Thanks, Dr. A

     I've tried to start this post at least four times over the past couple weeks. A letter came from my doctor's office a while ago, which generally isn't great news. But I definitely didn't expect to open it and read that my GP had died. It went on to explain that I'd need to sort out a new doctor with my insurance as soon as possible, and gave me a number to call with any questions. The fact that the letter was written on her letterhead added to the surrealness of the moment.

     Dr. A was my doctor starting in 2015. I'd been hurt for over a year at this point, and was frustrated as hell. I'd been treated like a drug seeker, a hysterical little girl- like less than a person at some of the clinics and hospitals I'd had to go to. After my first (incorrect) diagnosis and laparoscopic surgery, health care workers treated me as though it were somehow my fault the first diagnosis was wrong. 

     Going to Dr. A's office, I had little hope. That's why it shocked me to tears when she responded to my explanation of what was going on with my health.

"But what were those doctors doing? Why weren't they helping you?"

     She looked incredulous when I explained that since I didn't have a diagnosis, my former clinic refused to treat any of my symptoms. She talked to me with compassion and empathy, and treated me like a human being, which was so rare from health professionals at this point that I embarrassingly started crying. She ordered an MRI, and got me prescriptions to help some of my worse symptoms. She talked to me about my life and mental health.

     In the next couple years, Dr. A got me diagnosed and on the road to surgery.  I learned that she spent her vacations doing free heart surgeries in the Philippines, through a program she founded. But most impressively, she worked in medicine without becoming jaded. She treated her patients like human beings, and remembered to ask about our lives outside of our sometimes treacherous bodies.

     A couple months ago, the office told us she'd had a stroke and was taking some time off to recuperate. They had a couple of rotating substitute doctors filling in, and I suppose I just assumed she'd be back any day. I just wish I would have thanked her. 

     So thanks, Dr. A. For your compassion. For talking to me, rather than at me. For taking my pain seriously, and not brushing me off as some faker. For getting me diagnosed. For always asking what I was doing to distract myself from the sickness and pain. For the work did, from here to the Philippines, helping people. For never losing your empathy in a vocation that can so easily wear it down, I will always be thankful to you.