The Final Straw: How I Took Charge of My Health

Around the age of 45, my doctor suggested a colonoscopy. “Just as a precaution,” he said. I was healthy and hesitant, but if peace of mind was just a box to check, I figured I’d get it over with.

The preparation was unpleasant—avoiding my favorite foods and drinking the dreaded laxative—but the procedure itself was painless. The last thing I remembered was the anesthesiologist asking me to spell my name. When I woke up, I was reassured everything went well. But then, the gastroenterologist walked in.

Without so much as addressing me by name, he casually said, “I think you could have Crohn’s or something.” He mentioned inflammation, handed me instructions to schedule an MRI, and left the room before I could ask a single question. I was confused, blindsided, and left with the unsettling task of Googling Crohn’s disease. The more I read, the more anxious I became.

For the next few weeks, I spiraled. I scrutinized every cough, twitch, and discomfort in my body, wondering if I was overlooking something serious. The MRI process was dreadful—more liquid to drink, the claustrophobia of the machine—but I told myself I’d feel better once I had answers.

When the results came in, the gastroenterologist emailed me, vaguely recommending medication but offering no clarity. Frustrated, I called his office and asked to speak with him. Finally, he admitted, “Your results look normal. The MRI doesn’t show any inflammation though I feel it best to prescribe medication just in case.”

Just in case?! That was the final straw. For years, I had trusted doctors implicitly, assuming they always knew best. But this one had dismissed my concerns, wasted my time, and robbed me of peace of mind. I thanked him for his time and politely hung up, but inside, I felt a surge of empowerment. It was time to trust myself.

I called my primary doctor and requested a referral to someone else. For the first time, I resisted the urge to explain or justify my decision. I didn’t need anyone’s permission to move on. My new doctor was everything I had hoped for: patient, caring, and thorough. She reviewed my MRI results in detail, addressing every question I had, and reassured me that everything was fine. As she spoke, I felt an enormous weight lift from my shoulders. Only then did I fully grasp how much the first gastroenterologist had exacerbated my anxiety.

Good health is the foundation of every dream we pursue, but blindly handing over authority to someone who doesn’t prioritize our well-being can rob us of peace. You are your greatest advocate. If something feels off, speak up. If your doctor isn’t providing the care and respect you deserve, find one who will.

Your health is your responsibility. Take charge by asking questions, seeking second opinions, and trusting your instincts. If you’ve ever felt dismissed or confused by a medical professional, share your story in the comments. Let’s normalize advocating for ourselves and supporting each other in the pursuit of good health.