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Last week, I vented my frustrations on social media regarding the ongoing Covid situation. I poured my heart out about the challenges faced by those of us who are immunocompromised, especially when others seem to dismiss Covid safety measures. My thoughts also went out to healthcare workers who must be feeling incredibly worn out and traumatized. In the same post, I revealed my own struggle with PTSD stemming from over fifteen years of medical trauma.
I hadn’t intended to disclose my PTSD. For years, I labeled it simply as medical anxiety. It was only during my first session with my therapist that I confronted the truth: my “white coat syndrome” was likely a sign of something deeper. After researching PTSD, I realized I fit the criteria. Acknowledging the problem was liberating; naming it truly is half the battle.
If you were to meet me, you might never suspect I deal with PTSD. Even if I shared my journey, you might see me as just strong and brave. People often compliment my courage and positivity, and while those traits are genuine, they don’t capture the whole picture. Beneath it all, I feel exhausted, traumatized, and haunted.
My Medical Journey
Fifteen years ago, I found myself in the emergency room, gasping for breath and shaking. After enduring a year and a half of unexplained symptoms, I had visited five different doctors. My ailments included constant hunger and thirst, significant weight loss, chronic fatigue, depression, numbness in my hands and feet, weakness, and blurry vision. One doctor, frustrated by my persistent issues, accused me of being a hypochondriac and suggested I was anorexic. He was gravely mistaken.
In the emergency room, nurses drew numerous vials of blood and wrapped me in warm blankets. Shortly after, I received life-altering news: I was an undiagnosed type 1 diabetic. Minutes later, I was in the ICU on an insulin drip, extremely lucky to be alive. I was in diabetic ketoacidosis, my body on the verge of shutting down.
As if that weren’t enough, eleven years later, I discovered a lump in my breast. Initial tests showed no cause for concern, but my intuition urged me to seek a second opinion. A biopsy later confirmed my fears: I had breast cancer.
The following months were filled with MRIs, genetic tests, and numerous appointments. I opted for a bilateral, direct-to-implant mastectomy. During recovery, I learned my cancer had been caught early, sparing me further treatment. While I was relieved to be a survivor, as the whirlwind of appointments slowed, anxiety and PTSD crept in.
Overcoming Medical Trauma
I dedicated myself to overcoming my medical trauma through therapy, meditation, exercise, and maintaining a healthy diet. I eventually resorted to anti-anxiety medication, but it left me feeling fatigued. Despite the challenges, I persisted with journaling, therapy, and studying trauma to better understand my altered mental state. I discovered that my brain was often in fight mode.
This year brought another breast cancer diagnosis. I have undergone three surgeries, twelve rounds of chemotherapy, and am currently in the midst of thirty-three radiation treatments.
The Daily Struggle
Staying present is a daily struggle for me. I find myself obsessing over medical test results and easily falling into a research rabbit hole. A call from a medical office sends my heart racing, as I replay every significant date in my mind—from my cancer diagnoses to surgery anniversaries. It feels like I’m trapped in a cycle of dread.
Living with PTSD is often misunderstood. I can brew coffee, drive my kids around, and maintain a job, yet the trauma lingers beneath the surface. I confront it daily, often without even realizing it. Various triggers can bring on anxiety, from a song to the scent of antiseptic. I recall feeling triggered at the dentist’s office, staring up at the stark white ceiling and harsh fluorescent lights, a reminder of my breast cancer surgeries. When Covid first hit, I struggled to leave my home; seeing the public in masks brought back memories of feeling powerless on the operating table surrounded by masked professionals.
I could choose to put on a brave facade, but that is exhausting. While PTSD is a significant part of my life, it does not define me. I’m discovering new ways to confront it, including EMDR therapy, which helps individuals reprocess traumatic memories. Embracing EMDR requires courage—a trait I possess.
Understanding PTSD
You can’t always identify a person’s struggles simply by looking at them. PTSD does not have a singular appearance, nor does it belong to any specific group, such as veterans. It manifests differently for each individual. For instance, I don’t experience nightmares. PTSD is a complex issue that anyone who has faced trauma should recognize. I am hopeful that my journey is not in vain and that I am on a path toward meaningful healing.
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Summary
This personal narrative explores the author’s journey with PTSD, stemming from years of medical trauma, including a life-threatening diabetes diagnosis and multiple breast cancer diagnoses. Despite appearing strong and resilient, the author grapples with anxiety and trauma daily, revealing how PTSD manifests uniquely for each individual. The narrative emphasizes the importance of therapy and self-care in healing while shedding light on the often-hidden struggles of those living with PTSD.
Keyphrase: PTSD and Medical Trauma
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