All In My Head

It was the shortest of months, and it was the longest of months... We are finally at the end of July.  It feels like we never had a summer break from school at all. (Though we have certainly experienced a very long stretch of intense summer weather.  All of you living in "the valley" like us know exactly what I'm talking about!) I could use a vacation-- somewhere in cool temperatures, perhaps surrounded by pine trees, with nothing to do but relax and maybe read or book or something. But it is back to school time around here so that is not in the cards, at least not anytime soon.

The month of July included some of the most heart-wrenching days I've struggled through in my entire life.  Too personal and still raw to share, but I am finally starting to recover a bit (and find some semblance of being myself again). Part of the challenge was that our July was so busy we never got a break. I was planning to write a rather newsy update (there have been some milestones and funny--now--hiccups, the kind I used to enjoy re-telling in blog posts because why not see the humor in life's ups and downs?), but humor is hard for me right now-- rather than laugh, I'm more likely to tear up. *shrug* I'm sure it will get better with time. 

Rather than update on everyone and everything, I thought I would blog about something that I've been trying to come to terms with and failing miserably.  To explain, let me go back and tell you a story (forgive me if I've told it before).

Just before the start of my second year of college, I was riding my bike up to campus when I was hit by a car while crossing an intersection.  It wasn't bad-- the driver was turning right (on a red light) and didn't look my direction.  He mostly hit the front tire of my bike, and since he wasn't going very fast, most of the damage was to my bike.  I did end up with pretty substantial bruising on one leg (the leg that was pinned under the bike when the car ran over it). At the time I was shaken but I could walk fine so I didn't seek any medical attention.  Fast forward a couple of weeks later, and the bruising was almost faded but my stomach was constantly sore (like all accidents, general soreness showed up later).  My mom insisted I go see a doctor to get checked out.  I got a name of a local GP from my aunt (she didn't see him personally) and I braved the doctor's office by myself for the first time in my life. With my explanation of what had happened, the doctor's attitude was highly suspicious.  I don't know what he thought-- that I was faking because I wanted to sue the driver? That I was hoping to get prescribed serious painkillers? But his disbelief in my symptoms came through loud and clear.  He pressed on my stomach a bit and proclaimed that he didn't see anything physically wrong with me.  At this point I teared up (because this whole situation was stressful and I react with any kind of negative emotions with tears), and he proclaimed that I was overwrought and the physical symptoms were not real but caused by my emotional distress.  He then prescribed a tranquilizer (which I never took, after looking up the drug in a hefty medical tome I found in the university library, because I read that it could become addictive and I didn't even want to risk it).

The picture I had to take of my bike for the insurance claim. 
"That's funny, the damage doesn't look as bad from out here."

That one event affected me profoundly and still does to this day.  On one hand, I have a serious distrust of most doctors until I build a relationship of trust with them. On the other hand, I have a mortal fear of going into the doctor and being told that whatever I am experiencing (or one of the kids, for that matter) is nothing, or is all in our heads, or even "I can't find anything wrong, but that doesn't mean nothing is").  That has come back to bite me, big time, this year.  It's why, even though I had the gyne begging me to go to the ER for a transfusion, I was reluctant.  It's why I'm in a bind now, with the chest pain that just won't go away.

Two days after my first blood transfusion, I started having chest pain.  It took me two more days to dare to go to the ER because it was probably "all in my head." The ER took it seriously, of course, but after running several different tests concluded that they couldn't find anything wrong.

*zap* There goes the confirmation of my original negative story about going to the doctor.  Unless I am practically dying, it is better not to go to the doctor, my brain decides.  It's nothing, it's all in my head, it's just psychosomatic.  But Terence is deathly afraid of something happening to me (which I get, I feel the same way about him) so to ease his mind I go through all the follow ups.  My PCP doesn't find anything wrong, but she refers me to the cardiologist anyway, just to make sure.  The cardiologist doesn't find anything wrong (yet) and says my chest pain is atypical for angina, and it's probably a gastrointestinal issue.  (Which is what the nurses in the hospital-- during my June post-op care-- basically suggested.  "Are you sure it isn't acid reflux?") But the cardiologist-- to be safe-- has ordered additional tests.  Even though they can't find anything, my family history is worrisome.  My dad had a quintuple bypass (at age 52), and my aunt and my grandpa had to have them also.  My mom has heart damage for similar bleeding issues to what I'm having. Plus, ugh, my blood pressure is higher than it should be on the medication.  Is it related? No one knows.  So I have an echocardiogram scheduled next week and a nuclear stress test the week after.

And I don't want to go to either appointment.

You see, I'm convinced everything is "all in my head." Even though part of me realizes the chest pain has now shown up every day for more than two months. It's not consistent, but I do feel it at some point every single day. Soooo....is it something to worry about? Or not? I'm tired--SO TIRED-- of doctor appointments.  If it's all in my head or related to emotional distress (or even acid reflux, really) I'd rather just go on with my life.  I've been coping with or ignoring it since mid-May.  I can keep on keeping on this way.  Right?

But what if I'm wrong? And therein lies the rub.