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Thursday, August 18, 2011

The Effects of Abuse on Medical Care

The last 6 weeks have been medically stressful for me. Medical issues are always exacerbated by the abuse issues. Then they all get tangled up together and I begin to wonder what is real, what is imagined, and what are reminders of abuse (i.e., memory pain). This can make it very difficult to seek medical help, especially if the problems are related to personal issues.


About 10 days before July 4th I developed a sharp pain in my right middle back. I really thought I had just strained a muscle at a recent yoga class, so I decided to ride it out. On the 6th I kind of crashed -- deep fatigue, fever, pain began to move into my left side and around into my ribs. I went to the doctor.


I have a really good female primary care physician. She knows about my past and is very kind and understanding about how the abuse impacts my medical care. She did an exam and a urinalysis. The results showed that I probably had a bladder/kidney infection and the beginnings of a sinus infection. One of my things about going to the doctor is I always expect them to tell me there is nothing wrong with me, i.e., I'm lying. When the doctor told me I was sick and probably had been for a couple of weeks, I was actually relieved, almost euphoric.


She gave me some antibiotics and pain medication, and told me to go home and rest. Music to my ears!


Unfortunately that was just the beginning. The pain continued along with the fatigue and fever. Ultimately she decided to send me to a urologist. That's when the anxiety really started to ratchet up.


Another person in authority to try and convince that I'm not lying; not a hypochondriac. The potential for personal and invasive tests, and what if they lead to nothing? Where does that leave me? 


The pain and fatigue were my primary concerns. The doctors were concerned about microscopic blood in my urine. I just wanted to feel better (well, and not have bladder or kidney cancer!). 


After a lot of go round trying to get things scheduled; having two CT scans; a renal ultrasound; multiple emails to the urologist and my pc doctor, I went in Tuesday to see the urologist herself for the first time. Standard procedure for these symptoms includes a cystoscopy. There was no way I was going to be able to endure that unless I was under general anesthesia which wasn't an option. So I had to tell the urologist that I refused to let them do that test. It's hard for me to refuse to do things that people in authority tell me to do. I expect to be forced against my will. Not rational, but understandable. I wound up having to stand up for myself with FOUR different people. I repeated my explanation reminding each of them that I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse and it would be far too traumatic to go through that test awake and even if I were asleep the after effects would probably trigger panic and anxiety.


The urologist agreed with me. She decided they had ruled out anything serious, and that my primary care physician and I should keep an eye on things. 


I thought I'd feel relieved. Instead I went into the restroom, locked myself in a stall and cried. I pulled it together enough to get to my car in the parking garage, and cried some more. I called my dh and tried to explain. He did the best he could, but the reality of it is, if you've never been abused, you'll never completely understand the stress, anxiety, self-doubt, and fear that these kind of things engender.


I thought I was past these intense reactions. I guess I was wrong. So for the past couple of days I've been more dependent on medications and self soothing techniques. It's taking me a while to get relaxed and return to normal. 


But then again, normal's just a setting on the washing machine.


(self soothing aid)

4 comments:

  1. So sorry to hear about this. It's so great that you can assert yourself that way. I would really struggle with that, I think.

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  2. Aw, hope you're feeling better soon! :)

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  3. So sorry you are dealing with this but thanks for being bold and brave enough to share.

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  4. I have a debilitating fear of doctors because of two, we'll call them episodes here for my own sanity, from my own eventful youth that my husband doesn't understand completely. There's a part of me that will forever be broken, like Humpty Dumpty, and bless his heart, he will forever try to fix it and make it all better. On days he knows he can't compete, he lets me cry while he brings me the bottomless martini glass. Long story short, it takes a sheer act of God to get me to the doctor, and even then I chicken out at the last minute nine times out of ten. I guess what I'm trying to say is I can sympathize, and you are far braver than I.

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