I went to the doctor the other day. I needed a note to give to the insurance company to apply for wage loss benefits. Before going I made a pact with myself that I’d stay calm, present the facts, get the note and wobble on home. I’ve seen so many doctors, told my story so many times and hit so many brick walls that I’ve learned to be unemotional and have no expectations.
She asked me how I was doing and inquired into my symptoms. I started to relay the months of suffering, the difficulty walking, the confusion, the eye issues, the sensitivity to sound and movement. I began to cry.
I cried because I know what I’ve lost; my job, my ability to be the mom I was, my money (treatment fees anyone?), my identity, my energy, my lifestyle, my physical abilities. I cried because I am tired. I cried because I am scared. I cried because I feel like I’m dying and the medical community seems to be knitting at the gallows. I cried because I don’t know what else to do.
I wiped away my tears and took a deep breath. I looked at her and saw compassion. My spirits lifted. Maybe I had finally found my care provider; someone with the keys to the concussion treatment Kingdom who will offer me a way through this hell. Maybe I am not so alone in this after all.
“I’m going to prescribe antidepressants”, she said looking at her computer. “I’m also going to refer you to the public health office for counselling. Have you heard of celexa….”
I retreated back to my shell. I stopped listening and returned to the inner voice that believes me. We can do this it said, we will find our way back to wellness.
“Isn’t that like putting a band aid on a broken leg?” I replied. “Sure it stops the bleeding but what about the bone?”
She did everything but shrug her shoulders. That was the end of the conversation. I’m on my own.