Thursday, March 23, 2006

The most challenging thing: seeing a NEW doctor.

It is an irony, isn’t it? So far I find moving to a new country, broke, sick and jobless at the same time is nothing daunting. Maybe because my husband is with me. Maybe because I am used to getting up rooted. Maybe because there is a false sense of security; I have ONE friend from my high school living one hour away. Everyone around me was really worried for me, but I have been coping very well so far, until today.

In half an hour’s time, I will go and see a doctor. What is so scary, you may ask. Are you getting an injection or one of those nasty tests. No. None of these. I am just terrified about how petrified the poor chap would be when I put down my thick pile of “medical history” in front of him. I dread having to go through my history. I know how doctors work and think more than anyone else. I can catch it, those small twitches at the eyebrow and the lips.

I am not sure if I hope that this is a young chap or an older doctor. If it is a young guy or one with an interest of research, I will have to be prepared to recount all the history, the details, the co-morbidities, the risk factors etc. If it is an old chap, I might be dismissed as the all too familiar psychosomatic case before having to go through all these. Is it better to relive the pain (some of histories I have selectively chosen to forget) or be dismissed. I really don’t know.

I know I have to fight for myself to get heard, to get the treatment I need. I need to even educate them if necessary. Even if I know more than them about my own condition, I still need them to do the papers and prescriptions, and refer me to the appropriate people to get the therapy. Massage therapy, which works really well for me is just too expensive for me to afford.

For the last few weeks, I have been getting my shoulders, hips, thighs and hands massaged every night. If you think that I am a lucky gal to enjoy all these, you are wrong. These massages are extremely painful. No, I am not sado-masochistic. I endure the pain to get some sleep. That is the way to prevent me waking up at night with muscle spasms and pain, and waking my poor husband up. That poor guy have been doing this for me, even after a long and tiring day. The sad thing is despite all these, he still cannot provide a relief as effective as that from a professional. I still have to visit a professional about once a month, and pay sum equivalent to our one week’s worth of groceries and food bill or a half an hour session. I managed to find a kind woman as a therapist, and she does not mind tackling the most knotted areas in the half an hour, provided I co-operate and not yell and scare away other clients. It is hard work for her, applying the deep pressures. I can see her sweating during each session.

My handphone alarm just beeped. Time to see the doctor. Time to persuade him that the unconventional medicine works fine for me. (I hope that he does not see me as a traitor to conventional medicine! Hmmm. I will hide my real profession and training from him, unless he question me directly) Time to get a referral to a therapist. Hopefully I can get something for less than our one week’s food and grocery bill. Wish me luck.

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