August 2, 2017
How strange I am to write lines when I go through the experience of expecting medical results; Results of people who have to determine whether or not they believe in you; If your pathology is determinant to be incapacitated or not; Of whether your pathology is real or not – remember that there are still many doctors who do not believe in our condition. How difficult it is for me to be able to express what I feel in these moments in which anxiety is the tonic and the one that directs the acts that I carry out almost every day, waiting for them to continue watching me, as if it were a caged animal, To determine whether what I feel and what I suffer – something they can not even imagine – is incapacitating or not.
Yesterday I was talking to my dear Erica. We were crying together, excited to know that we have and finally someone, directly related to us, understands us. We talked about how his outrageous medical court was; As they left her practically naked to show them scars that had absolutely nothing to do with the condition. She recounts it as something humiliating, and then retire for “crazy”, because in no case have they retired to suffer the condition we suffer or anything related to it. This reality is something I have met with some of the people I have spoken to and who have been recognized as disabled; It has never been due to fibromyalgia or chronic fatigue or SQM; It is always because of anxiety, depression, etc.
We talked long and hard on this subject and I recognized that I was exhausted from seeing so many different specialists who, on each first visit, had to tell them what was suffering from the beginning. They can not imagine how unpleasant it is to always tell the same thing? I told Erica that I felt “raped” every time I went into a different consultation to tell my “miseries” to people I did not know anything about. An example is the one of now, is one of those that seems to me more bleeding. I’ve been scheduled to go to see a psychiatrist, whom I know nothing, to tell her how I feel, so that she, who does not know me at all, determine if I’m fit to go to work or not. It is assumed that the psychiatric-patient relationship is built over time and the trust of fluid communication; Because the time that I will have to open my entrails to a stranger is just one query. Do not they seem inhuman? And I am absolutely sure that I am not the only one who lives this injustice. I’m not the only one who has to tell their experiences, their intimacies, their feelings, their pains, their fears, etc. to someone they are seeing for the first time and from whom, to a great extent, the conclusion of your evaluation depends.
In short, this is the reality that we face and that we have to get through every day, so let’s do it with a smile on our lips and with the desire that things will change for us and for the rest of the world. Let us make it dream that the world can change and that humans can “humanize” us even more and that we will take into account, at some point in our evolution, our neighbor as an equal to care and help.
Thanks for reading, I send kisses and hugs of cotton begging them to share to be able to help more people.