I was ready for a fight…

I was ready for a fight.

I drove to my appointment, arriving early as I normally do. I like to give myself a few minutes to breathe, listen to a favorite song, and get my bearings—not fully realizing that this is how I emotionally armor up for a medical appointment.

The appointment was routine. I was ‘establishing care’ with a new GYN. It was nothing out of the ordinary and yet my nervous system was geared up like I was heading in for battle.

The front desk checked me in from six feet away behind an overturned chair signaling the distance we needed to keep due to Covid. There were signs everywhere reminding me of protocols. They handed me the paperwork.

The same paperwork I had already filled out ahead of time. I completed it, again. I returned it.

The medical assistant or nurse took me back and asked me similar questions to the form. I answered them. A different person asked me similar questions again, and again, I answered.

Finally, the doctor enters. She runs down my history yet again but with more skilled questioning as you would expect from a doctor and I answered, again. Relieved to finally—hopefully—be done telling my same story again and again. I make a mental note—my experience as a patient is less important than their liability.

I asked why there weren’t questions related to infertility on the intake form and I was told that they were aware their forms were incomplete but that these were the forms that were standard for the larger system they are part of. I make a mental note—I have to make space for my history since I haven’t been asked about what is pertinent to my history.

I mentally prepare myself to retell my history of infertility struggles and failed fertility treatment including negative responses to some of the medications I was on. I was told that it was highly unlikely that my experience was the result of those medications. I make a mental note to be careful with how open I will be with this doctor.

I’m prescribed birth control and sent for a transvaginal ultrasound. Both of which don’t diagnose or treat the primary issue I’m being seen for. I make a mental note—find a different doctor.

I get back to my car and I melt down.

This is not unfamiliar. It happens nearly every time I see a new provider. I need time and space to process and come down from the fight I take on. The fight to be heard and seen. The fight to get to the right diagnosis.

And every time I think, there must be a different way.

And every time I think about how my experience shapes the experience I want for my patients.

The standard of care most of us have come to accept—myself included—is insufficient. Our bodies are one of the most sacred spaces in each of our worlds. To enter into the space of someone else’s body is a privilege even if it is also a necessity.

For a long time I doubted my reaction. I doubted my experience. Because who am I to expect an amazing experience at the GYN?

When I stepped outside of my immediate experience and looked at what I was really desiring it was clear that dignity, clear communication, and autonomy were the baseline I truly was expecting.

These are not radical expectations. These are the bare minimum requirements for someone to enter into my sacred body space. I want the dignity of being seen as a whole person who’s time is valuable and who’s experience matters. I want clear communication. You ask me questions and I answer them…once. Autonomy. You are a field expert. I am a ME expert. Let's work together.

The traditional system was not set up to nurture us in the way we baseline, bare minimum deserve. We enter into a machine and hopefully find a warm, caring human somewhere along the way. But often we find caring humans that are just super burned out and overworked.

I also know that I get to do things differently. My clinic. My space. My energy. I get to be different. I get to be a safe space where women can share openly as much or as little as they are comfortable with. I get to accept people where they are—sometimes that means they are feeling out the safety of my space for a few sessions before they know for sure. I welcome that and I understand it on a soul level.

For many of us with complex health challenges, our nervous systems have been on a journey ranging from little traumas to giant violations of our sacred bodies. We have fought to get where we are today and will keep fighting until we find those spaces where we can be held and let our guard down. Until our mind AND our body trusts that we are in safe, protected, held space.

And even then, it will take time and practice to set down the armor and trust that we will be ok.

Dignity. Clear Communication. Autonomy. These are the bare essentials to establishing that safety within a session. I fundamentally believe that at the heart of healing exists the ability to trust. To trust on a deep intuitive level. That is what motivates me each and every day when I’m thinking about how I can best be of service to the women who trust me with their care. It is at the heart of my physical therapy practice.