Open Letter to Dr. Adam Farmer: An Emotional Goodbye to the Epitome of What a Doctor Should Be
I wouldn’t have believed it myself that you, the doctor who does my colonoscopies and gastroscopies, would become my favourite, but it’s true. And now you’re leaving the UK to fulfill your doctor-dreams in the U.S. I can’t live without you. This may sound metaphorical, over-dramatic, and creepy, but I’m not convinced any of those are true. (Although if I am diabolically dependent, I might not be the best judge.) Let me prove to you why my devotion is perfectly placed. From the beginning, you treated both my husband and me with respect. Many doctors make us patients earn it, which I understand, but it’s hard work. We’re already sick.…
This Is A Reckless Post
Lumps and Bumps update: It’s dangerous, this thing I am about to do. Maybe even reckless. I’m writing about a new diagnosis on the day of the new diagnosis. Some writers give the advice to never write about something while you feel emotionally charged. They say we should wait until the emotions are a memory. This is to protect your emotional well-being and not write something you will regret. Sod it. I’m throwing caution to the wind and am inviting you into my vulnerabilities. Get out now if you’re at a pool party and are soaking up the sun, friendship, and pina coladas. My precariousness state can wait. Before I…
Picture One Less Leg: A pity party
Today is the day. If you’ve heard any of my recent podcast interviews as of late, you’ve probably heard me talk about this day – this indulgent day of self-pity and grief. I need a day like this – a day to sleep and cry and walk and scream at the cows – every six or eight months. Sometimes the cow is a friend. Wait. Nope. That was a (terrible) metaphor. Sorry Kath. You are definitely not a cow. Anyway, yesterday I hit the wall. First off, thanks to pesky symptoms and ongoing disease, medical appointments have been flooding in. After sorting some things at my GP’s office a week…
Medical Students with Needles in Their Toes Who Don’t Have Diabetes
I sat on the hospital bed with my toes exposed and pointed to the ceiling. The time had come. After three years of blackened, thickened, twisted big toenails that had begun to get regular infections, they had to come off. Amputation is a true threat to those of us with Type 1 diabetes – often from unhealed wounds or ulcers of the feet and I know this all too well after my uncle Ivan had to choose to have his leg amputated after years of Type 1 diabetes and a foot sore gone wrong. My toenail infections could escalate quickly and cause exceptional harm to my feet, thus the nail…