Take me seriously. Do not belittle me or laugh in my face. Listen to me, listen to my concerns, and to my symptoms. Think outside of the box and hear my plea for treatment. Listen to my mom, who knows me better than anyone else. Do not be dismissive just because you do not see the writing on the wall. Just because I am not bleeding on the floor does not mean that I am not injured or should be overlooked.
My symptoms first occurred on a Sunday. I remember almost the exact hour in which I felt off. I say off because I, like dozens of doctors, did not know what exactly was wrong. But I knew that something was not right. I was at a sorority event when I started to feel nauseous, a little dizzy, but most noteworthy, was my intense exhaustion. It hit me like a sudden wave. I could barely walk. Scared, I phoned my best friend, Blaire Bickham, a fellow education major, to come and get me. I had caught a ride with another friend, but I knew my body and I knew that I needed to get out of the venue ASAP to lie down. The next few days were a complete blur, and little did I know that that sorority event would be the last one that I would ever attend.
Throughout my life I have had a saga of medical trials. Before the seizures, or the hives, or the multiple broken bones (another story,) I used to get a lot of ear infections. Eventually, I got tubes in my ears to stop them. However, before then, there were an overwhelming amount of times in which I would be crying out in pain complaining of ear aches. My pediatrician always admired my mom for bringing me in literally the day that I got the ear infection. Sometimes, she would bring me in before it would even show up as an infection on a test. That is because she is my mom, and she knows me better than I even know myself.
Throughout the years, she has been with me through it all. She rushed to my side when a stone fountain collapsed on my foot, shattering three bones. She caught me when I had my first grandmal seizure, preventing me from hitting my head. The list goes on, but my point is is that my mom has become hyper aware of my body and when something is not right with me. I called her that Sunday night, I could not sleep because I had such bad vertigo and I needed her to calm me down. And she did, as she always does. But over the next few days I got worse. I noticed my voice tone had changed. I was speaking slower, and I was much more monotoned. My students at the school where I was student teaching noticed my sudden daze. “Ms. B! Ms.B! What is wrong with your voice? Are you okay??” Kids are so much more in tune than they are given credit for; much more so than arrogant doctors. As I deteriorated, my mom’s concern increased and she flew down to see what was really going on.
He said that I must be hungover. That, or that it was just stress. Even though my mom was there pleading with the various doctors, saying how my voice tone was different, and that this level of exhaustion was not normal for me, no doctor would listen. Because the symptoms occurred the day after my sorority formal, and I had been drinking a little, they all jumped to the only conclusion that their small brains were capable of. That I was a tired and hungover sorority girl. My mom practically begged them to test me for mono. But because I did not have the “typical” symptoms of mono such as swollen glands, or a sore throat, then it surely could not be mono, right?
Outraged and frustrated, my mom flew me home to San Diego to see the neurologist who I have seen for years for my seizure disorder. Shockingly, she agreed with the doctors in Texas that this must be due to anxiety. She concluded that because I was jobless, and did not have a set plan for after graduation, that this was my body’s response to the stress of the unknown. Excuse me?? Last time I checked, stress does not cause the inability to swallow, a sudden change in voice, and exhaustion. It took going to four hospitals and driving to the Mayo Clinic in Arizona before I was finally tested for mono. And (shocker!) my mom was right all along. I was positive. The mother’s intuition is strong, but my mom’s intuition is bulletproof.
The way that doctors treat patients, especially young women, needs to change. I was thinking, if my dad, a successful lawyer in his 50s, complained of similar symptoms, would they say that he was merely “stressed and hungover?” I think not. He would be taken much more seriously, and his concerns would be heard. Sure, I am 22, and yes, the doctors probably see girls who look like me who really are just stressed, or who maybe are just looking for a note to get out of class. But that should never be the assumption. The doctors should not have heard my voice and said “well, sounds fine to me!” but rather, “well, how do you normally sound?” The doctors should have listened to my mom, who knows me better than anyone, and they should have tested me for mono. There were a lot of “should haves” and not nearly enough action. I am grateful to have parents who fight for me and who believe me, because that is not something that everyone has the luxury of saying.
*The picture attached is from that fateful Sunday when the symptoms first occurred. I can see it on my face how pale I look and how swollen my eyes are. But of course the doctors thought I just appeared hungover.
Think Loud 