Women's Health is Human Health

Content:  infertility, reproductive health, women's health



I was going to share a pancake recipe today.

I'll share the pancake recipe later. (Promise)

But today I have to share some feelings about a doctor's visit I had yesterday.

It's not a secret that I wasn't thrilled with my last gynecologist.  She prescribed me pre-natal vitamins after I told her I was NOT actively trying to get pregnant.  Her exams were rough to the point of painful.  She offered no suggestions for fibroid care before my tumor was large enough to excise. She waited until it was too late for me to request more time off from work to tell me that, really, 2 weeks was not going to be enough recovery time (this was information I had needed months prior).  She did not answer all of the questions I had prior to surgery (she literally responded to my question about the tumor being submucosal with "I don't have an answer for that").  She dismissed my request for physical therapy after surgery (in spite of the fact that my abdominal muscles were trashed and I have a history of back problems--"there's no need for PT after this surgery" she said).  She dismissed my concerns about my GI distress during recovery (thank goodness my GP referred me to a good PT and GI doc) and my issues with body temperature control (a common sign of thyroid issues--again, caught by my GP).  She *did* do a very professional job on my surgery, which is to say--she's a good surgeon.  But as a doctor, I was not pleased with our relationship.  I wasn't ready to pull the plug, though, until my last visit with her, about 9 months ago, 6 months after the surgery, when she suggested fertility treatments.

"I'm not trying to get pregnant."  I said.  We had had this conversation already.  I had told her two years ago that I wasn't interested in pursuing fertility treatments.  I had told her two years ago that I believed I had more to offer this world than my genetics.  "Are you sure?"  She said.  "I just don't want you to have any regrets."

Lady.  Do you really think I haven't given this a LOT of thought? 

My only regret was not looking for a new OBGYN years ago.

That was the moment when I knew she wasn't going to be my doctor any more.  I told her I was more interested in training for a marathon than getting pregnant.  (Did I mention I'm training for a marathon and raising money for breast cancer??  Did I mention?? A million times??  You can help out here!)

When the next summer came around and I had time to take care of some adulting, I made an appointment with a different gynecologist, a recommendation from a colleague of mine.  It took a few weeks of phone calls and asking for paperwork to be sent (which is way more stressful than I expected it to be--"why do you need this sent?" asks the office manager "uh, because I want to break up with your boss."  It's awkward. ) but I finally got everything sorted out to have a preliminary visit with this new doc to talk about my history and request a sonogram (there's always a chance of recurrence with fibroids, and it's smart to get scanned regularly if you're able). 

This new doctor--she was incredible.  She *listened* to me when I told her my story.  She nodded understandingly when I said I thought the surgery had unleashed a whole world of health issues (that were likely underlying but never at full blast before).  She agreed that the fibroids and Hashimoto's have probably played a large part in my inability to become pregnant, even in the brief time when we were 'trying' (my previous doc more or less shrugged off these suggestions).  And when I said that I thought I had more to offer the world than my genetics, she paused, and said "that's a really beautiful philosophy."

She never once suggested fertility treatment.  She never once assumed that I was interested in becoming pregnant.  She smiled and chuckled when I told her we're terrible at money and I already have lots of children in my life.  She UNDERSTOOD (or at least pretended well enough to fool me).  She suggested that, if we do find any new fibroids, we should look into early intervention and minimally invasive procedures to avoid another open surgery.  She nodded sympathetically when I told her that the last one was a living nightmare.

When I came home yesterday after the appointment, it was barely dinner time.  I dined on pistachios, tater tots and salami (my version of a cheat night) and collapsed into tears of gratitude and relief before beating the sun to bed.

For the first time in three years, maybe for the first time ever, a gynecologist treated me as a HUMAN BEING looking to be healthy, and not as a potential baby-making machine.  She treated the whole person. I'm a whole person.

A pregnant friend of mine recently mentioned how disillusioned she had become with women's health care, as she felt that medical professionals often cared more about her unborn child than they did about her.  Even as an un-pregnant person, I have felt that way. 

Doctors, please, if you are reading this--we, your patients, are more than reproducers. We are more than organs.  We are more than the sum of our parts.  We are human souls living in beautiful but frequently problematic bodies seeking holistic wellness.  Please remember this.  Babies are beautiful, and procreation is wonderful, but it is only a fraction of women's health.  We all want to be treated as whole people, regardless of our family plans.

Thank you to everyone at Women for Women in New Hyde Park for showing me what wellness care can be like. 

