I sat on the examining table awaiting my fate. My stomach was in excruciating knots. Doubled over in pain, I grimly smiled as my doctor entered the room.
“How are you?” was the question.
“I’m the same. Still in horrible stomach pain. I can’t eat, sleep or get comfortable”.
The test results showed my cholesterol level at 440 and triglycerides were 330. My blood sugar was elevated but not high enough to indicate diabetes. The physician looked perplexed and said that she did not know what was causing the problem. She asked if I wanted a referral to a gastroenterologist and ordered more blood tests on my pancreas. She told me to use diet and exercise and wished me a good day.
I observed the empty room and almost cried. THIS was my answer to the endless stricture that was my abdomen? I felt depressed and abandoned. When I checked out, I didn’t emit my usual friendly patter.
I drove home, thoroughly deflated. My inner voice kept saying “What am I to do now?” How could just changing my diet and exercising possibly help me feel better? I couldn’t eat anything solid and certainly didn’t feel like exercising. My physical history read like a third world war scenario. I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia, osteo and rheumatoid arthritis, congestive heart failure, Meneiere’s disease, scoliosis, high blood pressure, generalized anxiety and depression. I was already on 8 medications. My past history contained Hepatitis A, spinal meningitis, malignant melanoma, and 19 surgeries since 1994. How was I supposed to get better with all that working against me?
I spent the evening crying and feeling sorry for myself. It seemed that the medical community did not know or care about what was going on with me. No one had the answers. THEN, I got mad!