More Doctor Shit...

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And now a continuation of my story of navigating the American healthcare system. 

I moved to Seattle in 2014 and was suddenly faced with the reality that I needed to sign up for Obamacare. I was now self-employed and couldn't count on anyone else to provide me with health insurance. 

I signed up through wahealthplanfinder.org, but my income just couldn't support the monthly payments. Through some research, I found some free clinics, but I made too much money to qualify for them, yet didn't make enough money to pay for healthcare myself. It was a super frustrating time. I was also terribly homesick for AZ and my mental health was in a weak state. I finally found a church that offered some medical and dental services - Puget Sound Christian Clinic. It was somewhat income-based, but I qualified and they asked for a $10 donation for each visit, but if you couldn't pay it, they would still treat you. I tried my best to pay it each time. 

At this point in my life, I had gained a lot of weight. I was concerned about diabetes, the strain the weight was putting on my body - especially my knees and feet, and how it was affecting my overall wellbeing. One of the doctors on the clinic suggested that I go back on antidepressants and anti-anxiety medications again. I was in such a shitty place that I agreed. I went back on generic Prozac at a dose of 20mg as well as a daily Buspirone dose. 20mg of Prozac was too much for me. It took me to a suicidal place quickly. I was able to go back to the doctor as ask for a lower dose. 10mg worked a lot better for me. The clinic was limited on what else they were able to do for me. I was still experience chronic pain but they weren't allowed to give prescriptions for any pain killers that actually worked and I got a lot of samples of Aleeve. They also didn't have the facilities to dig deeper and run any tests. 

I stayed on the prozac for over a year and I was less diligent with the Buspirone. I just never saw a difference in anxiety with or without it. But what happened with the Prozac is that it made me a zombie. It did it's job in the beginning and was helpful when I was in a hopeless place. I needed the help to just allow myself to survive. Then life got better. I established my home in Seattle and became a true resident. I moved apartments and found one that I loved and nested. I was ready to be happy and take control of my life, but the Prozac was preventing me from feeling really anything at all. I spent all my free time just sitting. I was perfectly content just watching TV and being on my phone and avoiding anything magical about life. I didn't want to clean but nor was I bothered by the mess. I had zero motivation for any of the things that I loved. I wasn't depressed, I didn't feel badly, I just didn't feel anything. Joy was rare but so was crippling sadness. 

I had this moment of realization that I was capable of handling myself and my struggles now. I felt secure in the life I set up. Money was a little better. Life was looking up, but I was missing out on it. So, I decided to stop taking the meds. It was a big decision and not one that I made in hast. I talked to my beloved godmother and told her of my decision. I talked to her about it so someone was aware of the change. I needed her to keep an eye on me and look out for any behavioral changes that I may not notice. I talked with my best friend too and asked the same of her. It was a little scary to take away that crutch, but I just really want to feel things again. To me, it was worth the risk of possible discomfort in order to get my personality back. 

I got back on wahealthplanfinder.org in 2016 and selected UW as my provider. I was ready to take charge of my health and search for answers again. I thought that going to a doctor associated with the university would be up-to-date and possible have some new ideas for treatment than I've experienced in the past. What the reality was, was that I was going to be treated by student doctors with limited experience. I wasn't going in for colds or sprains, I was searching for answers to what appeared to be complex issues in my body. 

I developed this chronic pain in my back on the right upper quadrant.  I referred to it as my Marco spot because I thought it was caused from carrying a baby predominately on my right side. It made sense and I tried to consciously hold him on my left side whenever possible, but it just hurt all the time. The area experienced all the types of pain: throbbing, aching, dull, sharp, stabbing, radiating, etc. It affected my quality of sleep, my abilities at work, my temperament. It brought up the decade long questions of "Is this Lupus? Is this a different auto-immune disease?" or is this something else? Is this caused by the weight gain? Am I so large that my body is just falling apart at the age of 30? I'm 6'2" with a strong and sturdy skeletal/muscle frame, but I was carrying 345 pounds of weight. It was the heaviest I had ever been and I was feeling it. 

So I met with my new doctor. She was young and sweet and had a great bedside manner. She seemed ready to listen and eager to help me find answers. I felt like I was on the right track and was about to get some answers. And this is where I will leave off until next time. Thanks for reading and as always, I would love to hear from you in the comments. Tell me about your struggles and successes and whatever else you'd like to share. 

xoxoSheri

Healthcare...wah!

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I'm one of those people who avoid going to the doctor, I admit it! But maybe not for the reasons that you think. I don't fear the doctor nor do I have any huge aversions to needles or blood. It's the paperwork, lost documents, long waits in the Petri dish of a waiting room, the strict rules to protect the doctors and the zero tolerance policies for flexibility on the patient's end, all the unanswered questions, and most of all I can't stand all the male doctors who speak down to me in the examination room. It's most these types of doctors that keep me at home trying to find my own remedies. 

I would say more often than not I've experienced those types of doctors. I like to use my 15-20 minutes in the exam room wisely and I don't go into an appointment completely blind. I like to do my own research, I like to record my symptoms over time if relevant. I come to appointments with medical records and whatever information that I think is applicable. My best guess is that I come off as a hypochondriac. I probably look like a lunatic who uses WebMD for every ailment. But my time is precious! I pay for insurance out of my own pocket and every penny counts. I can't take off work all the time and I like to make the most out of a doctor's visit. 

