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I’m tired.
Tired of pretending that everything’s alright.
Tired of telling people “I’m fine”, or “I’m better”, when it’s a blatant lie.

I’m tired of hurting- every day- and never finding a surcease of the pain. There is no “eye of the storm” for me…there is only the unrelenting wind.

I’m tired of doctors who will not listen, will not actually take the time to give me, one of their so-called “valued” patients, quality care. Instead I’m shuffled like cattle thru the chute, “Poke it with the needle, Bob, & let’s send it back out to pasture! There’s a whole ‘nother corral to treat! What? There’s one telling you it hurts? Cattle don’t talk, Bob, send it on through the chute.”

And the ever-present pain that radiates from my side. Where do I begin with that?
How about the fact that, yes, I thought it was my kidney, as I’ve got a history of troubles & pain with that, & the pain is so similar to what I felt back then. But, the tests they’ve run have shown it’s not that. So, good news, right?
Well, great news, I don’t have to have a permanently enlarged, slow-acting kidney removed.

But then, I ask… where is the pain coming from?

And the doctors look around, shrug, & say “dunno.”

Or, how bout we start with the fact that I’ve told 2 doctors that I’m also experiencing constant pressure & pain in the region of my right ovary…
And yet, neither of them has done a physical “poke & prod” exam, nor have they run any tests on that area. “Cysts? Oh, you don’t look that old…oh, that’s right, you’re 45, hunh, you don’t look 45.”
Aren’t you going to check it?

Or how about that fact that my doctor has prescribed me some pain meds that- sure, make my hands & the arthritis I have there feel great… but it does nothing for the stabbing, grinding pain in my side.

I sleep hard at night, though, because of them.

And yet…
I’m still tired.
I’m exhausted.
Bone – weary of waiting for someone who will hear my sighs and realize that I’m still sitting in the waiting room, still waiting to be heard, to actually be listened to, not just patronized, patted on the head, & sent on my way with some do – little pills & a smile that tells me “it’s all in your head, you hypochondriac,  now go home & suck it up”.

It’s not in my head, it’s in my side, in my abdomen, and it’s only getting worse with time.  Fucking look at it. Fucking hear me. Stop watching the damn clock, stop thinking about the next patient when you’re in the exam room with me.

I’m worn out with yelling, pleading, I’m tired of crying in their offices, because I’m always alone when I have to deal with this. I don’t have anyone to lean on, who’ll believe me & go to back me up, to confront the doctors when they wear me down.
Maybe I should just print this & hand it to the next doctor I see.  Maybe.

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