In the last 2 and half years of my life I have seen more doctors then I care to try to count. If I were to make a guess on how many doctor’s I’ve seen and spoken with, I’d guess it has to be over well over 100, maybe even 200. (I’d be afraid to even guess how many support staff I’ve also encountered). Each one of these types of doctors has seen as through one or more pregnancy and/or miscarriage, and I have seen countless doctors of each specialty:
Emergency Room Doctors
Obstetrics and Gynecologists
Immunologist
Radiologists
Reproductive Endocrinologists
Reproductive Immunologist
Family Doctors
Each one of these doctors has left a lasting impact on us. Some we remember fondly – I adore my family doctor, he has been an amazing source of support throughout each one of our losses. Some we do not remember fondly – I am still harbouring enough anger at our local RE, so much so that my anger likely is not considered healthy. Others, we appreciate – our RI, Dr. Braverman, who was able to speak with us honestly and turn our unexplained recurrent pregnancy loss into explained recurrent pregnancy loss.
But today, I want to share my most recent appointment with my local Immunologist. This guy focuses on allergies and asthma, but has been awesome and creative as we searched for an explanation for our losses.
I met with him to share our results from Dr. Braverman. He had expressed an interest, and I am more than happy to share our results with a doctor locally who wants to learn from them. (I feel the need to point out that only my family doctor and my immunologist were interested, our local RE seemed to be of the perspective that he knows best and doesn’t need to waste his time so we didn’t even offer him the results).
So, when I met with my local immunologist this was he perspective:
- He adores that there are doctors who are working in more “experimental” ways – in his opinion this is desperately needed so that innovation and medical treatments advance.
- Based on how he knows my immunology history, he agrees with Dr. B’s report. While he knows nothing about endometriosis, he does know that my allergic reactions, and thought the analysis done by Dr. B made sense with my past history (i.e. my analysis did not show strong allergic reactions).
He even made constructive suggestions about how to possibly get the treatment we need covered in Canada. Evidently he could refer me to a doctor outside of the province on the basis of wanting a second opinion as the expertise available here is not proving useful. The process to get approved may be slow, but evidently this would get a consult appointment paid for. Procedures wouldn’t be paid for, but at least I could get a consult to discuss this with an RE outside of our province to see what they think – possibly the RE/RI in Ontario.
And ultimately, I told him our decision to stop trying based on the risks of all medications I’d be taking; the lack of intralipids in our province; the risky financial costs of surgery out of country/province if there is a problem; the emotional toll it would take on both Mr. MPB and I; and, our slim chances of success even with surgery. He said to me, that he understand our decision. He did not try to push anything else on me, he was compassionate and understanding.
My immunologist goes down as one of the best doctors I’ve encountered locally. The system may be broken at times, but there are still good doctors who are willing to support their patients in a time of need.
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Mr. MPB & I chose to make our home in a city without any family here. We love our freedom. We love our independence. Some would say we are fiercely independent.
My parents knew this about me as a small child, and seemed to have been smart enough to let me do my thing because to tell me what to do would have led to an epic meltdown. Not to say they never intervened, just that they only did when they needed to. They raised their children to be independent thinkers and to learn to live with the consequences of their actions. This is something I am grateful for, and highly value in life.
As a teenager, after my mom and sister died, I was really left to my own devises. There was a time where I was virtually living on my own while my Dad was spending time with my now step-family. Then, once we all lived together, I continued to do most things on my own without much input from my parents. I learned to be independent almost as a way of basic survival. While in many ways it was an unfortunate lesson to learn as a teenager, I have learned to live on the foundation that:
there are no guarantees that those you love will be there for you, so you’d better be prepared to take care of yourself.
Mr. MPB also chose a life of independence as he went out of province for university. We met and somehow we just clicked. We have formed a strong bond that almost screams it’s us against the world. We function as a very cohesive team, but we do so without a lot of support from those outside of our marriage.
That said, while being independent may be viewed as a character strength, I’m not convinced that being fiercely independent is.
Recently, we were asked by our counsellor why we don’t ask people for help more. And this has been on my mind constantly lately. Truth be told, I’m sick and tired of being let down by people I love.
In the past, when I’ve asked for help, I’ve been told no.
- As a teenager, my Dad broke more promises to me then he kept. I learned that people wouldn’t live up to their word, and I learned that I was not a priority. I learned that if I wanted something, I needed to make it happen for myself.
- One time, I asked my parents for to drive me to a miscarriage medical procedure as Mr. MPB couldn’t do it and I wasn’t allowed to drive home. Their response was essentially that it wasn’t a good day for them, but if I could have the date changed they would do it – funny thing about medical procedures in Canada, you don’t get to choose the date or time, and they know this.
- Recently we asked my parents to attend an event that really mattered to us, and they declined.
- If we ask Mr. MPB’s parents for advice/help, we are told that what we are doing is completely wrong, and we are idiots for it. Their advice is always to let them make them our decision as they know best. Really, it feels like its there way or not at all.
At some point, we stopped asking. We just stopped. I guess, we gave up.
By doing everything ourselves, we’ve become even more independent. And essentially by becoming more independent, we’ve eliminated any reason for them to help.
Maybe we are caught in a bit of a chicken and the egg situation.
If I’m being fair, maybe our family doesn’t head our rare calls for help because we’ve pushed them out for so many years by simple things like choosing to live in a city far away, and not asking. We’ve made such an effort to live on our own, doing things our way, that now our families don’t know how to help. Or maybe they just don’t want help now because they’ve become accustomed to not having to help?
I’m not saying that it’s all our fault or all their fault. I really don’t know.
But, after years of living fiercely independent, we are starting to experience the downfall. And today, I cannot help but wonder, is there such a thing as being too independent? And, how do we raise our children to want to spend time with us as adults, rather then do what we’ve done and push our parents out?
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My Perfect Breakdown 