The Breakdown

For the most part, I’ve always experienced some sort of pain in my body. I didn't realize everyone else didn't experience the same thing. I actually thought it was normal. So when the pain duration and intensity began increasing, I tried my best to ignore it and write it off as “the usual” pain in my…well, you pick, it probably hurt. I talked to my mom about it and she chalked it up to my lack of nutrition and rest. I wasn’t treating my body right, so it wasn’t treating me very well in return. From there I tried the diet change. I stayed out less and went to bed earlier. It helped a little, but not enough for me to want to keep up the good habits. 

The turning point for me was when the pain started radiating in my joints. My hands, wrists, elbows, shoulders…places I had never hurt before were beginning to hurt: no, ache. I felt like the last fragile petal of a rose, ready to fall from the stem. Pain medicine didn’t help; sleeping didn’t help (unless it was for more than fifteen hours). It didn’t matter what I did, I hurt everywhere. Adding that in with being on my feet eight plus hours a day in a high stress environment, it finally hit me. I am no longer in control. I could no longer ignore the pain and pretend like it wasn’t there. There might as well have been a big, huge rainbow sign saying “PAY ATTENTION TO ME, OR ELSE!!!” Go ahead and add on a big smiley face too, just for spite. So, I finally broke down and made an appointment with a Primary Care Physician. I wanted an answer. Go to the doctor, get an answer. Easy-peasy. 

False.

After the appointment, I left frustrated, discouraged, and prescription in hand. The doctor continuously cut me off when I tried explaining the pain. She asked questions I didn't know the answer to and then treated me like I was a stupid inconvenience for not being able to answer within five seconds. Needless to say, I got no answer. 

          “Call back in a month if you’re still feeling pain and I’ll refer you to a rheumatologist,” the doctor with terrible bedside manner said.

Ha. I’m always in pain; can we just skip the formalities and go straight to the next step? No. Of course not. So I spend another month taking a prescription three times a day that doesn’t work. In fact, it tears my stomach up. On top of that I’m unable to work a full eight hour shift. My attendance at work has suffered ridiculously due to having trouble even getting out of bed most days. My husband, then fiancé, has to physically pull me up from the bed and hold me until I steady. Only then do I dare walk without assistance to begin my morning regiment: a regiment that used to take a full hour consisting of a shower, blow drying my hair, straightening my hair, and make-up application. Now I do the bare minimum. 

I wash my hair; pull it back in a wet pony tail, then put on a headband to hold back the fly-aways. I find the cleanest sports bra in my drawer; real bras are not an option. The straps cut in and feel like a bruise being taunted by a four year old: 

“*Poke* Does that hurt? *Poke* Does that hurt?” 

Finally I look for the softest t-shirt I can find to put under my uncomfortable polo. Add the dreaded khakis and belt, and the Reeboks that save my feet, and Viola! I’m ready for the day.  I’m not much to look at, but luckily I don’t need to impress anyone. I’ve got my hubby and he loves me anyway.

I counted down the days until I could call my lousy Primary Care Physician and ask for the rheumatology referral. She said the Rheumatologist's office would call me to make the appointment. 

Oh yay, more "hurry up and wait." 

Finally, one day at work I’m laying on an ice pack on the couch in the break room, as I often did on my lunch break. My General Manager is sitting on the couch adjacent to mine, shoving french fries and a burger down his throat. Gross. My phone rings and it’s finally the rheumatologist calling to set my appointment up. 

            “We can get you in on May 15^th, Ms. Weatherford.”

I hate it when they use my last name, whoa what? May 15^th?

“May 15^th…that’s eight weeks from now. I can’t keep missing work. The medication I’m on right now isn’t working and I’m hardly functioning. Can’t you get me in any earlier?” By now my GM is eaves-dropping and not doing a good job at hiding it.

         

              “No ma’am. This is the earliest appointment we have available.”

“Ok, then I guess I’ll take it,” I said with defeat.

I end the call, basically devastated. How on earth am I going to make it another two months? I’ll be fired by then. I look over at my GM, who is now back to shoving fries into his mouth and clearly avoiding any eye contact or conversation. I decide to tell him about the appointment anyway, hoping that he will find some kindness in his heart and have lenience with me. 

Stupid. 

The cycle is rather vicious in the corporate world. If you’re unable to work your normal hours, you must request a Medical Leave of Absence. In order to request an MLA, you must have a diagnosis from a doctor. To have a diagnosis, you have to actually be able to SEE a doctor. All I could do was literally wait it out and hope to dear God I wouldn’t be terminated before I could see the rheumatologist. If I were terminated, not only would I be jobless, I wouldn’t have the insurance to cover seeing the rheumatologist in the first place! 

May 15th couldn't come soon enough.