Let Me Tell You About My Health

Why it’s good to share the “private things”

My mom claims I “put my life” on the internet. She’s somewhat right. Between Facebook and my blog, I share a lot of what I do and most of the pictures I take (it’s an excellent source for backup and cataloging). I control the content, and I keep private what I want to keep private. I can’t see a downside.

Plus, I have funny and interesting friends and love their feedback on everything. It keeps me connected with friends all over the world that I may never see.

Mom never reads Medium, so she has no idea of what I write here, but I did giggle when I saw I had attained top writer status in “This Happened To Me.” See Mom? Medium notices I put my life out there, too, but they appreciate it.

What bothers my mom is when I talk about my health openly. It’s funny to me since she was a nurse.

It is even funnier because both my mom and dad’s families have always talked at length about their health ailments — and usually vitamin cures (at least on my Dad’s side of the family.). My siblings and I used to place bets on the amount of time it took for someone to bring up a health problem and someone else to share a vitamin cure. It made listening to grown-up conversations more fun.

I intentionally share my personal health information. I believe it began after I worked for an HMO (Health Maintenance Organization), and my staff and I worked health fairs during the open enrollment of many companies. Our work at these health fairs had a strong health education bent.

One year our major theme was breast cancer. We talked about the importance of women getting mammograms and doing monthly self-exams. We had instruction cards they could hang in the shower to guide them through the self-exam.

We told men that they, too, could get breast cancer. So many think they can’t and therefore don’t get concerned if they find lumps there, let alone actively look for them or have a doctor check out lumps.

We had model breasts that people could touch and learn how different lumps felt. Yes, these could be awkward, but we all got over this awkwardness quickly and had fun with it.

I had amazing conversations with people. I met women who had never had a mammogram because it scared them. I talked them into going to a phone, making an appointment for a mammogram, and coming back to tell me they were going. I told them to take a friend with them if they needed support, but also reassured them that the people who do these scans would usually handle you with care if they tell them it is their first time and you’re nervous.

One lady had a breast lump and was afraid to get it checked out in case it was cancer. She hadn’t mentioned it to anyone she knew but shared with me, a stranger. I told her waiting only produced downsides — it was very possibly nothing, and she was living with anxiety for no reason. If it was cancer, she was putting off necessary treatment and letting it spread. She heard the logic over the emotion. She went off and made an appointment to see a doctor.

And our breasts. The fake ones people could touch and know just how a lump feels. It was amazing how many women said, “I do breast exams, but have never really known what I am looking for.”

I especially loved the men. They had never felt what a lump feels like either or felt like they needed to know. But we told them they not only need to know for themselves but their partner. Not only could they help find lumps, but if their partner found one, them having some knowledge was the first stage of support. There was always one man in the crowd bold enough to go first and make it fun and not a bit intimidating. (I love those men.) I am sure some went home and announced, “I fondled some boobs at work today.”

Even with a nurse mom (who is British), my family didn’t talk frankly about health growing up, except perhaps about colds and nutrition.

When I first got my period, I was terrified. I told my mom it happened, but there was no discussion. She threw some pamphlets and supplies at me, and that was our bonding time. It turned out fine. I got the info I needed. But I never understood why it was somewhat secretive and mysterious when it is normal for women.

As I grew up, I got over any embarrassment about my body and how it functions. It was probably an act of rebellion. I decided I was going to ask medical people those things that were on my mind and tell them all I observe with my body when I wonder if it is “normal.”

The public sharing began as my way to educate and de-mystify health issues for others who grew up the same way as me.

My friends usually know when I go in for my physical.

Many doctors don’t change their physicals to conform with U.S. Task Force recommendations. Most of us in the United States do whatever our doctors say to do, no questions asked, but we also expect to get our physicals for free when we have insurance. When something is not on the task force list, however, it may not be covered by an insurance plan as “preventive care.” That would mean it often would have to be paid out-of-pocket by the patient.

There are tools you can use to see what the Task Force recommends for your age.

Even with these guidelines, there should be an understanding that physicals shouldn’t be the same for all. They should be different based on our age, risk factors, and how our body is currently performing. Talking about this is the first step to change.

I tell people when I get my mammogram. The place I go only takes a few minutes, and the techs are knowledgable. Being aware of that can make someone decide to go.

I also tell people when I get my colonoscopy. I share the details of gagging down the colonoscopy prep, undoubtedly the worst part. The colonoscopy with propofol is quite pleasant, as far as medical procedures go.

When I had a tooth go bad a year or so ago, I shared the process that led to me get an implant. I also shared about the severe reaction I had to amoxicillin during the process, a drug I had taken before without issue.

I talked about tracking down the reason I was having major digestive issues. It was a food additive called carrageenan. I suspect doctors would seldom diagnose it and believe it could have turned into permanent damage or unnecessary treatment.

When I couldn’t sleep and tried almost every home remedy and sleeping pill out there with poor results, I joyfully shared when given a very cheap prescription drug for my restless legs syndrome did the trick overnight.

A bridge phobia started impacting my life, so I got treatment under the EAP (Employee Assistance Program) offered by my employer for free. It took only two visits. It actually took only one, but they approved me for three free visits, and I found the counselor fascinating. I asked for another appointment simply to learn more about the technique she used, tapping.

Talking about this phobia and getting help for it was a reminder to people this type of short term mental health treatment is often available with employer health plans for free (along with other types of assistance, such as answers to financial and legal questions). How many people let such things as a phobia impact their lives long-term?

Most of my friends know I am a strong healthcare advocate. I pay attention. I refused to sign the doctor’s HIPAA notice when I read they had the right to change what they do with my information at any time without letting me know. My provider wasn’t even aware that language was in there, but had simply used a model notice.

I also encourage people to question the need for any test, procedure, prescription, or treatment. Many people have been raised not to question doctors. I question almost everyone. I want to know what is planned for my body and why. Plus, I may be able to tell them why something is not necessary, which would save costs.

I am as important in my healthcare process as any provider I see, and I make sure the providers know it. Most providers agree. If they don’t, they’re not meant to be my healthcare provider. They are an expert of medicine, but I am the expert of me. If they don’t acknowledge that, I question their wisdom.

Even as someone who is quite healthy, there is much health information I can share. Conversations happen. Education happens. It all becomes less “private.”

You can keep our health details private if you want, but what if someone else can benefit from your sharing? What if sharing the info can save a life? A few of my friends have followed me down the path of public confessions. We sometimes laugh at each other’s stories and sometimes sympathize with what we have to go through, but overall we take it very seriously. Our good health and yours is important.