It's Okay

A year ago, I phoned a friend of mine for no other reason than I was emotionally spiraling and I needed someone to talk to.  I knew I could count on this friend, a seasoned adventure sports athlete and former Marine, because these are the kind of people who really understand what it feels like to fall completely apart, and he said exactly what I needed to hear:

It’s okay to not be okay. 

At the time, I was unknowingly battling a double ear infection and mononucleosis simultaneously.  All I knew was that my body was being hijacked for about the umpteenth time in the past year, and I couldn’t handle the battle on my own any more.  I was down for the count, and I was at my wit’s end.  Worse than the fever, the fatigue, or the pain I was suffering was the feeling that none of this was in my control.  Succumbing to illness, be it above or below the neck, is a act of surrender that can crush a person’s spirit.  It means the demons are winning (if only temporarily) and it’s terrifying.  I was terrified.  I felt unworthy of anyone’s time or attention--unworthy of care.  My greatest fear (since 2008, when I thought I might be permanently partially paralyzed by a disc-related nerve injury) was that I would be a burden to my loved ones.  I know first-hand how seriously a family is affected by one person’s illness/injury.  My mother has cared for my quadriplegic father since a fall from the attic broke his neck in 2002.  My greatest fear was that my health would take an undeserved toll on my own spouse, and I was determined to be forever strong and healthy under any circumstances.  In my mind, it was NOT okay to not be okay.  But this time, again, I didn’t know what was wrong—all I knew was that I was not okay, and I couldn’t cope.  And so my friend simply said, over and over again…

It’s okay to not be okay.

Another friend (friends are really great, by the way) once helped me deal with my fear of burdenship by putting it more bluntly:  we’re all burdens to one another.  Think about it--your children are a burden to you, and you are a burden to your children.  Maybe it’s not like that all the time, but at some point we will all be a burden to someone we love.   When the burden is reversed, we welcome the chance to care for our loved ones.  Nothing makes a person feel more worthy than providing care for a friend or family member in need.  Like we learned from ‘Avenue Q’ – “When you help others, you can’t help helping yourself.”

Conversely, but for similar reasons, sometimes you need to distance yourself from friends (even the best ones).  Sometimes you’re all peopled out from, say, working with teenagers day in and day out for the last 9 months and you really need a day (or a week) to crash on the couch (or hammock) with Netflix (or audiobooks) and cats (or flowers).  On days like this, you owe literally no one any explanation for why you are skipping out on whatever boozy brunch or baby shower you were invited to this weekend.  It’s possible to love your friends from a distance and love yourself in solitude at the same time, if that is what you need.  They will understand. If they don’t, just show them this blog post.  If they still don’t understand…well, maybe you need different friends.

When a teenage student of mine (an extremely successful, hard-working student) was recently collapsing emotionally under the weight of her impending graduation, her parents offered to let her stay home for a day.  She turned down the offer, and came to me later that morning in tears, asking if maybe she should call them and ask to go home.  I urged her to do so.  “It just feels so silly, staying home just because I’m stressed out,” she wailed.  It was like looking in a mirror.  I told her: “Every grown-up has done this at least once—it’s called a mental health day, and you are completely entitled to one.  Now you’re a grown-up.  Welcome to the fold.”

And that’s when I realized how hard it is to listen to my own advice.  It hurts the ego to believe the world won’t stop turning because you missed a day of work.  It hurts the ego to admit that you need a day just for yourself.  It hurts the ego to realize that you can’t do it all on your own.  It hurts the ego to have to ask for help, even if the help is just a teary phone call.  It hurts the ego to admit that your body and brain are a big sloppy mess of bones and tubes that sometimes just don’t work the way they’re supposed to, and that’s NOT YOUR FAULT.  But guess what—the ego is a whiny baby, and it needs to grow a thicker skin, because doing absolutely nothing is, sometimes, one of the hardest things you can do.  Taking time to rest is one of the most grown-up things you can do.  Asking for help is one of the kindest things you can do.  Showing weakness is one of the strongest things you can do.

To quote Julia Cameron, “Treating yourself like a precious object will make you strong.”

Yes, wellness is Crossfit and walking and yoga and kombucha and green smoothies and vitamins.

And wellness is also knowing how to recognize when you’re not okay.  Wellness is knowing that sometimes the bear eats you, and maybe you just have to let it win for a day.  (And sometimes you need to actually go to a doctor and get some bloodwork done—it’s a fine line between “rest and fluids should fix you up right” and “JK you have strep”.)

Wellness is knowing that it’s okay to not be okay.  Some things are, in fact, out of your control.  Learn to recognize when you’re not okay, because it’s the only way you’ll ever learn to find your way back.


Image source:  https://me.me/i/im-fine-when-a-girl-says-im-fine-5997742