Have you heard of the acronyms WW or WBW or WWW? It refers to what doctors unofficially class as Whining Woman Syndrome. The central abbreviation refers to race and it all boils down to the same thing. I hadn't either until I watched this fascinating video of a young female doctor who has broken the science on the treatment of women in the medial industry. nd this is a hocking reality for otherwise considered "healthy" women, neverminded those of us who suffer daily with chronic illness. aBasically, it is actually taught in medical institutions to beware of women between the ages of 35 and 50 who develop pain and anxiety. It is actually indoctrinated to ignore us. Our pain is not taken seriously. For some, it takes decades to be diagnosed with fibromyalgia, a long list of intrauterine disorders and mental health issues. It's crazy (forgive my use of the term "crazy") that in this day and age, we are still subjected to this kind of medical bias.
Watch the interview here:
shocking what a simple Google Search reveals...
If a man walks into a GPs practice complaining of pain, he is 80% more likely to be properly diagnosed and treated. I'm afraid it only gets worse on a sliding scale for women of colour from LatinX, to Asian to Black women - who additionally have a far higher risk of obstetric violence and malpractice and even death, because doctors... just don't listen.
I have been diagnosed several times with Major Depressive Disorder and Chronic Anxiety. Physically, After my fall in 2021, I was diagnosed with bilateral trochlea displacea, which in short means that I have a bone condition, most likely hereditary, where my knees formed without enough of a groove for the patella to safely move about. This leads to constant knee pains in both my knees as well as severe back pain -all signs pointing toward a secondary injury to my sciatic nerve. This also often has me awake at night, stressing about how I am going to pay for my medication in the weeks that lie ahead as all of our savings run dry.
Obviously, a woman's economical status is also paramount. And it's the women who slip between the gaps that run the risk of becoming suicidal due to years and years of hearing the same story over and over again.
As a white woman in South Africa, it is assumed that I come from a life of privileges and I am sitting on a magical pile of money. somewhere. The government sector has failed me terribly in both the treatment of my disorders, both physical and mental. I have watched myself literally be pushed to the back of the queue and if I am seen at all, I am sure to receive the message loud and clear that I am apparently wasting time and space for less privileged patients. It has taken me almost 3 years regarding my knee injury to realize that the only help I am going to receive, are my knee braces, and thank GOD for those. But as far as chronic pain management, updating scans x-rays and MRIs physiotherapy there has been absolutely no follow through. When it comes to mental health, if they don't just attempt to pawn me off on a different department, I am prescribed the wrong medication, again and again. This forces me to seek private medical care as the medication I need simply does not exist in Government Health. I have a violent and terrifying reaction to SSRI's and SNRI's called serotonin syndrome which is as rare as my trochlea displacea - which leaves me with cartilage, ligament and other soft tissue damage. Every time I try to start the process over with government or the private sector, I have to pull out a file that weighs half a ton, containing scans and diagnoses from all the doctors I have seen along the way. Most of them don't even bother to look. I feel like for every healthcare professional I see, I have to start the story from scratch - which is exhausting. In the government sector it means hours, if not days or weeks before being seen by the correct specialized department, even with a referral and an appointment. In the private sector, it costs me money each time I see a Dr and the end result is always the same. In the private sector, I am referred for both psychotherapy and physiotherapy, neither of which I can afford. I have been unemployed due to my retrenchment in 2022. I am told that "it's worth the investment," as previously mentioned, as if I am sitting on a position of privilege or a pile of money that I just don't want to spend, apparently.
I feel lost and utterly hopeless.... I need a job to dig myself out of the massive financial hole my condition has put myself into, both personally and our family. At the same time, I need to be healthy enough to work. It's like a never-ending hamster wheel that keeps me awake at night with crippling anxiety and a massive cortisol hangover the next day, putting me completely out of commission for at least the day, but depending on the severity of the panic attack, it can take up to a week to recover, and by then, the next crisis has already hit us.
I feel... hopeless, stuck, angry, unheard, exhausted, sore and terrified that this is my life now. In 3 years I have aged 20. I wonder If I will even make it to my 50th birthday, and to be honest, there are days when I can't imagine enduring this existence for another 10 years, like this.
For now, my physical condition has forced me to slam on the breaks when it comes to live performances. I just cannot physically and financially afford the toll it takes on my body and our pockets and I find my stress and depression so overwhelming that it has even sucked the joy out of the most important thing that gives me purpose in this life.
All I can do is pray that something has eventually got to give in order for me to have some breathing room to recover from my physical and mental conditions, at least to the point where I can function.
I am just so disappointed that this is the life set out before me. I had dreams, you know, of having another child, paying off my debt, working on my future and so much more that just seem so far out of reach now. Like I am stuck in a well and just and I find purchase on the soggy moss covered bricks, and I start clawing my way out, I tumble in an excruciating manner, with scraped knees and hands, back to the bottom, where I lick my wounds alone in the dark.
Perhaps there is an answer out there for me somewhere. This is not the life I envisioned for myself or my family.
It just goes to show that circumstances can change in a heartbeat. Although I have suffered from anxiety and depression my whole life, I had actually gotten to the point, and in the middle of Covid, I might add, that I had almost completely weaned myself off my antianxiety and antidepressant medication. If the sun is currently shining on your life, appreciate every minute of it.💊💊💊🩺🩺🩺💔💔💔