chronic lyme disease with a taste of nut
What kind of sense does it make to tell someone, “you can’t feel that?”
I remember seeing Dr. S, who was my primary doctor two doctors ago, when I was hopping around to see if anyone would listen to me and respect me. I thought I liked her in the beginning. She was at least willing to listen. However, once my viral outbreak started last summer and my nerves were seemingly damaged…hence giving me the clinical diagnosis of “peripheral neuropathy”….she said something horribly disheartening.
Nearing the end of summer, weeks after my inital onset of severe pain and fatigue symptoms, I noticed it was getting harder to walk up and down the stairs. My knees hurt. I couldn’t explain why. I didn’t have arthritis. I didn’t hurt my knees. But they hurt and they ached. Badly.
So I went to Dr S. and commented on my achy knees which felt like they didn’t want to hold me up any longer, thus making it more difficult to not just climb, but walk.
She said to me, “You don’t have nerves in your knees.” (referring to neuropathy)
She said, “You can’t feel that. Your knees can’t hurt because you don’t have nerves there.”
I was stunned. Was she in my body? Because if there was a way for her to be in my body, I would gladly take up the opportunity to show her.
No doctor should ever tell a patient a symptom can’t happen if it’s happening.
Well, this doctor was also the one who told me she couldn’t document my visits because she did not know how to document “subjective symptoms.”
That was the last day I saw her.
By the way…while researching neurological lyme this past week, I found out that in stage 3 the knees start to hurt. Read why here.
It’s a good life lesson.
My mother died almost 9 years ago. I’m still grief-stricken at times. No one can tell me I can’t feel sad about it.
My childhood cat died in 2000. No one can tell me I can’t miss her. My 15 year old cat who sits on the kitchen table as I type and stares at me about two inches away from my face is the love of my life. No one can tell me I won’t miss her when she’s gone.
You know the margarine, “I Can’t Believe it’s Not Butter” — no one can tell you, “you can’t not believe it’s not butter!”
One more example that I think is perfect:
My stepchildren are not my biological children. Duh, right? But I love them as if they were mine.
No one can say, “you can’t love them.”
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