missrenie | My ovaries maybe made of steel but my pituitary gland is shit. (Reply)

So my gyno (the one who likes to scrape the walls of poor unsuspecting women's cervix without the use of anesthetics) called.

The last time she called she told me that the cancer results were inconclusive because she didn't have enough of a tissue sample to tell whether or not I had cervical cancer. She wanted me to come in for another biopsy. I considered bloggin that bullshit earlier but I was exhausted.

Three weeks ago she sent me for an MRI as a last ditch effort to figure out what was wrong with me. We both knew the results were going to come back negative. I paid my 40 dollars and took the test. While I was lying there on that narrow gurney with the machine whirling around my head (maybe it was whirling my eyes were closed) I had a lot to time to think. To consider things… like calling it quits with this woman.

Every time I went into her office she told me she had no idea what was wrong with me.

Sent me for more tests which confirmed almost six years of previous diagnosis

Referred me to three other doctors who totally confirmed the previous diagnosis

And gave me one hell of a biospy

I was ready to toss up my hands and say I'm just fat and hairy because I'm a fuck up. That's it lady. Stop trying to search for answers! Give me my hormones, a lapband, some hella good razor bump cream and lets call it a flipping day!

I was totally at that desperate/giving up point. Depressed, overwhelmed and in completely bad form. If you would have cut me I would have poured enough emo-golobin to drown a small farming village

But it just so happens that my crazy sadist of a gynecologist was on to something. Turns out that while my ovaries are made of steel my pituitary gland is shit.

There's tumor… not on it. In it.

When she told me that I was like

Oh… no freaking out like when my doctor told me I had allergies. Just "oh" closely followed by "well… hell"

She went on and on about some stuff and commended me for handling the news so coolly. She referred me to neurosurgeons in Redwood City. They'll run a few more tests and then operate on my brain through my nasal passage.

I thanked her for working so hard to figure out what was wrong.

When I hung up I had to go into an empty room and cry... something I've been doing way too much lately.

Not because of this tumor but from relief, from thankfulness, from happiness that someone believed me. She didn't just look at me and say. Lose weight and everything will go back to normal. Or your obviously not exercising enough. She didn't make me feel like this lazy lethargic pathetic person who let things get so out of control.

She believed me when I told her just what special type of hell this past decade has been. From the depression and weight gain, the constant fatigue and dizziness, the complete and utter mutiny of every cell in my body.

She believed me. She was the only fucking one to believe me. She followed a trail and she was not afraid to say that she did not know where she was going or what she was looking for. She kept looking. And she found it.

Even though she cut into my cervix without the passing pleasure of a Tylenol she listened to me. She believed me. Even though I didn't believe in her

…even when I stopped believing myself.