If one more medical professional wants to schedule something with me, I’m going to scream. I’m finally free of bonds to hospitals. I am asymptomatic. Got that? Asymptomatic. I have no need for more than an annual checkup. Stop the panic.
I had this done. There was some debris. It sent every specialist at the hospital – and, apparently, my husband, – into a panic and attempts to brand me with all sorts of misidentified disorders. As it is with this entire first-world era, the world has become a breeding ground for mistakes by the ton.
And not enough “Oops! My bad”.
Some of these are symptoms of stroke damage and not some autoimmune thing. They have yet to prove to me through any legitimate testing that I definitely have sarcoidosis. I have endured chemotherapy and surgical scarring from their attempts to make me a victim of this disorder. They point to my last MRIs and say, “Lookit here! Those lymph node deposits prove it!” No, they don’t. That’s debris from the TAVR. I should have had it when I was 12.
I’m not stupid. I’m more medically literate than you realize. I am very aware of my body, more than anyone else. I have explained this over and over. They seem to think I’m just some little old lady who should sit back and take it without questions. Not so. I have done a frightening amount of qualified research.
None of this is me. Everything that is wrong with me now is directly related to the series of strokes I had connected to my need for the TAVR.
No one listens except my cardiologist and my PCP. I am frustrated beyond belief.