I remember dreading going to the pediatrician as a child. Dr. R was a huge hulking man who never lied to me, even when he should. When it was time for a shot, he would inform me it was going to hurt and I would cry. When I started to get fat, he told me I was getting too fat. No lollipops, no comforting hugs, hell if I can even remember him smiling. He was my doctor until I was almost out of high school. Yeah, not so fun being a fat 17 year old sitting in the waiting room of a pediatrician’s office. But my mother didn’t want to sever that relationship - Dr. R had been my brother’s doctor as well as mine. She trusted him implicitly.
I used to kick up such a shit fit over having to see a pediatrician and could never understand what the hell the big deal was about going to the same doctor. Of course this was largely in part due to the fact that I was always so upset hearing about my weight, in addition to his office being in Novi (a good 45 minute drive), and well…the dude never lied to me. Seriously, just tell me it’s not going to hurt. Just once.
Once out of college and on my own with my own health insurance, I got sucked into the Great HMO Machine. I didn’t call my doctor’s office, I called the clinic’s office and made an appointment with Anybody Available. It didn’t matter to me who it was because the only time I went was when I was sick. After a couple of years, I did have the same doctor more than once but I never had a “my doctor” type thing. If it wasn’t on my chart, I had to explain or repeat myself.
Fast forward to 2000. My husband and I have moved to Seattle. I get sick. He gets sick. We need to activate our lovely medical insurance fully covered by that Big Software Corporation in Redmond. I did a little research but pretty much selected a clinic near our home that had a wide variety of specialists. Clint and I both went to Dr. L - he for tonsil problems, me for ear infections and stept throat. We both liked him; he was a young guy (meaning about our age), friendly, and in spite of the fact that he was an HMO kind of doctor, would spend time with us as much as he could. I never felt rushed and he told me early on that if I felt I needed a longer appointment to just tell the front desk when I made the appointment and he could do that easily.
Jim never got the snark on about my weight. He’d always mention it but never unkindly or aggressively. I grew to trust him and liked him too.
Along comes 2002 and we’d made the decision to pursue weight loss surgery. I made an appointment with Jim and brought all my research and data, armed to the gills to convince him to give me a referral. I didn’t even need it - he asked me a few questions, could tell I’d done my homework, and said he would fully support me and write anything and anybody he needed to in order to help me. He admitted he knew nothing about the Duodenal Switch but would learn if I wanted to continue seeing him for follow up. He was always so supportive, even calling me after my surgery to see how I was.
He worked with me during my weight loss windows, he and his nursing assistant Val (who remains with him to this day, another unusual thing) always helped and encouraged me. He adjusted medications, analyzed my bloodwork, and helped me greatly in getting my plastic surgeries approved as well. And he always always was just so damn kind.
My heart damn near broke when I started to work at Motorola and discovered that Jim wasn’t on the provider list. But even then he helped me, giving me the names of people he would trust with me. I went a few times but to be honest, I just didn’t want to start with anybody. It was almost like a romantic break up in that I didn’t have the heart to start getting to know someone new again, I still missed him. Hell, I felt like I was cheating on him.
Once I started at Mettler, we were back together. He was floored when he saw me, it was the first time since my weight had stabilized. He hugged me, held my hand while we talked. I told him about the divorce and all that was going on and he listened and we got me back on track. He was the first one to realize that I was developing bulimia and tried to work with me but I wouldn’t listen. But he saw it. Way before anybody else, he saw it. When I finally faced it, he was there for me. Never threw it at me, just asked how I wanted to handle it. When I told him that I wanted to deal with it on my own, he showed me the way.
He was the one who finally coaxed me into treating the anemia, gently, understanding my fears. He was the one who treated the MRSA scare, so calmly. He was the one who…I could list a dozen times when he was the one who.
This doesn’t happen these days. Like “Fight Club”, so much of our lives are single serving people and disposable relationships. The old school doctor-patient relationship is hard to find these days because we’re always switching providers, moving on, doctors getting tired of the pressures of the insurance companies, etc. But me and Jim? Been together longer than anybody. He saw me as a newlywed, as a divorcee, as an idiot in a destructive relationship, as an emotional mess after the end of said relationship. He lasted longer than my marriage, indeed any non-family relationship. We love him. And we trust him. Implicitly. He is one of the few people I know who will lay it all out for me, straight, but with love.
