This one about Darfur is really depressing, but worth a listen.

With that said, I say, “Sayonara to you hateful 2007, one of the worst years yet.” It (the fun of 2007) started on January 2, with an MRI of my entire spine in search for an answer to the burning and stabbing pain, mysterious rashes, tremors, periods of insomnia, and aches that have plagued me. There I had to lay still, fighting feelings of claustrophobia while it felt like bees were stinging me all along my spine. That was only the beginning of the nightmare that has continued all year. Eleven doctors, at last count, so many blood tests and doctors visits it would take too long to count, all without the hope of an answer. I met my out-of-pocket maximum on January 2, so all the visits and lab work the rest of the year have been free, but the doctors weren’t even worth the time it took to drive to their office.

The worst of these was a doctor at Duke. My husband and I drove for three hours through pouring rain the night before my appointment with the hopes that this extra special doctor might shed light or give us clues for the next direction to take our search. Her answer was that my problems were psychological — probably stress — and recommended that I take prescription pain pills. That’s our American answer isn’t it. Instead of wanting to figure out what was wrong and maybe treating the source of the problem, I was repeatedly encouraged to look deep down and admit the stress that I didn’t realize I had and to take drugs to mask the problem.

One doctor said to me definitively, “Well, you’ve had a lot of tests run” as if to say, “well, we’ve done a lot of tests, so you should be reassured that nothing is wrong. Nevermind the pain you’re feeling every day.” I had a dermatologist argue with me, “How are you so sure that you’re right and everyone else is wrong?” I looked at him dumbfounded and then stood my ground, completely fed up with the medical profession and the arrogance that accompanies their ignorance, “Because I know me and I know something is wrong.” What I didn’t add was, “and because you’re all a bunch of lazy assholes and can’t be bothered to look in a medical book or do any research to help a patient who doesn’t have a common, easy to solve problem.” Not one of my doctors has said anything like, “Well, we’ll keep working on this until we figure it out.” Not one seemed interested in being a partner my healthcare. If the answer isn’t readily apparent, it must be stress and they have a prescription pad that can solve that.

Unfortunately, I’ve also had very little emotional support through all of this. My father had M.S. which puts me in a higher risk category than the general population. My mom also has two first cousins (siblings) who had M.S. There’s also Lupus and a lot of other generally bad DNA in the family tree. How many nights I spent in cold terror thinking about my future and how limited it might be. How much time did I spend on the Internet trying to find answers. How much hopelessness after each doctor’s visit that I would ever find a doctor who would help me. And all of this after getting married last year and feeling so optimistic about the future and thinking I had so much to look forward to.

Incredibly the one “friend” I confided in early on during this ordeal stated that our thoughts create everything that happens to us. Not mind you, in terms of “try to stick in there and focus on the positive,” but in terms of, “your thoughts are all-powerful, you’re like God, so if you’re sick, it’s your fault because you’re not thinking positively enough.” She went on to say how she couldn’t support me in “an identity of illness.” In a way it’s comical. Who said anything about identity? All I said was that I hadn’t been feeling good and was scared. She’s a former friend now. A friend who can’t be there for you when life deals a few punches isn’t a friend at all. I put up with a lot from her over the years, so, in a way, it was a relief to be done with her. I’m forgiving to a fault and I always blame myself in conflicts for not being more patient or for being too sensitive, or whatever. I like to look in the mirror to find the source of the conflict first. A last straw is a last straw though and there was too little payoff to put up with anymore. I hate even giving any space to it in my blog, but it captures so well how isolating being sick can be.

The only thing worse than being sick, is being sick and not knowing why, particularly when I’ve made such an effort throughout my life to take care of myself. I can’t say I treated my body like a temple every day, and I’ve certainly eaten my share of cheesy poofs and chocolate chip cookie batter, but in general, I try to treat my body well.

What’s worse than being sick and not knowing why is having few real friends to talk to about it. I’ve learned a lot this year about how afraid and uncomfortable we are with illness. Honestly, I think we’ve become a very shallow and self-centered society. I’ve been shocked at how few people who knew my situation could even muster a polite, “How are you feeling?” or “How’s it going? Are you finding answers yet?” or even just a simple, “I’ve been thinking about you.” Some days it was really tough to hold it together and I have to credit my one friend Jeff for really being there for me, but more on that tomorrow.

There were other heartbreaks too. Friends who got lost in married life, multiple electronic death, including my beloved IBM laptop, a widespread electronic conspiracy to make me lose the last remaining threads of sanity I managed to hold onto, the Orioles bloody pitching…but I think I’ve sufficiently summarized how thoroughly 2007 sucked. I’ve been through some bad times before, but this year tops them all. I mean, how about when Bush was “re-elected.” I thought that was a rough time.

Fortunately, there were bright spots that prevented me from having a complete and utter nervous breakdown and tomorrow I’ll write about them.