Today, I returned to PT (and obviously to writing once again – apologies for the break.). I had the tremendous privilege of meeting my physical therapist’s mentee, C. C is a twenty-something who has a keen eye and interest in physical therapy, so she’s shadowing my current practitioner to gain experience. In the past, I have had tremendous difficulty retaining physical therapists, primarily because my diagnosis is bizarre. Most PTs have no idea what to do with me structurally, as my body seems to refuse to respond to traditional therapy styles.
Aside: The fact that I found the physical therapist I currently have is a sheer miracle, considering she is actually a pediatric therapist who, having heard my story, decided to accept me in her practice! I’m her tallest patient I think, towering at 22 yrs old, 5’11”! 😉
I was so pleased to be barraged with questions by C. As she asked me questions such as how does my body react to the cold, when did I notice these symptoms, how do I process it all day by day, etc., she validated my experiences in expressing compassion through body posturing, facial expressions, as well as saying things like “Wow this must be so frustrating for you.” and “You’re taking this so positively!” As we were speaking, I was confident that C would be successful in the medical world. Why? Because the medical field needs more compassion. Patients like me need more nurses, doctors, physical therapists, radiologists, etc. to hear our stories and VALIDATE our experiences.
As someone who collects doctors like some kids collect Pokemon cards, almost all of my doctors have been either dismissive, indifferent to my pain during certain testing procedures, disrespectful to my caregivers, and/or have not listened to me as I described my symptoms which has caused wrong medications to be doled out and wrong diagnosis to be assigned. (One day I’ll write the story of when I was told I was having a panic attack when in reality, I was experiencing an asthma attack which I had never had. I now carry an inhaler I use rather infrequently.)
Education with regards to chronic illness is CRUCIAL. Excluding the doctors who diagnosed me with EDS 3 at the MAYO, all of my healthcare providers have been totally ignorant of my condition, requiring me to educate them. Is this frustrating? Yes. But do I understand why? Yes. As someone who is chronically ill with a tremendously rare syndrome, I consider it my duty to educate those around me (when appropriate) about my illness. I don’t consider something that affects every part of me to be something I need to hide, besides the fact that it is almost impossible to hide!
If you happen to have a chronic illness, I encourage you to educate others about your chronic illness. It raises awareness, explains why you may or may not be able to perform certain tasks, saves you from looking flaky when you cancel plans because you just can’t do it that day, as well as makes the world a better place. In today’s climate, everyone has something they’re standing for. If the chronic illness & disability community were to band more tightly together, resolving to education the common abled public, I truly believe that we would have more advocates speaking out to government officials, communities, churches, and schools on our behalf. We have few advocates because few people know or understand our condition(s). So it’s your and my job to teach them.
If you are abled, please listen and do your research. I realize that syndromes and illnesses are scary and not for the faint of stomach; however, your fellow brothers and sisters who are at less of an advantage NEED your help. If you listen to us and speak out with us, this world could swiftly become a more accessible, more compassionate, and more educated place. After all, who doesn’t want to change the world?
As Annie Elainey says, “The future is accessible.” And it will be, if we all work together.