Don't roll your eyes at ME!

I had an appointment early today for a mammogram. I know they are important; we have breast cancer in the family, and friends have died from it. So, I was ready, had worked out what to say about needing to be treated carefully because of fibro, ME and my spinal injury.
Himself drove me practically to the steps of the mobile unit, then parked the car, and waited in it, as only patients are allowed inside the unit.
Walking stick in left hand, I used the rail on the right to help haul myself up the metal steps to the unit. OK, I was expecting this; however I wasn't expecting the handrail to be so loose it wobbled, pinching my hand between it and the side of the unit with every step.  I mentioned this to the two members of staff when I went in. No reaction. Never mind, no big deal.
After registering, I was told to do the usual - go into a cubicle, take top and bra off, put top back on. I declined, explaining that was too much unnecessary effort for me, doubling the taking off and putting on; I had dressed in T shirt, as I'm quicker with that than a blouse. They exchanged looks.
I was the only patient in the unit. The younger woman took me to the end room. I said that I needed to explain to her about my health, and that I had some specific needs. I said I have a spinal injury, and so cannot bend and lean in ways that most people can, so she'd need to work round that. Oh.
I then explained that I have Fibromyalgia and ME, so have problems with pain. I said that it was important that when I said 'enough' that she was to stop winding the plate down immediately. In the past I have suffered from an overenthusiastic radiographer carrying on tightening, to such an extent that I was left in pain for several days.
I got the eyeroll. No assurances, not even any platitudes. She just launched into telling me why, from their point of view it was so important to...
NO!!!
I have to admit, I lost it. Totally and completely.
I was so upset, and very, very angry. I had carefully worked out exactly what to say to explain what I needed, and why, and she didn't even acknowledge my conditions or my concerns. I then made it abundantly clear I did not trust her to treat me with the necessary care, and that with her attitude she wasn't fit to do the job.
I stomped out, shaking, my heart banging; the adrenaline and anger overriding the need to move sensibly.  
Did I react badly? Yes.
Did I overreact? I don't think so.
People who are so dismissive of vulnerable patients, even when we articulate our needs, are the reason so many of us end up physically worse, and so distrustful of clinics and hospitals. I am able to speak up for myself, and have the brass neck and short enough fuse to be fired into doing so.

Himself drove me home, hugged me, supplied me with copious amounts of tea, made sure I rested all day, and cooked supper. I still feel a bit wobbly. I will probably have a reaction to this in the next day or so. But hey ho.

Nobody gets to roll their eyes at ME.

I did phone the department, and made my views known, suggesting some department training in respect and consideration. I was listened to with interest, was given an apology, told that my complaint would be brought up at a meeting tomorrow, promised an alternative appointment, and that the handrail would be fixed. We can hope.

My elephant is not a unicorn.

My elephant is not a unicorn.

I have this elephant that has chained itself to me. I did not choose him, or welcome him to my life; I woke up one morning and found him there, crushing my mind and body into a silent scream. He saps all my energy; trumpets in my head every waking minute, so I cannot concentrate or think. He is so heavy that I cannot lift or carry anything else. I have to drag him everywhere behind me, so can hardly move. He keeps me awake at night, yet tires me in the daytime. My mind and body ache constantly from his ceaseless demands. If I force myself to do anything, his revenge is merciless; he imprisons me, motionless, for days, crushed under his unforgiving weight.

Most other people can't see him, so they tell me he is a unicorn. He's just a unicorn, they say - and unicorns don't exist; ignore him, they say, and he'll go away. They say I'm too lazy to get rid of him, that I enjoy his company.  They made me try to run away from him - a little harder, a little further every day. He caught me, dragged me back, and kept me prisoner for many weeks. 

A few people say he's a black dog I brought home one day, but I know my beast - and he certainly is a totally different creature, although he does try to let the black dog in, sometimes - but he's not coming into my house. Even if he did, black dogs can be dealt with - people know they exist.

The only people who can see my elephant are those also attached to one. They can just hear him in my stumbling speech, see him as a sag in my shoulders, the pain and lack of comprehension in my eyes, and the false brightness of my smile. They know the frustration of evading those who cry 'Unicorn!' on top of dealing with the elephant itself.

My elephant is not a unicorn.
My elephant is M.E.