Sometimes I need an advocate. I’m having health issues beyond the bipolar stuff, and the doctors at each specialist appointment look at me, with my typed-up medication list and chart of personal and family medical history, and they think I’m fine. They don’t listen to me ask for help. They don’t look in my eyes.
So, this week, I am bringing an advocate with me to my next specialist. I’ll still have the paperwork, but she’ll make it clear to the new doctor that my pain is real. That high-functioning isn’t the same as okay. I’m really glad to have help.