Dear Medical Doctors,
My name is Victoria, and I am chronically ill. You are trained to fix the sick, yet you have no idea what's going on with me.
I'm still searching for a doctor who will tackle my case. I say "tackle," because I know it's tough stuff to figure out. I've spent eight or nine years seeing specialists. I've been seen by more doctors than I can remember, but no one has truly helped. Those of you who tend to practice Western medicine pass me off as "too complicated of a case" or "outside my realm." Those of you who are more holistic doctors can only do so much before you have to send me to a doctor who has more credentials or experience and knowledge.
Why do so few of you want to listen? Why can so few of you help?
I know you're brilliant. You couldn't be a doctor if you didn't have knowledge and intelligence. I'm not trying to disregard that fact.
But there are millions of people around the world who have no idea what is going on with them. We're not pretending to be sick, so stop telling us it's all in our heads. Let go of your assumptions or condescending judgments and believe us. And then listen to us. Slow down enough to let us finish our sentences and share our ideas or concerns. Stop trying to rush us out of your office. You are knowledgeable, yes, but you will never know our bodies better than we do. When we come to you telling you there's something wrong, there really is something wrong. It's your job to figure it out.
It's your job to figure me out, but when I don't fit into your perfect boxes, when I react violently to the drugs you throw at me, or when your simple tests come back "negative" or "normal," you say there's nothing else you can do.
I can't tell you how many of your offices I've cried in. How many times you've looked at me and said, "I don't know what to tell you. This test came back fine," and I can't hold back the panic. How many times you've walked out and I've melted into my mom's arms.
Despite this, every time I have a new appointment, I walk into your office with a glimmer of hope. Maybe this one will be the one, I pray. So far, none of you are "the one."
There is a community of sick people begging you to listen to us. Pleading with you to take fifteen extra minutes to look at our charts and try to put pieces together. We're not pretending we're easy to diagnose. If we were, I wouldn't be writing this letter.
I'm simply asking you to try.
This is our well-being you are caring for. We are hiring you to help us live. Do you realize that? It's so beyond frustrating when we don't feel like you do, when it seems you don't understand how much our pain is interfering with our lives and debilitating us and when you don't seem to desire to help us.
Maybe we make you uncomfortable. Maybe you feel inferior when you can't figure us out. Maybe we even scare you sometimes. But please stop backing down. We're coming to you. Please at least meet us in the middle.
But for those of you who have believed me even when you couldn't help, thank you. Thank you for listening. Thank you for advocating for me. Thank you for being there (I'm talking to you, Dr. Dan). Maybe someday all of you will be included in this paragraph.
On behalf of spoonies everywhere,
Victoria
