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| Power Style Wellness Connections |
Good Reasons to See a Doctor
By Mary Cartledgehayes
Preventive health care is, for many women, a nonevent. Recently I
intereviewed some acquaintances to learn what questions they avoid
asking their doctors. It turns out that they don’t avoid questions; what they avoid is
doctors. Preventive health care is, for many women, a nonevent.
Now why would that be? Is it because they think doctors exist to tell us what’s wrong
with us? In my experience, doctors aren’t our antagonists; rather, they exist to let us
know what’s right with us.
For instance, about a year ago, I was squinting into the bathroom mirror one morning
and spied unidentified frightening blobs (UFBs) on my eyelids. I peered more closely.
Perhaps I was hallucinating? No. They were on my eyelids, I tell you, pale, rounded,
chicken-fat-looking UFBs, apparently granted by some whacked-out eyelid fairy while I
slept.
My first thought was “TUMORS!” followed by, “Some people have matching shoes and
handbags. I have matching eyelid tumors.”
I searched out a new family doctor (my old one had refused to move to Kentucky when
I did), who was not alarmed by my UFBs. She said, “It’s genetic,” and went on to
explain that a fine membrane separates the eyelid from everything else on your face.
I’d inherited a particularly fine membrane which had ruptured at the expected age.
I don’t know if my brain is drifting down into my eyelids, or merely my forehead,
because instead of listening I was mentally retracting every anti-cosmetic surgery
statement I’ve made. There was no way I was going to live with UFBs.
Well, apparently there is a way, because I still have them. And now I can see them
without squinting, thanks to the optometrist who suggested I take my glasses off.
“My eyes feel scratchy sometimes,” I’d said. “And my depth perception has gone
funny. After I park the Jeep and get out, I have to climb back in and pull forward or
backward five or ten feet.”
Going blind, I was, or at least my eyesight was rapidly deteriorating. The optometrist
said my vision had changed between checkups, and now my left eye does the up-
close work, while my right eye handles seeing at a distance. It’s called monovision.
Some people wear contacts or have eye surgery to get it, but I have it naturally.
Why didn’t I know? Because I hadn’t gone outside without my glasses on in years.
“Do I need new glasses?” I asked
“Well, you’ll see much more clearly if your eyes are working together, and you’ll have
less eye strain.”
“But I don’t actually have to wear glasses to see?”
“We-l-l-l . . .”
Optometrists are in the business of allowing people the best eyesight possible. I,
however, am in the business of being late invariably because I’ve lost my glasses and
wasted half an hour looking for them, not to mention my conviction that some day I’ll
accidentally step on and break them while dropping the spare pair into the ocean.
Okay, I’ll admit it: I have a vivid imagination. But that’s my point. Imagination has the
power to create scenarios of death and destruction. The best way to resolve the
scenarios is with accurate information — the kind medical professionals provide.
My third recent medical encounter was with the neurologist I see for AD/HD.
Back in March, I went rushing into his office, having forgotten every day for three
months that I needed a new prescription. I filled out the usual paperwork (how are you
sleeping? any problems with work or school?), and in the blank that asked “Are there
any problems you’d like to discuss with the doctor?” I wrote, “I seem to be lacking in
initiative.”
The doctor wondered, exactly what I meant.
“I just don’t have the kind of initiative I used to,” I explained. “I’m not getting anything
done.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Describe your life to me.”
I launched into the recital. I feel great. I’m in a strong and happy relationship. I’ve made
good friends in Louisville, am leading a retreat in August, have taken up fiber arts. I
intended to tell him I’m not doing any writing, but the folder he was consulting
contained one of my recent essays and a flyer I’d sent him about the poetry collection I
had published in the fall. (Oh. He’d probably think those things counted as writing…)
The doctor explained — not for the first time — that a healthy life feels different from a
hyper-focused, overextended life; that the path to wholeness isn’t traveled by working
eighteen hours a day, the way I once did; and that relationships take time. Somehow, I
always forget these precepts. The doctor reminds me. In doing so, he allows me to
acknowledge, and celebrate, my healthy life.
Thanks to the medical community, I know I don’t have eyelid tumors or incipient
blindness or creeping malaise. That’s important information. Equally important is the
fact that if I had those maladies, my doctors would have responded with solid treatment
plans. Life-saving drugs truly are available, as are therapies to strengthen and
lengthen our lives.
If you’re a woman who has put off having a checkup for several years (or decades),
please call this week and make an appointment to see a health care professional. Do it
for someone you love: your own strong and beautiful self.
Mary Cartledgehayes can be reached at marycartledgehayes@iamtodayswoman.com.
