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My “open” letter that needs to be edited

My “open” letter that needs to be edited , thanks for reading my vent —

To the medical care provider(s) that neglect their patient:
There is a difference between a professional opinion and a personal opinion. If you think I am being over dramatic, keep it in your head; don’t vocalize it. It was your job to listen, and process what I am saying. Take to heart the symptoms I am telling you- don’t just brush it aside.

Today I dragged myself off of my couch feeling zombie like with enough courage to call my medical care provider. The person on the opposite end of the phone listened, instructed me to go in for fluids & warned me that you were the one on call. She told me another MD would be there if I had any problems. So I called my home-health nurse who had also suggested many times before that I go in for hydration. So reluctantly & rightfully so, I go in to get treatment that I was told I needed.

Pause for a moment…
Dear Reader: inside the life of a person who suffers from Hyperemesis Gravidarum: What’s that? This is far worse than severe morning sickness during pregnancy: Consistent nausea and vomiting day in & day out. It robs you of your ability to live a normal life, to feel like a human: to feel like your worthy of your job as a woman to carry this little human growing inside you, while you have tears running down your face as you vomit in the toilet for the 27th time again. Your stomach muscles are sore from throwing up, you have snot dripping down your nose, and drool as you gasp for a moments breath before you choke again while you gag. You’ve already peed your pants from puking so hard. Oh! And you see spots after your final puke for the moment from being so dizzy. You pick yourself up off the bathroom floor and reach out to you medical care provider who prescribes anti-nausea medication over the phone. Tells you to try little bites of this or that. Suggests the B.R.A.T diet, crackers, sniffing lemons, wrist bands, sips of water every so often. This that & the other. You give up calling for help; you’re tired of trying the same thing. Each appointment the weight on the scale decreases drastically. Some pay little to no mind to it. Some listen. Some of us have to have a picc line: permanent IV line that provides hydration and medication to you all day everyday -or a Zofran pump: you poke yourself with a subq needle in your stomach or thigh each day to pump medicine consistently, but that’s not good enough – because you still make frequent trips to the hospital where someone gives you that look and judges you & doesn’t want to help you. You fall into depression & feel like a failure, you stand up for yourself only to be shot down.

Provider, today you made me feel so small. You belittled me and made my situation into nothing. You compared your own personal struggles to mine- your struggles may not have been horrible, but mine, I grasp to hang on each day. You told me you didn’t catch a break, that I was lucky I was getting what you call help- that the ketones in my urine meant nothing and that my cry for help was pathetic. You had a smile on your face as you tried to comfort me in saying that you had what I have, and it’s not “that bad.” You told me you thought I had severe indigestion, that I just like to visit you (the hospital), and that you did not believe me, with your half-joking laugh. you thought you held the higher power with your conceited sense of self, until I told you to leave, that i wanted to see someone else because you weren’t taking me seriously. You wouldn’t give me the care I was told I was going to get, and I honestly hope that you NEVER truly feel or go through what you put me through or what I suffer through.
I am not alone. There are strong woman who have it much worse than I do. Some get the treatment they need, some are ignored, and some are unaware.
I hope that this situation brings attention to a much important cause that needs to be addressed appropriately in the future by medical care providers all around. It’s a shame that things get more empathy/sympathy on death. It’s a shame that today and many other days, I almost wanted to be dead.

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