Another Day, Another Doctor…
(And this time, it’s a two-part rollercoaster.)

We had high hopes for this new rheumatologist. Really, we did. I made the switch not because my previous rheumy wasn’t doing her job—she’s amazing—but because I was trying to make life just a bit easier by finding someone local. Closer drive, easier appointments, same quality of care… right?

Part 1: The Shock
Turns out, my initial warm-and-fuzzy impression of this doctor got tossed straight out the window.

Why? Because he wasn’t actually listening to a damn thing I said—or anything I showed him.

Instead, he sent in this poor med tech (who sounded like he had just be tossed to the wolves) to tell me there was no sign of any autoimmune disease at all. Despite years of testing. Despite confirmed diagnoses. Despite all the flares I pointed out IN PERSON.

He did confirm the new Fibromyalgia diagnosis and said he’d keep it on file. So… yay, I guess?

But then came the gaslighting special:
He told me—right to my face—that I did not have Antiphospholipid Syndrome, and that he never agreed I had it, that I was probably pregnant at the time of those tests if they were positive… [ NOT POSSIBLE BTW ]
…Despite the fact that I’ve tested positive for it THREE TIMES in five years.
…Despite it being in my records.
…Despite being told by other doctors—including my previous rheumy—that I definitely have it. [She is the one who diagnosed it]

So, yeah. That was yesterday.

Part 2: The Call Back
Today, I got a second call. The doctor has now revised his statement. Again.
Apparently, my Antiphospholipid Syndrome is now being labeled as “in remission” and nonactive at this time—so the diagnosis does exist, it’s just not active.
I’m to stay on my current meds and follow up with my primary for the fibromyalgia.

Cool. Fine. Whatever.
I wasn’t looking for extra pills or new diagnoses. I just wanted care. Continued, respectful care. Someone who listened when I said, “Hey, I’m not okay.” That’s it.

BUT……… WAIT FOR IT:

He also claimed there were no active flares at the time of my visit.
Which is wild, because I literally showed him:

• A flare on my shin
• Photos of one under my left flank (hello, booty cheek)
• A nasty inverse flare on my inner thigh
• And more!!!
  But sure. “No flares.”
  Fine. Whatever.

Now, I didn’t show him the inverse flare under my flank or the one on my inner thigh—and here’s why: My son was in the room with me.
I wasn’t about to drop my pants and flash my booty cheek just to prove a point and embarrass both of us. So instead, I came bearing receipts like a responsible adult who’s been navigating this circus for years.

So, guess what? I’ve already called my amazing-but-far-away rheumatologist and started the process to get back under her care. I may have to drive two hours, but at least I’ll be heard.

Because I will not be gaslit. I will not be dismissed.
And I will not settle for anything less than the care we all deserve.

To anyone else out there constantly having to fight for your care—please know you are not alone. Keep speaking up, even when it’s hard. Even when you’re tired. You matter. And your voice matters.

Much love and many blessings,
Mrs. B