So amongst other things that occurred this week, one of the biggest events was a trip to Calgary to see another specialist. Matt has had this past week off for summer leave so he was able to drive me, which was good because I was nervous. How nervous was I? Every time I saw some poor animal dead on the side of the road I started panicking because its family would never see it again, and how would they know it wasn’t coming back, and how would they grieve if they never knew, and…
Yeah. You get the idea: I was a real wreck. Luckily, I have drugs for just such an occasion.
This specialist visit was important, both for my health in the near and distant future, and for my pending legal action. The doctor I saw was very nice, very straight-forward, and gave me some of the most honest opinions I have encountered in the Alberta Health system since I was flattened by a bank truck. I could almost go through the clinical details of the event without tears, which arrived when he asked me how I was now. They always seem to show up when someone asks me how I’m doing currently which is both annoying and frustrating.
He did a physical exam, looked at all the sites of soft tissue damage, made me walk and bend for him, and then he whacked my knees with a little hammer. Then he did it again. And again. He spent five whole minutes whacking me on the knees to activate my reflexes. But here’s the thing: my right leg barely moved the whole time. Somehow, through two years of therapy and treatment, people have neglected to note that my right leg is pretty much riding on the short bus. Holy cow, people. All it took was a little hammer and a whack for this guy to figure out something NO ONE ELSE had.
But it gets better! Act now and you can have two life-changing discoveries for the price of one!
As I’m describing my injuries and re-telling my tale, he pauses in taking notes and looks at me. “Did anyone ever tell you,” he says as if he’s not about to change my life, “that severe pelvic injuries like yours are very likely to make you infertile?”
Luckily I was sitting down at the time.
“Okay, so I’m telling you now: women who have pelvic trauma are very likely to be infertile afterwards.”
Thank you, nice doctor, for one again imparting information that would have been useful TWO YEARS AGO. I made sure he was going to put that in his report, along with the fact that no one had bothered to tell me this. I just don’t get it. I’ve been seeing so many doctors and specialists for the last two years and not a single one of them had even brought up the idea that this might be the case. Every medical professional was all, “oh, you will just have to have some extra care during pregnancy” and “well, one miscarriage doesn’t mean anything – the rate is at about 50% of all pregnancies self-terminating”. Yeah. Thanks for nothing.
I have an appointment with my GP on Tuesday. I will be asking to be referred to both a neurologist and an obstetrician. Because shit just got real, and I’m tired of not having all the information. I know that your family doctor is supposed to be the seer of the “big picture” in terms of a person’s health, but I just can’t carry on that way any more. If I’m not seeing the big picture, then no one is. I’m not taking this lying down. I will be my own advocate if I have to be.
It’s not fair or right, but it’s the only way anything ever seems to get ahead in my very complicated case.