After my most recent heart attack, I decided I needed a sign that read “Don’t Stress Out the Heart Patient.” I figured I would unfurl it as the need arose. Just a little reminder for all my insensitive family members, co-workers, and friends. Do I sound bitter? Cranky? Obnoxious? Maybe I’m just jaded after four years? My girlfriend says I’m sassy.
Doctors have described me as “argumentative” “frustrated” and “anxious” on paper. Off paper, I suspect their descriptions have been more colorful. What I am is a “difficult patient,” which is another way of saying that survival and quality of life mean more to me than respecting authority. White coats don’t impress me. Logic, the scientific method, problem solving, and workable healing strategies do.
Another sign I considered constructing to unfurl when necessary was one with a simple question: “Got Help?” Sometimes things need to be broken down to their most basic components. I usually try to explain things accurately in great detail. But during one of my worst doctor’s visits, I recall saying loudly over and over again to the doctor (trying to be heard over his yelling) that I was suffering and needed help. This was a big move for me. Two moves really. 1) Admitting that I was suffering; 2) Asking unequivocably for help. My bold new move was lost on Dr. T whose one big passion was convincing me that I did NOT have a heart problem. I just thought I did. Hmmm. Interesting theory. Apparently there is a whole bevy of women out there who imagine they have heart problems. They imagine chest pains, shortness of breath, nausea, dizzy spells. On occasion they imagine heart attacks, strokes. Why? Because heart disease is a man’s disease. We must be jealous. Or something….
I am a 41-year old woman of color who has recently been diagnosed with Ischemic heart disease. It took four years and far too many doctors to get this diagnosis. It also took 3 visits to the ER, at least 4 heart attacks and a trip to the Mayo Clinic. It would be an understatement for me to say I am a bit angry. Fortunately my anger is eclipsed (if only slightly) by my desire to do something about this. I don’t want other women to go through what I have. This madness must end. This blog is one woman’s attempt to change the way women are treated by the medical establishment. And to reach out to the women who have been mistreated.
