Wednesday, October 28, 2009
I'm Sure It's Just Gas
Why are some people (okay – namely, me) – who are obviously very sick – or in a lot of pain - unable to seek medical assistance?
I do not like doctors. Or hospitals. Or anything related to the medical field. Which is rather ironic, considering I worked at a hospital for twenty years. But hey – the money and the benefits were good, and I liked my job. I just didn’t like all that “medical thingy stuff” that got in the way every now and then.
Flashback: Twenty Years Ago
I was pregnant, and two weeks overdue with my first son when I began having severe stomach pains after dinner. “I’m sure it’s just gas,” I said to hubby. “I’ll be all right.” At midnight, I reluctantly agreed to head to the hospital…arriving just mere minutes before my son decided to make his entrance into the world. I was blaming the spaghetti I’d had for dinner. Guess it wasn’t to blame after all.
Flashback: Ten Years Ago
I was 9 months pregnant with my daughter when – you guessed it - those severe stomach pains started up – and again – I tell hubby, “I’m sure it’s just gas. I’ll be all right.” Darn if he didn’t pack me up in the car and drive straight to the hospital – where my daughter decided to make HER entrance into the world a little bit later. And here I thought it was the Taco Bell I had for lunch. Guess not.
Several years ago, I again began having severe stomach pains. I wasn’t pregnant – so I was pretty safe in assuming that another child would NOT be making their entrance into the world that night on MY behalf. After two days of weakly assuring hubby that, “It’s just gas – I’ll be all right” – a forced visit to the hospital revealed acute appendicitis. Huh. Go figure. And here I thought it was my Chipotle burrito. Oops.
While in Yellowstone a few years ago, I hopped off my snowmobile and immediately hit the pavement, thanks to some invisible black ice. Despite the blinding pain in my arm, I shakily said to hubby, “It’s okay – I’m all right.” Only the unarguable sight of my arm bending in a wacky S-curve convinced me that a trip to the local hospital was in order. Broken in three places, and I got a nice hot pink cast and lots of painful physical therapy. Guess it wasn’t all right.
Why is it so hard for some of us to call a doctor? Or to seek help? Is it because some of us are wired to only give assistance and we have difficulty receiving it? We give and give and give – but don’t feel comfortable being on the receiving end. It’s an interesting conundrum and I have to believe that I’m not the only one out here in the blogging world that’s like this.
I’m only writing about this now because I have a headache that would bring a 900-pound Kodiak bear to his knees. And pressure – intense, painful pressure in my ears. And I’ve had it for several days now. And am I going to call a doctor? Or seek medical help? Nope. Not at all. It’s okay. I’ll be all right.
I’m sure it’s just gas.