I had yet another appointment with yet another specialist today.
In all honesty, I was loathe to go. I don't hold out much hope of there being a positive outcome for any of these appointments anymore. I don't think there is a LLMD to be found in Canada. But of course there is always that teeny little voice that whispers from the recesses of my mind, "maybe, this doc will know."
And so I muster energy I don't have to go and garner the courage to face another medical skeptic - all because hope reigns supreme. Albeit each time as I share my lengthy health history and the latest doctor sits quietly, intently listening, my hopes are raised. And as my story unfolds and they appear to be actively listening by interjecting with a timely question or two, my hopes build up and I start to believe that this one may be the one who finally gets it.
Each time I share my long journey, I re-live all of the emotion, the pain, and the challenges I have fought through to get to this moment. Each time I lay it out before them I lose a little piece of my heart.
I suppose that with each denial, each refusal to come to my aid is such a crushing and personal blow.