After a lifetime of pretty exceptional health, I suddenly and mysteriously became unwell. But not, apparently, unwell enough for any doctor who crossed my path.
Almost ten years ago my journey through the offices of a dozen or so practitioners began. My mom accompanied me to the first round of visits and testing in 2010 and 2011, where my chief complaints were frequent urination and discomfort in my upper GI tract after eating. Time marched on, my mom stopped accompanying me to the visit I was still going to, and my list of symptoms grew: pain throughout my GI tract all the livelong day, worse frequent urination, crippling fatigue, bodily aches, and brain fog.
In six years, I saw three general practitioners from the same office and one from a different office, two urologists, a couple GI doctors, a couple university clinic nurses, one GYN, and one naturopath. I had an endoscopy, two ultrasounds, a Gastric Emptying Scan, a Barium Swallow Test, one ER visit, a couple of pelvic exams, several EKGs, and pints worth of bloodwork. There’s probably something else I’ve forgotten.
There was no diagnosis. There was no treatment plan. Nothing got better, it only became more normal for me to crawl through my days and I became more despondent.
There was another symptom too, but it wasn’t something that presented as a physical symptom. I innately knew something was wrong in my body, but I had no evidence of that. It was only a sensation, an instinct…which is a description that doesn’t really go over well with any of medical practitioners I’ve met.
To be fair, I’d been pretty hard on this body of mine. I didn’t know how hard I’d been on it, but I could feel that something wasn’t right.
So, I would schedule another doctor’s visit, hoping that this time I could communicate to the doctor what I was experiencing. This time they would understand and strike gold, discovering the Thing which was making it misery to be in my body.
They never did.