Backing up a bit, I need to say that I don't mean going in for a few sniffles and a sore throat. For over 10 years I've been in and out of doctor's offices and had a few hospital trips here and there. I seem to have some sort of chronic ailment causing widespread pain. Around 20 years old, I was in Phoenix visiting my godmother (before I moved there). I was writing postcards to some friends and felt pain in my right thumb at the base and the surrounding area on my hand. It lasted for more than a week or two so when I went home I went to the doctor. 

I had health insurance back home in California through my mother or her husband, I don't remember. I went to my general practitioner. He was an old white man who didn't really have the answers. He noted my irregular menstruation and said it's probably because I'm overweight. He showed me how to do some stretches against the wall for my hands and wrists. I told him about my family's medical history, or what I knew of it. I was 20 and it was probably the first time I went to the doctor's on my own. I had no idea what I was doing. I mentioned that my maternal grandmother has Lupus, though I didn't really know what it was and what it did to her. He seemed concerned and I vaguely remember thinking of course, of course that's what I would inherit from the Scottish wench, an autoimmune disease. After that appointment he sent me on to a Rheumatologist thinking that there was something terribly wrong with me.

The Rheumatologist was another man. He was in his 30s and Asian. He seemed timid and afraid to talk to me directly. Maybe he was a new doctor? I don't know, but I remember not exactly understanding what he was telling me. He said while it wasn't 100% certain that I had Lupus, my rheumatoid factors were off and it was something to monitor. He also gave me two bottles of pills for treating...something? Again I don't know what I was being treated for, just that I was at some kind of specialist and that he was confirming that something was wrong and he gave me two medications to start treatment. By this time, my hands were hurting so much that I was unable to take notes at school. I have a vague recollection that this doctor wouldn't even look directly at me.

I started taking the meds and they made me so sick. I have no idea what they were, I can't remember. But they made me nauseous and gave me headaches and made it so I couldn't even get out of bed. I don't know how long I took them, but I eventually gave up. The side effects just weren't worth whatever help they were suppose to give me. 

Afterward, I was tricked by my mother to go see Dr. Wallace. I don't have an opinion about him, so this isn't about that. But he was my grandmother's doctor. Skipping the dramatic explanation, I don't have a relationship with her nor do I trust my own mother. But it was a rare occasion in which my mother wanted to try to help me. Hmm...help me? She told me she found out about this Lupus doctor who's in Beverly Hills and he's really great. She wanted me to go see him and she would pay for it! I asked her if he was the same doctor my grandmother saw. (Just trust that I want nothing to do with that woman.) She swore up and down that he was not. Spoiler alert: he was. 

I went to the appointment. He had me lay back and he felt around on my torso. He asked me if I've recently lost a lot of weight because I had so many stretch marks for someone so young. Thanks, Doc! He asked me a bunch of questions (Lupus and autoimmune diseases are largely diagnosed with questions in addition to blood work. For example, Lupus, they ask about light sensitivity and rashes and test for protein spills in the urine. Fibromyalgia doesn't have any lab work for diagnosis and is solely based on questions and pain at certain pressure points.) and concluded at the end that I probably didn't have Lupus, but to come back if other systems come up or worsen. Ok, thanks. 

Then I lost a lot of weight through diet and exercise. I became pretty physically fit and even moved to Arizona. I lost my access to healthcare by moving, but the doctors weren't doing anything for me anyway. The pain continued, even with the weight loss. The pain spread to different places. My knees hurt, and my back was getting increasingly worse. I did lots of yoga, lots of hiking, was an active college student who biked to school, and I was a nanny for 4 young kids. Yet I felt exhausted and pained like an 80 year old lady. 

I spent the next 6 years in AZ with limited access to healthcare. I just sucked it up and thought I was doomed to a life of pain. I was also in a stage of life that I was focusing on my mental health more than anything. I had a lot of doctors telling me that my pain is mental and that if I just get over whatever it is that's causing my mental issues, then my body will feel better. Right, okay. While I can see some logic in that and I do acknowledge and there is a correlation, if I did in fact have some sort of disease, positive vibes wasn't really going to cure me. I just wanted answers so I can put my effort toward treating it. 

Stay tuned for part 2 of my healthcare saga.

xoxoSheri

Do you have your own horror stories from visiting the doctor? Have you been successful at finding your own diagnosis? Do you have a hilarious story? Share in the comments below!

I'm Back!

Hello!

Oh it's been a little over a year since I've been in the blogging mood. I'm back though; that counts right? It's 2018 and it doesn't quite feel like I thought it would. I love the number 8, and I'm 32 this year (8x4!) so I'm hoping for some big exciting things to happen! I just don't know what yet.

I'm still trying to figure out the format I want for my blog. What weekly type of post do I want to make? (All suggestions are welcome!) I think there definitely needs to be a craft corner. Crafting has been my mental health savior. I've been loving knitting, Perler beads, embroidery, stamping even! Perhaps I can eventually host a craft swap. If you're a fiber crafter like me, you should look into Fibre Share. It's a yarn swap with partners kind of thing. On that note, I'd like to address mental health too, I just don't want it to turn into a weekly post about me whining. Book reviews? Do I even know how to review a book? I suppose I should figure this all out and not ramble on in a post.

xoxo Sheri