If you follow me on Twitter, you may have noticed that I had a not-so-hot doctor’s appointment yesterday morning. This past weekend was the worst flare I’ve had to date. I was in bed pretty much from 5pm Friday until 7am Monday. Nothing, I mean nothing, seemed to be helping the pain. Even my prescription medicines were not touching it so on Monday I started calling doctors. The pain clinic was my first call and since prescriptions cannot be changed over the phone, the nurse set up an appointment for 8:15am yesterday. I also called my rheumatologist who tweaked my dosages of my medications for fibromyalgia (we had discussed the possibility of needing to up the dosage at my last appointment so we both felt comfortable with phoning in the change versus needing to drive an hour for an appointment). I see my primary doctor next week so I knew there wasn’t a point in calling because there was no way I would be able to be seen before my scheduled appointment.
The visit to the pain clinic was supposed to be a short one which turned out to be not the case. Thirty minutes after my scheduled appointment time, the doctor finally came in and being as I was the only patient there I was already frustrated. The gist of his response to my pain-filled weekend was to be thankful that the flare didn’t last any longer than it did. I just need to come to terms with major flares being a part of my life and be ok with not having medications to treat the pain. He did not want to increase my dosage (although we had discussed the possibility at my last appointment) however he agreed to give me a extended release pain medication to help prevent pain from waking me up in the middle of the night. The catch (there always has to be a catch, right?) is that for now he wants to go back to seeing me every 30 days versus 90 for drug tests and pill counts. On the way out the door, he let me know that I was overweight.
Needless to say, I left the appointment angry, frustrated, and defeated. I was angry that it seemed that he had no concern for my quality of life as a patient. I was frustrated that, even though it was never said, he seemed to be thinking that I was exaggerating my pain in hopes to get more medication. I was defeated as it was if the prescription he handed me said really said “give up hope for ever having a normal life.” The twenty minute drive to work seemed to last an hour as I attempted to process everything that had just happened. When I pulled into my parking space, things changed.
As I took the keys out of the ignition, I looked down and saw the word “fighter.” It served as a powerful reminder and I made the conscious decision to not go down without a fight. I am not going to accept that my life is over and any hope of relief is gone. I am not going to allow one jerk-faced doctor take my dreams from me.
I can and I will fight. I will fight knowing that my God is bigger than my pain and He will provide strength to press on. I will fight knowing I have an amazing family loving me through it. I will fight knowing that I have strong and inspiring women who are traveling the same road fighting alongside of me.
