During my recent working vacation I had some breakthroughs. Most notably with my GP, if you follow this blog you may remember me referring to a particularly brutal doctor in the past. After inducing a breakdown, being too anxious to attend appointments and generally feeling beaten down by their words, I decided enough was enough. I either had to cease treatment with this doctor and find another one, something which I was reluctant to do, or address this doctor's shortcomings and failures in dealing with me. Despite talking about my mental health more than ever before, it's still very difficult for me to discuss my problems with GPs. I've been through a few doctors now, I understand that some people struggle to talk about mental health and that they might not understand it or may even dismiss depression as an illness all together. Is it so wrong to expect that your GP would be sympathetic and understanding of mental illness? I don't think so. Perhaps it's an area that's skimmed over but covered enough so they have a general understanding of mental illnesses. Either explanation is still unacceptable.
I decided to face the problem head on, albeit through a letter. I'm not especially eloquent in person, I stumble over my words, stutter and rarely get my point across in face to face conversations. It's not as if I don't know what I want to say, I can go into a conversation having rehearsed every potential scenario in my head, stressing over the details, ifs and maybes are my forte after-all! To compensate for this I decided to write a letter to my GP explaining my thoughts on their treatment towards me. Essentially, several comments were made on my personal life and how I choose to address and treat my mental health conditions. If I couldn't proceed with any further appointments with them I at least hoped to highlight ways they could alter their behaviour for any other patients they might have with depression. Fortunately they responded well, and we've agreed to continue our doctor-patient relationship. I could have easily rolled over on these issues, I could have allowed them to believe that I'm a particularly sensitive individual and that they need to treat me accordingly. This doctor does have a fairly forceful nature in the hopes that they can push patients towards getting better. I know that they have made a real effort to understand every aspect of my life, they've accepted that for now I do not wish to seek the help of a counsellor.
I wasn't sure how they'd react to my letter, before I received their response I was convinced that I was going to have to search for another doctor. Fortunately bridges hadn't been burned. At the end of the letter I decided to address something I'd been too nervous to discuss in an appointment. The addition of which turned the one page letter into a three page essay! It's something that I have previously discussed with other doctors only to be shot down with their personal opinions. During the height of the bullying I experienced, I turned to food for comfort and up until that point I'd never really understood the term 'comfort eating'. I suppose I just felt some immediate satisfaction and happiness after each forkful of cake, cheesecake or whatever else I was sneakily shovelling in after school. This routine soon took it's toll on my body, and without realising I had become 2 stone heavier and had gone from a B cup to probably around an F cup. I was mortified, I didn't want to have my breasts measured properly to reveal the true extent of how big I was. I received even more attention and scrutiny. I was called out on by my P.E. teacher in the changing room because my sports top was now "inappropriately tight", cheers for that. I avoided P.E. lessons when our group of girls was suddenly mixed with the boys because of bad weather. At that time I favoured getting a 'no kit' mark against my name rather than bouncing on a trampoline in front of the boys and giving myself black eyes.
Six years on and not much has changed. I still avoid getting measured properly as they are still growing. I've had breakdowns in changing rooms because of them and would rather avoid crying in front of a lady with a measuring tape and enormous bras. I managed to lose most of the weight I had gained, but I never regained the confidence I once had nor the pleasure of buying and wearing clothes that made me feel good, and I certainly haven't lost the other two things I gained *ahem*. Since I was 16 years old I've wanted a breast reduction, for many many reasons. I've been told that I should be grateful for what I have, that I should flaunt it and that they really "aren't that big". I've also been told that due to being severely depressed I was "a suicide risk and it would be a waste of NHS funding", and yes that comment was made by a Doctor! GPs haven't exactly been my biggest cheerleaders on the matter. I understand that it's a slightly controversial thing to get funding for, but it's not for cosmetic purposes. My quality of life isn't what it ought to be because of how much I am limited by having a big chest. I am going to be turning 23 in January. I feel like I haven't even had a chance to feel like a young person, a young woman. During these years I haven't developed a personal style, I don't experiment with clothes or have fun with them. I simply hide my large chest and feel quite frumpy.
If you want an extensive list of all the reasons behind me wanting and needing a reduction I will happily provide it for you. I'm prepared to fight my case for this. Usually I wouldn't think I was worthy of anything, I'd think that there must be people worse off than I am. For once I'm saying "sod it, why not me?"and finally I have the support of the doctor I thought would sack me in as a patient. They are in my corner and ready to do battle with the NHS board of referrals, it might be a long battle but for me it's worth it.
