My goal yesterday was to call three doctors and schedule appointments. (Sad.) I succeeded in scheduling one important one, with an OB/GYN that’s a specialist in minimally invasive surgery and allegedly specializes in endometriosis. Amazingly, she’s not only in another branch of my primary OB/GYN (North Florida OB/GYN), but is able to see me on Friday afternoon.
YAHOO BITCHES! Another doctor, another pelvic exam, and with so little waiting! What more could a girl ask to have?
Well, a sense of calm would be nice.
I’m already feeling the impending freak-out of White Coat Syndrome. I used to trust doctors implicitly, throw myself at their mercy, felt in my bones that this time would be different, this time they could help.
But after many, many years of bouncing from one practitioner to another — at best unsure or incompetent, at worst cold and cruel — I have been getting a major case of the heebies when I have to see someone new.
This woman could do a world of good for me. Or she could be like some of the others and swear there’s no way I could be in such pain from endo and adhesions, and that it’s all in my head.
I’m obviously hoping for the latter, but secretly steeling myself for the former.
I hate the first visit. Shivering in a paper dress, my feet resting in the chilly stirrups, telling my complicated Endo Story again while staring at my legs and wishing I had shaved or at least worn socks. I always worry they won’t believe or understand me. But if she’s a specialist in this field, maybe she’ll be like the women’s pain specialist I saw in Georgia and be kind, supportive and knowledgeable.
Today I will go to my OB/GYN office and get them to send over my plentiful file, then hopefully call the other doctors I need to see: my primary care doc (to change my pain meds to ones without any caffeine), and to schedule a first visit to a gastro specialist. Not only is my gastro system totally crazed (damn you endo side effects!) but my mother suddenly told me the other day, out of the freaking blue, that she just that moment remembered that her mother had been told she was allergic to and couldn’t eat bread but that she just ate what she wanted anyway, and was that important?
Uh, YEAH. That’s called Celiac disease and it could very well have some importance here, considering everything else — the endometriosis, the migraines, the PCOS — follows a distinct and unbroken maternal bloodline. Even though I know the blood test for Celiac isn’t 100 percent accurate, I think it will be better than nothing. And maybe they’ll have a different suggestion as to why it feels like I’m eating rocks and glass, though really it’s likely “just” adhesions growing on my sigmoid colon again.
I’ll keep you posted. Also, WordPress? You need to increase the variety in your Zemanta feed and damn quick. No matter what I searched for, I ended up with horse pictures, photos of endometriosis lesions and the charming pelvic exam diagram I posted above. YIKES.