I used to be a believer in the American medical system. I got my shots when I was told too, popped whatever pills I was handed, and blindly trusted that the doctors in charge of my care always knew what was best.
Always.
Then, I started getting sick. Really sick. Constantly sick. Daily pain. Missing periods. Fatigue. And a general sense that something was very very wrong.
I had just moved to Alaska, and didn’t previously have any health care providers up here. So I picked up the phone and called the number of the first gynecologist’s office I could find. Being new and having no real preference, I agreed to see the first doctor they could get me into.
After all – I trusted the system, and I trusted doctors. I trusted that I would be sent to someone who would know immediately what was wrong with me. Someone who would know how to treat me. Someone who would get me feeling better in no time.
What I got instead was a doctor who initially didn’t listen to me at all. One who told me it was all in my head. Who explained that I had just moved 3000 miles north, and this was all an effect of the stress from that.
I didn’t feel stressed. All I felt was pain. And sickness. But… this was a doctor. And he was telling me it was all in my head. So maybe? Maybe it really was.
Rather than questioning this doctor, I questioned myself. After all – he was the one with a medical degree. Certainly he knew best, right?
Only, I didn’t get better. In fact, my symptoms just kept getting worse. And month after month I found myself back in this doctor’s office, pleading for answers.
From there, he handed down a variety of diagnoses, culminating in what he finally decided was likely ovarian cancer. He agreed to do surgery, and set in front of me a consent form for the removal of my ovaries.
Then, and only then, did I begin to question. How we had gone from all in my head to cancer was beyond me, and his insistence that my ovaries needed to come out and that I would need to give up on my future dreams of being a mother was too much for me to handle. I finally took the leap and sought out a second opinion.
But that was seven months later. Seven months of pain, frustration, and no answers. Seven months where I did what I was told and failed to question, solely because I believed in the medical system. I believed that doctors knew best.
Since that time, I have come to realize how very little is known about my disease. It has been made blatantly clear to me that there is no rhyme or reason to what treatments do and don’t work for certain patients. And once a doctor runs through the gamut of “typical” treatments to no avail, they don’t usually keep looking. Instead, it’s almost as if they move on. To patients they can help. Ones who don’t prove to be so difficult to cure.
There are good doctors and there are bad doctors, but none of them are infallible. None of them are the perfect practitioners we all seem to want to build them up to be in our heads. There is a line there. A point when you have to question their knowledge. Their abilities. Their understanding of you and your body. But… there is also a point when you have to trust them. When you have to believe in their education and experience and trust that probably do know more than you. A point when you have to believe in the care they are providing.
And since my diagnosis, this truly has been my biggest health challenge. Knowing when to question (and when to trust) those in the medical community has proven to be a constant struggle for me. Knowing which side of the line to fall on proves almost impossible some days. A regular battle in my head where the consequence of choosing wrong stands to be huge.
Some days, there really is no clear answer. And at one point or another, we will all be there. Facing down medical decisions for either ourselves or someone we love. Trying to determine if the doctor standing in front of us is one we should trust whole heartedly, or one we should question every step of the way.
It’s easier said than done. Knowing when to trust, and when to move along to someone else. Someone who hears you.
It’s been a challenge for me, but one I like to think I’m learning to overcome.
I’ll share my tip for how with you next month, but in the meantime –
What is your biggest health challenge?
One of my biggest health care challenges has been learning when to trust (and when to question), those in the medical community. As a society, we are typically taught that doctors know best. They have more education, more experience, and more overall health knowledge than most of us. Questioning someone with that level of authority can be difficult. But at the end of the day - no one knows you and what is going on with your body as well as you do. And when a doctor is prescribing a treatment plan that just doesn't seem right to you... it can be difficult to know when to speak up and question.
Next month I'll be sharing my genius tip about how I have learned to deal with this challenge, but in the meantime - join the conversation!
What is YOUR biggest health challenge?
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This is a sponsored conversation written by me on behalf of Kenmore. The opinions and text are all mine.
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