By Mary Cartledgehayes
Preventive health care is, for many women, a nonevent. Recently I
intereviewed some acquaintances to learn what questions they avoid
asking their doctors. It turns out that they don’t avoid questions; what they avoid is
doctors. Preventive health care is, for many women, a nonevent.
Now why would that be? Is it because they think doctors exist to tell us what’s wrong
with us? In my experience, doctors aren’t our antagonists; rather, they exist to let us
know what’s right with us.
For instance, about a year ago, I was squinting into the bathroom mirror one morning
and spied unidentified frightening blobs (UFBs) on my eyelids. I peered more closely.
Perhaps I was hallucinating? No. They were on my eyelids, I tell you, pale, rounded,
chicken-fat-looking UFBs, apparently granted by some whacked-out eyelid fairy while I
slept.
My first thought was “TUMORS!” followed by, “Some people have matching shoes and
handbags. I have matching eyelid tumors.”
I searched out a new family doctor (my old one had refused to move to Kentucky when
I did), who was not alarmed by my UFBs. She said, “It’s genetic,” and went on to
explain that a fine membrane separates the eyelid from everything else on your face.
I’d inherited a particularly fine membrane which had ruptured at the expected age.
I don’t know if my brain is drifting down into my eyelids, or merely my forehead,
because instead of listening I was mentally retracting every anti-cosmetic surgery
statement I’ve made. There was no way I was going to live with UFBs.
Well, apparently there is a way, because I still have them. And now I can see them
without squinting, thanks to the optometrist who suggested I take my glasses off.
“My eyes feel scratchy sometimes,” I’d said. “And my depth perception has gone
funny. After I park the Jeep and get out, I have to climb back in and pull forward or
backward five or ten feet.”
Going blind, I was, or at least my eyesight was rapidly deteriorating. The optometrist
said my vision had changed between checkups, and now my left eye does the up-
close work, while my right eye handles seeing at a distance. It’s called monovision.
Some people wear contacts or have eye surgery to get it, but I have it naturally.
Why didn’t I know? Because I hadn’t gone outside without my glasses on in years.
“Do I need new glasses?” I asked
“Well, you’ll see much more clearly if your eyes are working together, and you’ll have
less eye strain.”
“But I don’t actually have to wear glasses to see?”
“We-l-l-l . . .”
Optometrists are in the business of allowing people the best eyesight possible. I,
however, am in the business of being late invariably because I’ve lost my glasses and
wasted half an hour looking for them, not to mention my conviction that some day I’ll
accidentally step on and break them while dropping the spare pair into the ocean.
Okay, I’ll admit it: I have a vivid imagination. But that’s my point. Imagination has the
power to create scenarios of death and destruction. The best way to resolve the
scenarios is with accurate information — the kind medical professionals provide.
My third recent medical encounter was with the neurologist I see for AD/HD.
Back in March, I went rushing into his office, having forgotten every day for three
months that I needed a new prescription. I filled out the usual paperwork (how are you
sleeping? any problems with work or school?), and in the blank that asked “Are there
any problems you’d like to discuss with the doctor?” I wrote, “I seem to be lacking in
initiative.”
The doctor wondered, exactly what I meant.
“I just don’t have the kind of initiative I used to,” I explained. “I’m not getting anything
done.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Describe your life to me.”
I launched into the recital. I feel great. I’m in a strong and happy relationship. I’ve made
good friends in Louisville, am leading a retreat in August, have taken up fiber arts. I
intended to tell him I’m not doing any writing, but the folder he was consulting
contained one of my recent essays and a flyer I’d sent him about the poetry collection I
had published in the fall. (Oh. He’d probably think those things counted as writing…)
The doctor explained — not for the first time — that a healthy life feels different from a
hyper-focused, overextended life; that the path to wholeness isn’t traveled by working
eighteen hours a day, the way I once did; and that relationships take time. Somehow, I
always forget these precepts. The doctor reminds me. In doing so, he allows me to
acknowledge, and celebrate, my healthy life.
Thanks to the medical community, I know I don’t have eyelid tumors or incipient
blindness or creeping malaise. That’s important information. Equally important is the
fact that if I had those maladies, my doctors would have responded with solid treatment
plans. Life-saving drugs truly are available, as are therapies to strengthen and
lengthen our lives.
If you’re a woman who has put off having a checkup for several years (or decades),
please call this week and make an appointment to see a health care professional. Do it
for someone you love: your own strong and beautiful self.
Mary Cartledgehayes can be reached at marycartledgehayes@iamtodayswoman.com.