When I woke up this morning, I knew I had an appointment to see a new doctor – a neurologist. I haven’t seen a neurologist since I was probably ten years old. Since I got the diagnosis of Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy, I’ve spent a lot of time in the waiting room at pain management clinics. There’s no cure for RSD, so pain management was the obvious route, and because these doctors gave me at least a bit of pain relief, we stuck with them and never saw another specialist.
Despite my doubts over the years of my diagnosis, there was never a doctor that questioned it. I would meet a doctor and explain to them that my symptoms didn’t really match those of someone with RSD, and it was like the doctors had on sunglasses and could only see my condition with that color lens. No matter what symptoms I was showing, I had RSD. That’s the trouble with diagnoses: yes, they simplify processes and give a name to the face of someone’s demons, but once you get diagnosed, its difficult to move outside of that realm. Continue reading