My guy friend was excited to announce that he’s getting the same weird medical test done that I am (again) next week. This test is a doozy. You have to have what I will describe as a reverse enema while you lay on a table, bum exposed to the room, before that table is raised up so you slide down so so slowly onto a toilet that ends its journey elevated in the center of the room so that you can go to the bathroom above the other peasants (nurses and doctor) like a king. The radiologist takes pictures of you (well, your insides) and then comes in to talk to you about it and point at a screen, while you sit Winnie-the pooh-style on your thrown. Over 10/10 strangest thing I have ever done in my life, but the only reason I was able to get a surgery that changed my life, so I’m a fan. I need the test again, because eventhough the first surgery worked, I may need another surgery to help seal the deal.
At first I laughed to myself, because my friend will soon understand what is still out of the thousands of medical experiences I have had, the weirdest one, but then I realized that he started having chronic health issues about 6 months ago and he is already having several tests done that took me between 3-5 years to get.
That test in particular took me an absolutely gut-wrenching amount of fighting, pleading, begging, and getting tossed from one doctor, surgeon, specialist, and physical therapist to the next for years to get done and it was given to him as easily as a credit card with one phone call to his doctor.
My friend talked about his fear of eating and awkwardness of social interactions with an extremely limited diet, chronic pain, isolation, and well-meaning but incompetent doctors. It was all very familiar to me. I tried to offer advice when he asked and said “I have found that I have had to go against my personality to get good care. I have to complain and really emphasize what is wrong”.
It was his response that made me realize that his experience was not familiar to me at all. He was beginning a journey that he thought was like the one I started years ago, but it was entirely different. He hasn’t had to emphasize his pain or complain. He hasn’t had to push, beg, or plead. He hasn’t had anyone wonder if he is really sick physically or question if it is just his mental health or anxiety. Or possibly just a stressful relationship causing inner turmoil.
It hasn’t been perfect, but his doctors listen to him.
And as he tried to empathize about our shared experience, I felt miles away.