The time my GI called me a disgrace

September 2011, a hospital in the Twin Cities suburbs

I was just admitted and was escorted to my room. My grandpa and aunt were with me. My dad was still coming to the hospital from work and would arrive shortly, but for now, it was the three of us and a nurse. I had just been discharged a day ago from the hospital for a severe flare, but then returned the next morning, in worse pain than before, topped off with a terrible migraine that kept making me throw up. There was a knock at my door and a psychiatrist entered, shook my hand, and asked my grandpa and aunt to step out of the room. While the psychiatrist checked on me to make sure I was safe, my grandpa, who is rather hard of hearing and didn't hear why he was asked to step out, asked the nurse as they waited in a the hospital hall what was going on. I didn't see it myself, but my aunt reported that the nurse said "she's having some problems up here", pointed to her head, and waved her finger around in circles to indicate that I'm crazy.

The next day, a gastroenterologist I hadn't met before came up to my room and introduced himself. I was freezing, running a temp of 101F, and in terrible pain because the attending physician didn't allow me anything except Tylenol, despite my pain teams protests that I needed more than over the counter drugs. I had just started Remicade a week ago, was on steroids (among handfuls of other drugs), and was just starting to see minor improvements. My blood loss and bathroom urgency was declining. Though my UC was very slowly improving, my body image worsened each day. I had always been repulsed by my body and face before, but now... no one could reassure me that I was pretty. My face looked like pepperoni pizza from the steroids, my feet and ankles were so swollen I could barely walk, my skin hung off my bones, my belly was always distended, and I looked and felt like I hadn't slept in years. Just taking a shower and changing scrubs required a nap. (Bless my dad for painting my nails while I was admitted in a noble attempt to make me feel like a princess. And it did. I showed my sparkly pink Dad-painted nails to everyone.)

This new GI, who we'll call Dr. Joe, asked me all the questions I had been asked everyday for the past three weeks. How many times an hour am I going? How much blood is there? What shade of red is the blood? How is the pain? Do I think I can get a walk in the halls today? What have I eaten? How is my nausea and vomiting? Did you get a stool sample? Being extremely fatigued, I couldn't move fast or form words quickly enough when he pulled up the bottom of my scrubs to take my pulse though my foot, exposing my calf. Then he saw it. F***ing f***ity f***. He saw it. F***.

Cuts, up and down my calves. I couldn't help it- I felt like hell, I knew I looked like complete crap, the steroids were playing games with my head, I had no idea if I could even survive anymore pain, and I wasn't sure that people would love or like me anymore if they I knew I had disease that  made me so ugly. Self -injury was the easiest way for me to cope, and was one of the few things keeping me from completely losing it.

"What happened?"

He seriously didn't recognize the cuts as self-inflicted. He looked genuinely confused. He was from out of the country, and I guess he hadn't ever heard of self injury. Embarrassed, I told him the truth.

"What a disgrace." And he began laughing, He kept chuckling and telling me I was such a disgrace. He patted my leg and told me my leg was too pretty.

There was no one else with us. I just sat there, put my arms around my distended belly, and didn't speak. I was afraid I'd start to cry. He had already called me a disgrace and laughed at me for my self-injury. What would he call me if I started crying? I knew the "joke" the nurse had made about me being crazy. There were some other comments being thrown around by other doctors and nurses that were just as bad. To the hospital staff, it seemed like I was just a joke. A kid who self-injures, has suicidal thoughts that never seem to go away, and now shits herself. I felt awful.

I don't know if I finally did cry when he left. I can't recall exactly how my family found out. I think I told my aunt via text, but I was so embarrassed and just broken from everything else that was happening in the hospital, I think I dissociated. All I know is that I never saw that doctor again, and will never see him again.

For weeks, I called myself a disgrace. I was ashamed of myself. It was bad enough that the doctor who admitted me refused to let me take pain meds, separated me from my parents, and forced me to sign a 72 hour hold, even though I wasn't suicidal.

The other day, I came across some drawings in my journal. I never show anyone my journals, but this is such an important issue to me. I've gotten laughed at and ridiculed by doctors a few times over the years. I was told my severe bleeding was just a panic attack. So... I'll leave you with this. At the time, I couldn't write about what was happening to me in the hospital. It was too painful. So I just doodled. Somehow, I think the doodles speak more than if I had written my experiences down.

Doctor: WHAT A DISGRACE. hahahahahahahaha
Me: You're right... I'm nothing but a disgrace

Yes, that does say being high is my only relief. No, that does not mean I've ever struggled with an addiction. Pain meds were my only escape, and they made me really high.

I'm proud to say that I no longer think my body is disgusting (I think I'm pretty cute, actually) and I will never, ever sit back and take a doctor's offensive words to heart. I'm sick of being treated like this, and I will never go down without a fight. I know now that I deserved better. So does everyone.