Skip to main content

Doctors That Become Patients Themselves

I recently read a great entry that was written by a medical student, who thought she understood what being ill felt like, until she fell ill herself.  I'm sure most people understand that it sucks to have a cold, but don't realized the debilitating effects it has on someone who is chronically ill.  I do not remember what "well" feels like.  I can't remember the feeling of being able to walk or run up a staircase without holding on for dear life to the railing.  I don't remember being able to relate to normal people who aren't ill.  I wish I could say I remember what being well feels like, and that's what I'm aiming for, but all my mind can grasp is how hard the walk to work from the parking lot is that early in the morning, and how hard it is to shift my weight back to my feet after a long drive, and how exhausted I am at all times, despite sleeping until 3 in the afternoon some days.

This article was very validating to read, as someone who sits in waiting rooms and listens to doctors, many who have not been seriously ill.  I would imagine it is also enlightening for someone that hasn't ever had a serious chronic illness.


It's hard to gasp the experience of being a patient




I'm sorry I haven't posted much lately.  The excitement of a new puppy coming home in a few weeks and the lack of things worth sharing have left me ignoring my blog.  More posts to come soon, including a book review of "How to be a Friend to a Friend Who's Sick".  I would suggest picking it up if you haven't yet, even if you don't know anyone that is sick, it's a great one to have on hand if you ever find yourself in this position.  

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Cushing's Awareness Day

Over the past 8 years, I have spent a few Aprils blogging every day for Cushing's awareness.  I will not be blogging daily this year, but don't want to let the month go by without spreading some awareness!


April 8th is Cushing's Awareness Day because it is Harvey Cushing's Birthday.  Harvey Cushing is the father of modern neurosurgery, and he also was the first to discover Cushing's Disease in one of his patients.  You can see a drawing of his patient (Minnie G) in many text book articles about Cushing's.

Talk About the Sh*t you Don't Want to Talk About

I haven't updated this blog in a very long time.  I actually deleted a ton of posts while I was applying for social security disability. I posted about Cushing's Awareness day earlier this week on facebook, so I guess I'm in a sharing mood.

Anyway, for anyone who even reads this, I was watching a documentary on Netflix about a teenager with anorexia and mental illness who found meaning in her life through yoga. (It's called I Am Maris). It's kind of the reason for this post.

To start - let's go back to June 2018. My grandmother died.  She lived a wonderful long life, but it was especially hard on me.  She was the reason I got out of bed every day, my best friend, and so much more. I actually don't remember how I got through most of the summer.

In the span of two weeks at the end of August, my mom turned 60, we went on a family vacation to the vineyard, my best friend got married, and I wanted to kill myself.  Yeah, you read that right. The day after return…

2 Years Since my Adrenalectomy...would I do it again?

On September 2nd, 2010, I spent the day in one of the many operating rooms at MGH.  I had spent the night before talking and texting to friends and family, after seeing Wicked and going back to the hotel across the street from the hospital.  I cried a lot, because of the scary and fairly dangerous surgery ahead, because of the hope that this disease would FINALLY be behind me, and because of the long recovery ahead.  I woke up early and walked across the street with my mom, and my dad met us there.

The wait that morning was incredibly long, my 2 other surgeries in the 9 months prior had been very early and a pretty short wait.  I cried some more (no one should be surprised by this), and finally headed into the prep room.  I met with my surgeon one last time, and kissed my parents one last time.  As I waited in the cold, dark, cement hallway outside the numerous operating suites, a surgical resident marked the incision sites.  I knew there would be many small incisions, but having the…