Six months after my sister passed away, I sat trembling in a Doctors surgery.
I had been experiencing blinding headaches and was worried about them.
He checked me over, shone a light in my eyes, then rested back in his seat.
“I really don’t think it is anything to worry about, just headaches” he said
Then he smirked at me
“It is not as if you are dying of a brain tumour is it?!”
He thought he was making a joke with a 20 year old lady, and was probably confused as to why that same young lady raced out of his surgery in tears.
I do not think I am a hypochondriac, but I am well aware of how unfair and surprising life is at times.
Cancer, that fucking disease (excuse the language, but I feel it is needed here), has taken my big sister, 3 of my 4 Grandparents, a grade 8 class mate, numerous friends, and is the one reason as to why I have attended the amount of funerals I have.
I hate this disease, absolutely fucking hate it.
I hate what it does, what it takes, what it prevents.
I HATE IT!
While I am on the hate party, I also hate Dr Google, that friggin thing has had me self diagnose myself far too many times for far too many scary things, and I hate to say it, but more often then not it is cancer.
Now don’t get me wrong, I do not think of cancer 24/7 and it is not as if I obsess over getting it, but it does cause me a bit of caution.
Two years ago a Doctor suspected I had a breast tumour, thankfully she was wrong, but I had already started fighting my battle in my mind.
A doctor was once dramatically alarmed at the result of my blood pressure test, once I told her in my quite, shaking voice that doctors scared me, she got me to take a walk, have a cool drink, take some deep breathes and return.
The next test was much better.
Thankfully, apart from my blubbering mess when I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety, I do not make a habit of having break downs in doctors surgeries any more.
I am dealing with some health problems right now, and on Friday my doctor suggested I have some blood tests, as well as book in for an ultrasound and see a specialist (which I have to wait until August to see- but that is a whole other story).
Monday I get the call from the surgery that the results are back, I am right near by, so I duck in and visit them to get the results in person.
The receptionist informs me that the nurse needs to see me, so I take a seat with my energetic 4 year old and wait for 5 minutes.
The nurse comes to get us, and ushers me to a room.
“I am afraid that your results are of a nature that you will need to make an appointment with your Doctor to discuss them” she tells me.
My smile fades, my heart skips a beat.
I go back to the desk, find that I am not able to get an appointment that does not interfere with school drop offs and pick ups until 2 days later.
My anxiety kicks in.
My fears take over.
I start to worry about all the things that could be wrong.
Two days later I finllly get to see the Doctor, she must notice that I look a bit nervous when she ushers me into her room.
“I’m sorry” She says
“Our Junior Nurse is not permitted to discuss results with you, it seems you are just a bit low with your iron levels”
I had imagined myself with many diseases, got worked up and stressed out, finally calmed myself down.
I told friends how I felt.
I shared my heart and soul.
All to find out my fucking iron levels were low!
Oh please doctors, I am a bit delicate,
Please, be gentle with me.