Awaiting a diagnosis
So I did it! I went to the doctors, made the call, summarised my symptoms. It was a very big deal for me - I was so afraid that they would think I was a loony or cite depression as the cause again. I got a really sympathetic female doctor who asked all the right questions. Having a list of symptoms as well as everything I had tried and any other factors written out really helped me get clear and sound clearer. I made sure she knew what I had tried for myself and how much it had or hadn't helped. I wanted her to know that I was a co-creator in my health and working to achieve balance right alongside her.
She arranged for me to have to some tests with the nurse and now I just need to await results before we take the next step. She wants to rule out thyroid issues and anaemia as well as a few others. Failing this she wants me to attend a chronic fatigue clinic.
Chronic fatigue is the diagnosis I would be the least happy with, because it's not really a diagnosis. There is so little known about the condition and how to improve it. It's like being told you have 'pain' - so generalised and unspecific and unhelpful. I believe the body can heal anything with the right support, but having a name and being armed with lots of knowledge seems to make me feel safer. At least with thyroid issues I can take thyroxin supplements, there are specific medical and alternative treatments known to help, and there are numbers on tests that I can track my progress with. The same is true of anaemia. Chronic fatigue is this nameless, faceless, chronic condition that no one really understands. There is so little information on it that many doctors still don't even believe it's a 'real' condition.
My human brain seeks a label and focused direction. I don't know if I will get it. This is the crux of why I have waited so long to pursue this diagnosis. Yes I have been waiting for a moment in time where I can say I'm eating well, sleeping through the night, not breastfeeding, not pregnant. So many of my symptoms could and were discounted as natural by-products of these life circumstances. More than that though, there is something about a label that empowers me to heal it, even a scary label. I am afraid to never be given that label or told it's all in my head - and be labelled with mental illness. I am afraid to take the blame for my condition, and yet I want to take responsibility - those two things are so different to one another.
Maybe I am afraid to get better. Who will I be without it? Has it been as simple as a tablet all along? Could I have eased my suffering sooner if I had been brave enough to face it? It has been seven years since my symptoms first begun, albeit on a milder and less frequent basis. They have worsened and worsened, shouting at me to take notice! And I have bravely tried to struggle on, manage it myself, pretend it's not that bad, be positive about it, and focus on the health I did have. I thought avoiding labelling it would mean it would cease to exist, and that owning it would make it worse and give it power over me.
I realise now that this nameless undiagnosed condition has had complete power over me. It stopped me from asking for help. It made me ashamed and afraid. It quietly stole my hope and my energy, my reason and the respite that was once my body. It took it slowly when I was busy with grief, and joy, and family, and flux and change and growth. It took advantage of my vulnerable moments and I let it.
All I had to do was spot the change. I could decide I was worthy of the positive change I was making in my life and retain my health. Did I let this disease punish me? As I quietly moved toward myself and away from my conditioning, electing for beauty and betraying others to be true to myself, did I feel that I had to pay a price for such boldness, such selfishness?
Or is this illness here because I have chosen to be true to myself? Is it here because now I have committed to that path, the illness ensures I stay on it, and takes me deeper into my healing? Is becoming ill in one sense or another (mentally, emotionally, physically, spiritually), the only way to truly heal?
I see now that there is power in naming our fear. Power in asking these questions of ourselves. The darkness shows us where we need to shine a light. By avoiding that diagnosis I have kept the light turned off. By looking away I have been shining my light everywhere other than where I needed to most. Perhaps chronic fatigue would not be so bad. It still gives me hope of recovery, and something to inspect, fight, heal, accept, and hopefully ultimately -release.
From my aching body to your beautiful one, Bee <3 xxx
She arranged for me to have to some tests with the nurse and now I just need to await results before we take the next step. She wants to rule out thyroid issues and anaemia as well as a few others. Failing this she wants me to attend a chronic fatigue clinic.
Chronic fatigue is the diagnosis I would be the least happy with, because it's not really a diagnosis. There is so little known about the condition and how to improve it. It's like being told you have 'pain' - so generalised and unspecific and unhelpful. I believe the body can heal anything with the right support, but having a name and being armed with lots of knowledge seems to make me feel safer. At least with thyroid issues I can take thyroxin supplements, there are specific medical and alternative treatments known to help, and there are numbers on tests that I can track my progress with. The same is true of anaemia. Chronic fatigue is this nameless, faceless, chronic condition that no one really understands. There is so little information on it that many doctors still don't even believe it's a 'real' condition.
My human brain seeks a label and focused direction. I don't know if I will get it. This is the crux of why I have waited so long to pursue this diagnosis. Yes I have been waiting for a moment in time where I can say I'm eating well, sleeping through the night, not breastfeeding, not pregnant. So many of my symptoms could and were discounted as natural by-products of these life circumstances. More than that though, there is something about a label that empowers me to heal it, even a scary label. I am afraid to never be given that label or told it's all in my head - and be labelled with mental illness. I am afraid to take the blame for my condition, and yet I want to take responsibility - those two things are so different to one another.
Maybe I am afraid to get better. Who will I be without it? Has it been as simple as a tablet all along? Could I have eased my suffering sooner if I had been brave enough to face it? It has been seven years since my symptoms first begun, albeit on a milder and less frequent basis. They have worsened and worsened, shouting at me to take notice! And I have bravely tried to struggle on, manage it myself, pretend it's not that bad, be positive about it, and focus on the health I did have. I thought avoiding labelling it would mean it would cease to exist, and that owning it would make it worse and give it power over me.
I realise now that this nameless undiagnosed condition has had complete power over me. It stopped me from asking for help. It made me ashamed and afraid. It quietly stole my hope and my energy, my reason and the respite that was once my body. It took it slowly when I was busy with grief, and joy, and family, and flux and change and growth. It took advantage of my vulnerable moments and I let it.
All I had to do was spot the change. I could decide I was worthy of the positive change I was making in my life and retain my health. Did I let this disease punish me? As I quietly moved toward myself and away from my conditioning, electing for beauty and betraying others to be true to myself, did I feel that I had to pay a price for such boldness, such selfishness?
Or is this illness here because I have chosen to be true to myself? Is it here because now I have committed to that path, the illness ensures I stay on it, and takes me deeper into my healing? Is becoming ill in one sense or another (mentally, emotionally, physically, spiritually), the only way to truly heal?
I see now that there is power in naming our fear. Power in asking these questions of ourselves. The darkness shows us where we need to shine a light. By avoiding that diagnosis I have kept the light turned off. By looking away I have been shining my light everywhere other than where I needed to most. Perhaps chronic fatigue would not be so bad. It still gives me hope of recovery, and something to inspect, fight, heal, accept, and hopefully ultimately -release.
From my aching body to your beautiful one, Bee <3 xxx