Picture this.

You’ve been going to the doctor for months. No, wait…years. You’ve been going to the doctor for years. They’ve sent you to all types of specialists and tested for all sorts of things, and it’s all come back a bit odd, but mostly within a normal range. You start to feel like your doctors have stopped taking you seriously…have written you off as a hypochondriac.

You know something’s not quite right, even though everyone keeps telling you you’re fine. Your endurance and stamina are slowly sapped from your being…you can’t focus, can’t concentrate…can barely walk around your apartment sometimes.

After another year or so of complaints, your doctor sends you to one more specialist. It feels like it’s just to shut you up, but you know she means well. The specialist runs a few tests and gives you iron infusions, which do nothing except make you feel awful and raise your iron levels very slightly.

You wait another couple of months, and then you go back to your specialist. You practically beg him…”Please, you have to help me. I can barely function to take care of myself most days.”

He says he knows you have depression and anxiety – could it be from that? You say no…you know what depression fatigue feels like, and this is different.

He goes back and forth and asks a few more questions, and then, after a little while…

“You have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. There’s not much we can do. It may or may not go away over the course of the rest of your life. The best thing you can do is to try and stop yourself from getting frustrated. We’ll follow up in a couple of months. Thank you for coming in.”

You thank him quietly and leave his office, walking slowly to your car. You get into the car and sit there. You KNEW there was something wrong. You hoped, begged for answers…and now you have them. You entered his office hoping for relief, and you have left with something for which relief is limited. It feels hopeless, and you feel helpless.