Now that I was resigned to the fact that it was up to me to
find out how to cure my endometriosis, I began searching out experts on the subject. It wasn’t that I didn’t like my current
doctor. On the contrary, I thought he
was wonderful! He was incredibly
supportive of me and was doing all that he could to try to help me. The issue was that he was an OB/GYN, not a Reproductive
Endocrinologist, or someone who had specialized in endometriosis. Therefore, his knowledge was a bit limited. I was now on the hunt for a doctor who
specifically treated patients with endometriosis.
Surely, they had to be out there. Thank goodness for the Internet. I searched for “Endometriosis Specialists” in my area and was immediately given a
long list of names. Not surprisingly,
all of the names were associated with a major university hospital, known for
their expertise in a wide area of conditions.
So I began my research in to each and every one of the doctors
listed. How long had they been in practice? How many patients had they treated with
endometriosis? What were some of the
reviews from other patients? I wanted to
do my due diligence to make sure that I was choosing the best doctor for
me.
Once I had found “THE doctor” I made my call. It was going to take a month to get an
appointment. Not a problem. I had waited this long, so what was another
month. The appointment couldn’t have
come soon enough though. I was so
anxious and excited that I was going to finally get answers and relief from
someone who really knew the ins and outs of this condition. The day finally arrived and I made my way in
to the city to head to the offices of the hospital. I live about thirty miles from the city, so it
took a good hour to get there. I made
sure to leave enough time to get there, park, and fill out any paperwork. I paid for parking in their garage and headed
up to hopefully begin my journey to a healthier life.
The office was stark and uninviting. There was nothing about it that made me feel
relaxed. Still, I breathed a sigh of
relief when I gave my name and my appointment time. The receptionist repeated my name
questioningly and told me that she didn’t have me scheduled. Are you
kidding me?! Please don’t tell me
that I waited a month for nothing, that I drove an hour for nothing… She
checked her system. I was there! Phew!!!
Only I was at the wrong office.
“Didn’t someone call you?” she asked me.
No, no one called me. “Oh, well someone should have called
you. We moved you so you should be at
the other office across town.” I knew
what that meant. Across town would take
me another thirty minutes to get there.
I would miss my appointment. I
just spent eight bucks on parking.
Figures.
Naturally, my only response at that point was to cry. When would I get another appointment? I couldn’t keep living that way, not being
able to stand up straight without feeling like my body was ripping apart and
feeling so depressed. Wasn’t there anything
she could do? Yes, there was. She said I could have their next appointment
in two hours. Done. The appointment was mine. I got back in my car and headed over to my
sister’s to kill time. She was in
college not far from the hospital, so I hung out with her for an hour, until it
was time to leave. And since I was so
unfamiliar with the city and in such poor spirits, she came with me. Such a saint!
I was so glad to have her there with me, not only for
support, but also so she could sit in my car while I was parked illegally. That’s right.
This new office didn’t have a parking lot. It was a small office in a neighborhood with
only parallel parking. Even if I could
parallel park, which I hadn’t done since my driving test, there was not a spot
to be had. So I found a pharmacy a block
away and parked in their lot and told my sister to stay put for a little
while. Fearful of making me cry again,
she did just as I had asked.
This office was a bit better than the other. Big windows, a few plants, and some music
made for a much more serene environment.
I was ten minutes early for the appointment, so I filled out my papers
and waited to be called back. Ten
minutes went by. Time for my
appointment. Still, my name wasn’t
called. Another ten minutes went
by. Then another fifteen. It was odd since I was the only patient
sitting in the waiting room. Thirty
minutes. One hour. An hour and a half. Finally, an hour and forty five minutes after
my new appointment time I was called back to the exam room. Another fifteen minutes of waiting. Just then, the sound of hope! The door opened and in she walked. “Hi, I’m the nurse practitioner.” Hi, I’m
Marielle. Where is Dr. So and So? “Oh, she’s not here today. I’ll be taking your appointment. What brings you in?” I have
endometriosis and have been suffering quite a bit. I have done a bit of research and this seemed
to be the place to come to get answers and relief. I first want to treat my body, but my
secondary concern is my fertility.
“I haven’t had any patients with endometriosis myself, but I know Dr. So
and So has. And don’t worry about your
fertility. When it comes time we can do
IVF.”
I waited two hours, on top of the trouble already caused by
the miscommunication, for a nurse practitioner that didn’t know squat about my
issues. Where was the doctor who was an
endo expert?? The NP was nice enough,
but not what I had expected. Her
recommendation to treat my endometriosis?
Birth control pills. And being
told I would need IVF in order to conceive one day was the last thing that I
wanted to hear. I asked her to draw some
blood and check my hormone levels to see if it reflected something else going
on. She obliged and then left. As I got dressed I cried. I cried leaving the office. I cried when I got in my car. I cried to my sister as I drove her back to
her apartment. I cried the whole ride
home. I was never going to find
relief. I was stuck being miserable
forever.
My husband told me to hold out hope. Make another appointment after my blood work
came back and then meet with the actual doctor.
So after two weeks of not hearing back from the office, as promised, I
called to get my results. I sat on hold
for forty minutes. No results. Call at the end of the week. Once again, I sat on hold, this time for an
hour. No results. Call on Monday. Same story, but I was finished. I never did get those results. I couldn’t sit around waiting forever. These doctors did not care about me. They did not care about who I was as a
person, what I was going through, and they weren’t interested in my well-being. Time to move on.
Through all of this I had been sharing my struggles with a
dear friend and co-worker. She and her
husband worked for the diocese teaching Natural Family Planning. She knew of a nurse who had worked with other
women with endometriosis and thought she could help me. I got the name and email address of this
nurse and emailed her immediately. I
will admit that I was skeptical. What
did Natural Family Planning have to do with what I was going through? How would it help me? I had nothing to lose at this point, though,
so I might as well check it out. That
evening I emailed this nurse and for once, felt hope.
To be continued….
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