For years, when I told my doctors I thought something was wrong, they told me I was wrong. That I was perfectly healthy and maybe I was just depressed.
Fast forward to this past September and the double diagnostic whammy of Sleep Apnea and PCOS. Nothing wrong, my ass. (Actually, there’s nothing wrong with my ass – it’s one of the few body parts with which I’m completely happy).
Any rate, even though I’m going in to see this new doc with those two diagnoses in hand, with a referral from my primary care doc, and with an unquestionably positive Celiac screening test… I’m bracing for getting brushed off. Bah.
So, I’ve been reorganizing my Medical Info Binder. It seems like one of the few productive (and at least not destructive) things I can do with the excess worry-energy. Wanna see pics? I’m so ridiculously proud.
Page one is a list of current diagnoses and medications (mostly blurred out for practicality reasons).
The tabs are for the different years. Thanks to the combination of my OCD and my Dad’s OCD, I have medical records going back to 1986. They aren’t all in here, and there are a few years that I didn’t keep track of. But it’s still pretty thorough.
And… it functions kinda like a safety blanket. Or magical armor. Or at least something to occupy my hands.