And he did it again today.
I dragged my exhausted (I’m back to 2-3 hour sleeps), gnawed-cuticle, trembling handed, sleepwalking, crying, nervous, lost confidence, afraid of blinking wrong and getting into trouble, confused-about-life, verge-of-meltdown fatter-by-the-day ass into his office today. He stared at me. Stared again. He said physically speaking, he’s never seen me look so fantastic. He had no end of admiration in his eyes as I showed him my developing physique and was full of happiness for me. Then he sat down and simply said, “so tell me what’s really up”. And out of nowhere came this flood, this torrent. Of tears, of words, of emotion. I let it pour out of me, not censoring a word.
He just listened. And he heard me.
When I was done, I felt drained. I was afraid to look up at him and see a disgusted reaction but there was none, only concern. He told me that I’ve come so far, changed so much and done so many amazing things, pulled myself up and out on my own time and again, refusing help but this time, he didn’t want to watch me struggle anymore. He said while physically I’m fantastic, I’ve been wilting and fading for months. He proposed some medications and I went through the ceiling. No no no no no goddammit fuck no. I’m not going that route. I told him about my experience with the counselor a couple of weeks back and he rolled his eyes and laughed. He said that I don’t need counseling, I don’t need therapy because I’m smarter than just about any shrink he would send me to and there’s no way I would benefit because he knows that it takes a lot to win and retain my respect and I’m not going to find someone readily that will get that from me. He said I know myself better than most people he knows, that I know what I need to do and what I need to overcome and a therapist isn’t going to help me with that.
But, he said I needed help. That I need to find a way to stabilize so that I can get my bearings and find my focus and indeed find myself again. This isn’t a permanent thing, it isn’t forever, but that I need to do something or else I would keep propelling into a meltdown of epic proportions and that it doesn’t have to be that way. I believe “stubborn pain in the ass” and “Acme anvil to the head” was said somewhere in there too. I still refused, citing things like fearing more weight gain, and other lame excuses. He called me on them, basically telling me I’m full of shit. But nicely. He asked me to take a deep breath and think about it for a minute and I did. I looked at him, not even really knowing what would come out of my mouth but figuring it would be a nice version of “get bent”. Instead, I heard myself say…
I trust you.
And you know what? I do. There are only two other people currently on the face of this earth that I trust completely, two very beloveds who know me well. But Jim knows me differently and I knew that I had to trust him. He listed a handful of scary names then handed me a list of prescriptions. I’m leery and I don’t like it. But I agreed to try this for a month and then we will see what happens. It’s going to make me sick, it’s going to make me a little nuts, I may be out of it sometimes. But I trust him and I believe him. He even gave me very important, deep, serious advice about several situations in my life right now and what he thinks I should do.
Earlier today, I said to one of the aforementioned beloveds that I hated what I was becoming, this nervous, worried, exhausted, anxious mess of a woman constantly struggling to maintain Hope and a positive attitude. This little mouse of person who gets up every day determined to do well and make things good and walks into the door in the evening so dejected, feeling incompetent, useless…and unwanted. I told my friend that I wanted to return to the bright, happy, fun, sharp Faburama that drew us together in the first place. That I missed her as much as he did and that this…this…thing that I’ve become is not Marybeth.
And then there’s Jim who sees exactly that and tells me that I can get back to that girl. So, we’re going to try. Together. And while I’ve lost a couple of people from my life recently for various reasons (upcoming post about my philosophy of people coming and going to fill a void), I am also wonderfully fortunate in that I do know I have people who care…who love me even if they don’t say it…who need me, who depend on me, and who miss the Bright Happy me.
If there was ever a case to be made about the importance of establishing a longstanding relationship with your doctor, this is the Pantone color-perfect exact rendering. This is why. Because 300 pages of notes on a chart will never substitute for your doctor looking into your sunken, swollen, tear-spewing eyes and knowing how to fix you from within…because he knows you, not just your statistics.
Today, I finally understand why my mother insisted on dragging me almost an hour each way to see that pediatrician.
