Adventures with medical professionals

Today was my three month post-operative checkup. My doctor said everything looked good, felt good, and I was doing much better (i.e. significant pain reduction since pre-surgery), so I would see him in three months.

This I’m happy about. I do have a long way to go yet, both in terms of working in my range of motion and strength, but I’m happy with where I’ve come since starting physio. It’s also nice not having to do academic work while on narcotic painkillers all day every day.

However, I had one of those unsettling experiences that I seem to be having more and more frequently. This one wasn’t rude or mean like some if the rest, but nevertheless upsetting.

Them: What happened here, *waves over hand* if you don’t mind me asking.
My Internal Monologue: Oh fuck. This probably can’t end well, now can it.
Me: I have syndactyly.
Them: What’s that?
My Internal Monologue: Of course you wouldn’t know. Why would you. It’s why you asked. BECAUSE YOU’VE NEVER SEEN ANYTHING LIKE IT BEFORE.
Me: It’s a congenital defect.
Them: Oh, I thought it was diabetes or something.
My Internal Monologue: Diabetes????!???!!!?? What in the ever loving fuck?????
Me: I kind of wish it was ‘only’ diabetes [recognizing that having diabetes can have significant complications including amputation].
Them: But living with diabetes can be tough, and you’d have it for the rest of your life.
My Internal Monologue: No fucking kidding. It’s not like this wasn’t something I was born with and will be part of me until I die. It couldn’t also be causing significant complications and is why I have steel surgically attached to my bones or anything. No. I couldn’t ever fathom having a condition for life.
Me:Oh, yeah, I guess that’s true.
My Internal Monologue: Well that was fun. *sigh*

When I called my parents when I got home to talk to them about the appointment, I left this out. It upsets them almost as much as it does me, I think. Except where I have to deal with my own dislike of myself, my body and humanity in general, my parents feel guilt and anger from not being able to protect me. So I don’t say anything to protect them.

Here’s to a mindfuck I don’t particularly want to be dealing with at the moment, but also being given the green light to do ‘normal’ stuff again. *throws confetti*

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2 Responses to Adventures with medical professionals

  1. Pingback: Representation is Important | danielle dissertates

  2. Pingback: Conferencing While Dis/abled | danielle dissertates

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