When They Don’t Listen – 12 Years of Medical Mistrust

Twelve years. That’s how long I’ve been dealing with bladder issues that nobody seems to take seriously.

Twelve years of urinary accidents, hey random time back in March with blood in my pee(which terrified me because that can't be good), doctors brushing me off with pills and protocols that never solve the actual problem. Every time I speak up, I’m met with skepticism, silence., dismissal, or just being swept under the rug with pills just thrown at me.

“Your sample came back negative.” “There’s no sign of a UTI.” “Let’s try Botox injections in your bladder.”

Excuse me—what?

I’ve been using Macrobid for years, and here’s what I know about my own body: when I take it, I don’t have accidents. When I don’t take it, I do. That’s not a coincidence. That’s a pattern. That’s information. That’s me knowing my body.

This isn’t about being ungrateful for care—it’s about being tired of being treated like a chart instead of a person, and in this particular spot in the world, having a day where I was treated like a person again would be phenomenal.... although I've unfortunately for every single day and the last 12 years I've had to advocate or fight for my rights. I’m not just a box to be checked. I live in this body every single day, and I have more insight than any paper result.

Able-bodied people don’t often see this side. They don’t understand how exhausting it is to advocate for yourself again and again, just to be heard. To feel humiliated by you can’t control, and gaslit by the very people who are supposed to help or support.

They offer Botox injections now. But they haven’t even figured out why I’m peeing blood. That’s not care—that’s a shortcut. This is exactly why people are dying before their time. Shortcuts.

I’m not a medical mystery. I’m a person. And after twelve years, I deserve more than silence and guesswork. I deserve someone who will actually listen.