the next day. I can also feel the sharpness of the pain on days I forget to take it, along with my sharpness of thought, still dampened by fibro fatigue but freed of the drug induced haze.

I told her all of this.

When I researched it online other Fibro sufferers said their doctors prescribed them something to counteract the fatigue. Some people were proscribed adderoll but most were proscribed something else that I can’t remember at this moment. Why didn’t I write it down?

I’m struggling to remember it now because I don’t think it was a classic stimulant and because of the look my doctor is currently giving me. I just asked for something to counteract the fatigue and now she is looking at me like I’m a junkie searching for her next fix. Besides coffee I have never taken stimulants–don’t even really like the idea of taking them but I just want to not be in pain AND get out from under the smothering blanket of fatigue that makes it impossible for me to function at home or at work for hours on end.

“Why do you need to counteract the fatigue, what about trying a different medication?” She asks.

“Well it’s not just the fatigue of the Gabapentine,” I reply, I get fatigue from the fibromyalgia, too.

“Fatigue is not a symptom of fibomyalgia.”She states baldly.

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Wait–what? My world is spinning. Every bit of research I’ve ever done had fatigue and brain fog as the second and third most reported symptoms after pain. (A quick google search would later confirm this).

“You need to do a sleep study to find out why your so tired. Then maybe they will proscribe a stimulant”

It sounds like too much, at the moment, another hoop to jump through. I had so much hope going into this appointment that she’d adjust my dosage a little bit, and maybe proscribe an extremely mild, low dose something to clear the fog, but no, it’s more hoops, along with disbelief, distrust. Hostility.

Tears streak down my face. It feels hopeless. I feel helpless.

“I’m going to proscribe you cymbalta,” She says, and declines to explain any side affects except that it has a negative interaction with gabapentine. “so take gabapentine at night and the cymbalta in the morning.”

“But what about the fact that the gabapentine lasts 24 hours?” I ask, but I can see the answer in her eyes. “Oh right, you don’t believe me.”

“Just exercise!” She belts out as I leave, a wreck, crying, barely holding myself together. In my head I hear “you fucking fatty!” at the end but I don’t know if that’s what she would have liked to say or if I’m reading into it.

_____

I’m sure both these doctors thought I was a difficult patient. Now I read that doctors are less able to to do their jobs if they perceive their patient as difficult. Since I’m a bad fatty who refuses to prostrate herself to doctors as the bad bad bad bad fatty that I am and who has a basically unknown and barely recognized disease AND whose body responds differently from the textbooks to medications I feel like I will always be “difficult”.  I wonder if I will ever find a doctor who will treat me like a human being? Will I ever find a doctor who I can trust? Have clear communication with?

How can I trust a system to heal me when it sees me as a deathly fat lying druggie?

 

I Have a Store

I’ll get back to my super steamy night with DB-but first–I have a store!

If you can read this-and you have a penis-DO NOT HIT ON ME!

It had to be said!

So I have no idea if anyone would want to spend $18–38.95 on a T-Shirt, but some people might consider it an investment! Available for studs, femmes, queers and kinksters!

Also, for that slow-moving lover in your life:

An overturned U-HaulThank You For Not U-Hauling

At less than $3 these cards are the perfect way to let your lesbian love know that you appreciate her taking the time to get to know you! Perfect for Valentines Day!