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Miss Misanthropist

Writing With Myself

Surviving Parents With NPD (Part 2)

Surviving Abuse Series, Mental HealthMonica EdwardsComment

Medical Neglect

I have decided to break this whole thing into sections and just list all instances of the same thing at once. It's easier than starting from the beginning when I was four. These would be instances of what I consider to be medical neglect on my parents. As in, times when I clearly needed to see a doctor but I didn't get to see one. This is in comparison to my sister who basically saw a doctor or a specialist every time she coughed. Keep in mind, my father was the vice president of a prominent company in Cleveland. He in no way was poor, and he had great medical insurance through his job (which I found out when I got older, obviously) so there was really no excuse to ignore me to the level that they did.

(I refer to my parents by their names, Robyne and John)

When I was three or four (very young but old enough to remember most of this) I was at a street festival with Robyne and my aunt. Robyne went to go look at some things and left me and my sisters with my aunt. I was sitting on a bench and I guess I thought there was a backing to it and I leaned back and fell. I smashed my head on the wall behind me. I kind of sort of remember most of this, but for one I was three and for two I ended up with a concussion. I have had this story relayed to me many times, mostly to berate my late aunt whenever she came over. Robyne and John were very fond of bringing up past mistakes and nitpicking them for fun, I guess. I do remember being brought to a first aid tent and them giving me an ice pack. They were also told to keep me awake. That was about it. I was not taken to a hospital that night. In fact Robyne decided that might be a really fun time to take a horse drawn carriage to the city and back to the hotel instead of you know, straight back to the hotel or even the hospital. They also dragged me to a restaurant to order food first before taking me up to the hotel room where they yelled at me for complaining that the smell of food was making me feel sick.

When I was five (in first grade) I fell off my bike. Which of course that happened a lot. This time was different than the others because I got really super injured. Another concussion. In fact I had a lump the size of a tennis ball on the side of my forehead. Really noticeable too. I remember walking home from that, it was just down the block. I remember telling my dad I fell off my bike (which I had just left where it was. I was very dazed cause like I said lump on my head and massive concussion). He must have been concerned or something cause he hurried me inside. I don't remember much other than next I notice one of my fingernails had been torn off and my knee was scraped up. John was acting way too panicked but I had no idea why. He kept checking my face. I got up and looked in the mirror, there was a huge scrape over my nose and of course I saw the lump. I started to cry because I thought all the kids at school would make fun of me. Next thing I remember after that was my friend's dad (doctor) checking me. Then I remember waking up on the couch downstairs being checked again. They had to wake me up every two hours cause I had a concussion. Never went to a hospital, never saw an actual doctor. Never got an MRI. My parents did take a shit ton of pictures of the lump on my head to pull out later because they thought it was cute and funny and not at all embarrassing. I also had to go to school the next day.

When I was maybe 7 or 8 I had an allergic reaction to antibiotics I was taking. Hives. All over and a really high fever. Robyne decided that she didn't give a shit and wanted to go car shopping. So I was a young kid, covered in hives, itchy and feverish and she decided that she was going to drag me to go test drive cars because the new Honda mini van had just come out and she was a designer mom so she needed a designer car. I was yelled at for complaining the whole time even though I think I pretty much had every right to be complaining at that point.

Around the time I was 12 my sister was sick and obnoxiously coughing loudly in the back seat. My mother told her not to cough on me so to be a jerk she did. A few days later I had bronchitis. Which went untreated despite my coughing being so loud that it was waking up my parents to come and tell me to stop being so dramatic. They waited a whole week to take me to the doctor, I had to beg them. As i mentioned, this didn't make sense as they were not poor they could more than afford doctors. Anyway this doesn't seem that bad until you realize that this happened at least 7 more times.

You see, each time I would get bronchitis (which has a very distinctive cough and sound) I would tell them I needed to see a doctor. They would deny anything was wrong and told me I was just being overly dramatic. They would also send me to school during this. I would get yelled at for disturbing the class with my coughing, but my parents wouldn't allow me to come home because I was just "being dramatic". So I'd be feverish and coughing my ass off in school, then getting yelled at for doing it. This quite often turned into pneumonia because that's how long it took them to treat it. Every. Single. Time. Seven times, until I also developed asthma and was on an inhaler for two years. Yeah, guess I was just being dramatic huh?

Around the age of 14 I started complaining of heartburn, like all the time. They once again told me I was being dramatic. This of course lead to other stomach problems like being nauseous all the time, having bad abdominal pain all the time. Totally ignored me, fed me zantac and tums. Told me to stop being dramatic. When I was 18 and finally had a job I declared I was going to the doctor if they liked it or not because I was an adult. They finally agreed to take me. Turns out I was diagnosed with a hiatal hernia at that appointment. The doctor who did the test told me that she was amazed at the condition my stomach was in. There was no reason for it other than stress. Commented that I had the stomach of a 60 year old air traffic controller. I didn't think much of it cause my life had always been that stressful. After getting a very invasive test, called a bravo test (they stick a wire up your nose and down your throat and leave it in for three days to monitor the gastric acid levels in your stomach) I told my mom I was going to take a day off of work. She told me there was no way in hell. I told her I was an adult and I was taking ONE sick day. She slapped me, and in public. I slapped her back. She'd hit me quite a few times before. Not BEAT me but she had hit me and I was fed up with it, especially since she'd done it in public and I was an adult. She never tried to hit me again.

When I was 16, I complained of extreme cramps during my periods. They ignored me. Every month it was basically 'can't get out of bed' pain. Luckily one month I was also due for my yearly physical. The doctor asked me if I had any pain and I told her in my abdomen but probably cause I was on my period. She ordered an MRI and found ovarian cysts. She explained to my parents how painful these were and gave me pain meds. My parents didn't seem to care cause I never went back to the doctor and any time I felt this pain again I was just being dramatic. History of ovarian cysts continue to this day.

When I was about 14-17 I would get migraines. Almost every day after school. I would go into my room, make it as dark as possible, and lay very very still praying the aspirin would kick in. Migraines suck. I can't stress this enough. My parents thought this was an excuse to nap, which it wasn't, and would constantly be coming in there flickering the lights, yelling at me, and shaking me on the bed trying to get me to move. Never took me to the doctor despite my history of two serious head injuries as a kid. Guess they weren't that concerned that I was having headaches that were making me nauseous and unable to move.

Now, obviously no "real" harm came to me, however these events have really added to my problems. I now have trouble telling when I'm actually sick or if I'm faking it. I doubt more often than not that I am telling the truth leaving me to constantly go to the doctors to see if I am telling the truth. 99% of the time I know I'm being fucking stupid, I know it, but also 99% of the time there's something wrong with me. Every time I've had to go to the ER they've found something wrong enough that I should have gone to the ER. Every time I've gone to urgent care they found something wrong enough that I should have been in urgent care. Every time I've been to a specialist they've found something wrong with me. It's only been very rare occasions that it hasn't been THAT bad. Every time as an adult I got bronchitis I knew that's what it was. Every time I got ovarian cysts as an adult I knew exactly what it was. I am quickly learning that I have all these health problems, they are real, not just in my mind, but for some reason my parents were bent on convincing me that I invented all of them and was just being dramatic. Still unsure why, as they had more than enough money to take me to a doctor if they wanted. This pales in comparison to the psychiatric history I have with them. Which I will explain soon enough.