Having A Purpose

For much of my life, I have felt inadequate. Like I just didn't have anything to offer the world. When I got married and had children, that changed, of course. My purpose was to nurture and care for the family I had made.

I still had a nagging feeling, though, that my contribution to the world as a whole was lacking. That insecurity had plagued me for years. I remember the first time it occurred to me: In fifth grade, my class took a field trip to the planetarium. We sat in the round, reclined and staring upward. The narrator explained to us that, in the grand scheme of the universe, we were absolutely insignificant. At the tender age of 10, I began to feel like my life was meaningless.

At the ripe old age of 25 (26 next week, thank you very much), my perspective has changed. I don't need to change the world in order to create meaning in my life. I simply need to be the best person I can be. Smiling at strangers, being polite, reaching out to those who are struggling, putting others before myself... maybe those small actions will have a ripple effect. Maybe, by being kinder and more attentive to the needs of others, I will have earned my place in the universe.

Telephone

The following is a telephone conversation I had this morning with a receptionist at a doctor's office:

Receptionist: "Such and Such Internal Medicine, how may I help you?"

Cassie: "Hi, I am looking for a new primary care doctor and was wondering if any of the physicians in your practice have experience with eating disorders."

R: "I'm sorry, could you repeat that last part?"

C: "Do any of your doctors have experience treating eating disordered patients?"

R: "What do you mean by 'eating disorders?'"

C: "Like anorexia or bulimia."

R: "Oh. Um, well, they're all internists, and they've probably seen patients with eating disorders before, although I'm not sure. Are you looking for yourself?"

C: "Yes."

R: "Oh. Okay. We'll see what we can do for you."

Now, maybe I'm just extra sensitive, but doesn't that conversation seem a little ridiculous? It's 2010. Chances are good at least someone in that office has encountered an anorexic or bulimic person before. I also have to add that this is the THIRD office I called. The first told me I should check with a psychiatrist, and the second simply said they didn't "deal" with eating disorders.

I don't want a psychiatrist. I don't need a therapist. I want a medical doctor to tell me if my laundry list of physical ailments is a result of past years of self-abuse, or if there's something else wrong with me. I want a physician to check my blood pressure - sitting, standing, lying down - and tell me that while yes, I royally fucked up my body, there's a good chance he can fix it.

I don't want to be humiliated every time I make a doctor's appointment. I shouldn't have to feel like a leper. Yes, I have a disease. No, I'm not contagious. Yes, I'm in recovery. No, I'm not a lunatic.

Thanks for letting me get that off my chest. My appointment is next week. My next issue: admitting to my dentist that I DO have a history of bulimia - which he has long suspected - and asking if all my teeth are going to fall out. Wish me luck.