Doctors and Everything Being Fine

I might be a hypochondriac. I'm also crazy.

I have moments when I genuinely question what my body is telling me. Loudly. Painfully.

Eventually, if my body persists in being a dick, I bite the bullet and schedule an appointment.

My reproductive system has not been treating me well since Dot was born nearly 3 years ago. I've just been buying stock in Advil and Tampax and Always. (When your periods are as brutal as mine you need two forms of protection at. all. times.)

I finally got around to seeing a doctor about it a couple months ago. It looked like my ovaries were misbehaving, rudely.

Here's where things get weird with me:

I felt relief when the doctor told me something was wrong. Relief. What the hell, Beckie?!

It felt like all the pain and hemorrhaging finally had an explanation. I finally had "proof" to explain my suffering, to justify it.

I was not just being crazy.



I got referred to a specialist when things didn't look quite right. She didn't see the same things wrong that the first doctor saw, but she at least thought she could help ease my suffering.

After an endometrial biopsy and a fine needle aspiration on one of three thyroid nodules and both tests coming back benign, there was relief.

Weirdly, crazily, after all the pain and the stress of the unknown it was almost... anticlimactic?

I mean I didn't want to have cancer, obviously! I just felt like, "You produce lots of healthy follicles every cycle and they leave these painful functional cysts behind on your ovaries. Oh, and your periods suck because once when you were 12 you looked too long at the moon so the powers that rule the female reproductive system decided to wait 21 years than shit on you. Or something. We don't really know. Here have an IUD and we'll see if that helps. Or makes things worse. Whatever. Also, you need pelvic floor physical therapy*." was a pretty crappy non-answer answer.

Couple that with the neck and shoulder injuries from a car accident that aren't bad enough for anyone to do anything about and I've been having a hard time reconciling the way my body feels with what I'm being told is happening inside it. Deep in my brain there is a piece of me that wants to go back again and again and again until a doctor diagnoses me with something, anything, that has a sure fire treatment to make me feel relatively normal again.

I want a magic pill. I know there is no magic pill for anything in life. Even with my psych meds I'm still constantly working on acknowledging and controlling my emotions and my knee jerk emotionally driven reactions.

Nothing is perfect. I will never feel just right.

I have to learn to be okay with that.

Everything is a lesson. Some lessons are easy, this is one is not.

Learning to be okay with being perpetually mentally and physically abnormal is hard. It will be hard.

I know all of this is very "first world problem"-y. I have access to amazing healthcare and the resources to use it. I am so lucky that nothing is dramatically wrong with me.

But:

I'm crazy and I might be a hypochondriac.

I warned you in the beginning.


*pelvic floor physical therapy is TOTALLY A THING and I didn't know it was until I got a referral for it! It's like having a massage therapist for your junk, but not in a sexy way. In a painful, "Oh my god, this better work because this hurts like a mo-fo." kind of way. Or so I hear.