My Body Hates Me

Graphic by Emma Novy

These past few months, I have been dealing with this inconceivable battle with my body.

My heart feels like it's constantly racing; sometimes, I can even hear my own heartbeat in my head because of how fast it goes. The simple walks I used to take a year ago now leave me winded. Certain activities I do, like washing my hair or putting on makeup, leave me feeling like I have to sit or I’ll fall over. And although I haven’t fainted yet, my dizziness is unreal.

I remember the first time I ever got close to fainting was over Winter Break. I was in my room getting up to take a shower, lifting my body from lying down to standing up. In that moment where my feet met the ground, my vision went black, my knees buckled, forward I went, and my head bounced against the floor. My body felt heavy, my eyes now closed, my mind racing but not at the same time. It was over 10 seconds, I think, that I spent prone on the floor until I had the ability to move again.

Like any sane person in this scenario, I was freaked out. I had noticed that my body had felt much weaker, but falling because of it had never been on my bingo card. I would search up my symptoms on Google, confused as to what could be causing this; every result scared me instead of quelling my worries.

After weeks of trying to change my diet and “cure myself” on my own, I sat with my mom and had a conversation about what I had been dealing with over Winter Break; how I had fallen over and lost my balance. That was the first time I had heard of Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS). My mom works as a doctor, so her answers to my questions and symptoms helped, but we knew we had to visit another specialist.

In the last two weeks of break, I tried scheduling an appointment with my doctor's office. For the record, I hate calling the doctor's office; it's one of the worst things I could imagine doing with my day. I hate the sound of the always pissed-off and disappointed secretary on the other end. But still, I picked up the phone, dialed the number, and called. What was I met with?

“For this type of appointment, we need you to call the day of to fit you in.”

What do you mean?

In my shock, I kind of just mumbled out, “Yeah, okay, thank you,” and hung up the phone. What on earth do you mean “day of",” I’ve literally never heard of that before. My mother also had never heard of this happening herself, so I guess I'll just feel shitty for a few months before I get checked up.

Now I’m here at Syracuse with my electrolytes, compression socks, and salty snacks that make me feel better. My attempt to get a Barnes appointment? Impossible. Class starts for me at 9:30 and ends at 6, the exact time that the medical center is open. And you know what's awesome? For this type of appointment, I can’t book it unless I talk to a nurse first. But how the hell do I call when I’m busy throughout their hours? I swear, this process is made to be complicated. If I were in hell, scheduling a doctor's appointment would be my punishment.

Part of me has given up on being seen, or maybe that's just my cynicism, thanks to how unheard I feel with my concerns. Every week, I wonder if I’ll finally have time to be seen, given treatments, or even be told that something is truly wrong. At this point, the thought has gone through my head multiple times that maybe I'm just being dramatic. Is it possible that nothing is happening and that I’m crazy? But that shouldn’t be the way I think. Why should I have to second-guess myself and my mother's ability to diagnose me just because of my struggle with doctors' offices?

All I can do is manage the symptoms while I wait for summer to come and appointments to open up back home. I'm convinced my body hates me.