This is a Blog Hop Entry in a 'Wonderfully Dysfunctional' Hop Hosted by Buffi Neal.
Thank you, Buffi.
Someone once said to me that there was nothing wrong with me. All the tests were negative, everything looked great, and I had the brain of a 35 year-old! Someone once said to me that I look perfectly normal when I'm laying down, but I look a lot different when I stand up. Someone once said to me that there was nothing wrong with me; it was all in my head. Someone once said to me that in fact, this made me bipolar and I needed to be admitted to an inpatient hospital program. Someone once said to me that it was all in my head. It was PTSD. It was my hormones. It was my depression; I was just a depressed woman. Another one.
Someone once said to me that I was too young to be in the hospital, that I needed to get out. Someone once said to me that I needed to put the hospital bed up so I wasn't laying flat on it all day long. Someone once said to me that I needed to stop being the doctor and just be the patient. Someone once said to me that it was a good thing I was a doctor or I would be dead.
So I forget about what anyone tells me. I fight for myself. Against all odds, I persevere. And now, I'm on a quest to help others to get that little ounce of gumption, that little trace of fight, that little sparkle of hope and take it to the top. We aren't here because we want to be laying in a hospital bed. Believe me, I'd much rather be wearing a pair of high heeled-shoes and a skirt, walking the halls of any hospital as an anesthesiologist, intensivist, forensic medicine expert, or age management medicine doctor.
But I just have to remember one thing as I recuperate from a mini-stroke to my brainstem, oculo-vestibular dysfunction syndrome, and cervical pain and anterior scalene muscle pain because a doctor let me fall to the hard wood floor as I wobbled and lost my balance. There's nothing wrong with me that I am making up. I'm not a liar. I'm not fabricating anything. I don't need extra attention.
I want to walk my daughter to school. I want to wake up in the morning and make her breakfast. I want to make her lunches and teach her how to bake cupcakes. And I want those high-heeled shoes back.
So it doesn't matter what they say. It matters what I do. And I want to get better and I will get better. And I'll find a way to get better and no one is going to stop me. And I will rise to the top again, and God will give me the strength I need to conquer the obstacles along my arduous path. Because if it wasn't worth fighting for, it wouldn't be easy. So there must be something awfully, awfully darn good waiting for me at the end of all this.