So, we have a situation. My body is out of whack, and I don’t know why. I’ve been piecing together fragments to make sense of this all, but I’m not a practicing licensed medical professional. There is only so much I can determine with the amount of undergraduate education I’ve recieved.
[Please note that this post was originally written three weeks ago.]
California is up in smoke. This is nothing new. She has been up in smoke since 45 took office. It’s been a year and a half. My body is reacting to all the ash that we cannot escape. I’m having trouble breathing, my throat is constantly irritated, I am always congested, and when I blow my nose, there’s always blood. The thing is, there was blood even before the fires. The wave of ash we got in the Bay Area has just amplified the amount of blood that is coming out.
I have delicate tubes connecting my ears, nose, and throat. I always have. As a child, I was prone to murder scene nose bleeds, ear infections, and snot that looked like brain matter (to quote my family). When I was a child, I hated blowing my nose, and it was a battle that almost always ended in tears. There were times my parents had to use tweezers to dislodge dried mucus. Having someone you love come at you with tweezers for something other than hair or splinter removal is traumatic, especially as a four year old.
To this day, I still dislike blowing my nose. Honestly, it’s not the act of forcing snot and foreign objects out. I don’t like the sensation of having anything blocking my nasal passages, nor do I like the sensation of itchy nostrils. I mean, who gets joy from having a congested nose? I highly doubt anyone finds that pleasurable.
My ear, nose, and throat issues are not the point, though.
Through the years of my life, I’ve learned that I live with polycystic ovary syndrome, major depression, generalized anxiety disorder, and obsessive compulsive disorder. I would like to make it clear that I have a problem with the word disorder, especially when it comes to my diagnoses. I am in no way incapable of being a well functioning part of society. At first glance, none of these are apparent.
While not apparent to the naked eye of a stranger, those diagnoses are there. They are a part of me. And, they were triggered by some biochemical reaction in my body. Science. She is a beautiful thing.
I wouldn’t have polycystic ovaries if I wasnt a biological woman who went through the natural process of puberty. I have ovaries that function, even if they aren’t very efficient. Puberty and PCOS triggered a hormonal imbalance which caused my brain to process my moods “abnormally”. With the hormonal imbalance came the depression. With the depression came the anxiety and OCD.
Having all of these formally diagnosed by licensed medical professionals and licenced psychologists has helped me understand my body and mind. I’ve gained a wealth of information from them, including self-care and holistic treatments, such as proper nutrition, sleep, and exercise.
Lately, I’ve been experiencing joint pain that seems abnormal for my life. For two months, the mornings have been dreadful. The knuckles in my right hand feel like they have been smashed, and my left wrist feels like it did when I fractured it 25 years ago. Both of my shoulders feel extremely tender. My hips have been in immeasurable pain, and my ankles swell, even if they’ve been elevated. I get fatigued quicker than usual, and my mood has a harder time to shake.
Of course, I went to the internet. That’s what we do in 2018. The first thing that popped up was lupus. Immediately, I convinced myself that I had lupus. That rash across the nose and cheeks? It seems similar to the redness that is constantly present. The pain that is its worst in the morning upon waking? Yes, that’s me. Am I constantly tired and do I feel emotionally low? Of course. Am I sensitive to light? Yes, I hate bright light.
The internet has made us all hypochondriacs. After a few sessions with my therapist, she helped me down from my lupus ledge I had found myself on. She asked me if anything else came up during my search. I said, “yes, there was one thing that actually makes a lot more sense: rheumatoid arthritis.” As I described my findings, we combined our knowledge (and she has a lot more than me), and agreed that RA is far more plausible than lupus.
This was in September. It’s now November. I have yet to see a doctor, and that was because I didn’t have health insurance. I’m insured now, so it’d be wise to get my body checked out, right?
The fatigue is getting worse. While the joint pain might not be as severe as it was a couple weeks ago, it is still there. There is something happening with my body aside from the ash inhilation and wacky, mood altering hormones. My body is unhappy with itself, and I’d like to be just a bit more comfortable every day. I’d like to be able to have a 13 hour day and have the energy to clean the kitchen when I come home. I would rather not slowly hobble up the short flight of stairs to my apartment and fall right into bed in the clothes I’ve worn all day. I’d like to, at the very least, drink a glass of water and eat an apple or a cucumber before falling into bed, but I don’t have the energy or painless range of movement to pour a glass of water or simple chopping of a cucumber. The feat of doing both seems too mighty. Neither of those are difficult, and an able bodied 36 year old should not have trouble doing either.
So, to a doctor it is. Blood needs to be drawn and looked at. All the normal things they check should be checked, and they should look at other things not normally ordered. I’d like an explanation as to why my body seems to hate me right now. Our bodies are intuative. They tell us when there is something not quite right. Scientists have come up with ways of looking at what is inside us for answers. The sooner I get answers, the sooner I can heal myself.
When we take care of ourselves, we can take care of the world around us.