The Value of Hearing a Doctor Say, “I don’t know”…

I began writing this on February 21, 2026 –the day after my colonoscopy procedure.

As I’d replayed the days leading up to the procedure, I realized how overwhelmed I’d become. Not just by my symptoms, but by the constant effort of trying to make sense of them. I was becoming exhausted by my own persistence, while the answers didn’t seem to be getting any clearer.

I took almost all of March off –only one visit to my general physician on March 2 and a brief orthodontist visit on March 4. I mean, I worked full-time at my day job but I took the remainder of March off of this full-time health commitment. I’ll share more on what I’ve learned through this “time off” later.

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While discussing the reason for my colonoscopy with the general surgeon on February 20, 2026, I shared with the surgeon, “forgive me if I seem to be that difficult patient” –I’ve since stopped minimizing myself like that. The surgeon responded, “you said it, not me.” Before the procedure, the surgeon suggested that I should consider accepting a diagnosis of IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome) and noted the results will likely come back “normal.”

That moment stayed with me –not because of the outcome, but because of what it represented: how quickly assumptions can replace investigation, and how easily patients can feel dismissed while still searching for answers, within reason.

In no way is my journey at the “within reason” stage. Instead, I’m feeling pushed toward symptom-based treatment without adequate investigation, and the burden of navigating care has fallen on me.

As of February 2026, the only specialist I’d seen was a gynecologist whose appointments were interrupted by urgent calls to the operating room. I understand the demands of her role, but I also believe patients deserve focused, individualized care. What I’ve experienced instead feels like a one-size-fits-all approach within a system with visible gaps in how it supports women’s health.

To be fair, the surgeon was offering an outside perspective. He hadn’t seen the pattern I’ve experienced over time of symptoms being repeatedly dismissed or minimized. In a system where specialist wait times can stretch from months into years, dismissal isn’t just frustrating; it can feel risky as if I’m putting my life in our system’s hands.

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So what does “within reason” look like in my case?

I’ve trialled two medications commonly used to manage IBS symptoms, neither of which has helped. I haven’t been offered comprehensive hormone testing to explore whether my symptoms could be related to hormonal dysfunction. Despite ongoing urinary-like symptoms –sharp, cramping pain and a persistent feeling of not fully emptying my bladder– I have yet to see a urologist, even though a referral was sent on October 1, 2025.

Through accessing my medical records by way of the BC Freedom of Information and Protection of Privacy Act (FIPPA), I’ve learned that earlier opportunities for care may have been missed. Notes from a May 2, 2025 appointment with my family physician suggest that I “may benefit from dietitian referral”. That referral was never discussed with me or actioned. The notes suggest that my symptoms “could be related to her habit snacking and not necessarily good nutrition related to TMJ issues or IBS type phenomenon”. There were also recommendations around dietary changes, like eliminating gluten for two to three weeks and testing for celiac disease at the same time. However, key details like the need to be consuming gluten for accurate celiac testing were not explained at the time.

Even the colonoscopy itself, initially described as a “possible” next step, wasn’t initiated until December 4, 2025, after I kept pushing for it.

It wasn’t until I sought out a second opinion on my own, from an Endometriosis specialist in the United States, that I was encouraged to pursue a Gastroenterology referral. Until then, I didn’t know that was a step I could take. I did not hear my family physician offer next steps once we reviewed my colonoscopy results; I was left to carry the conversation based on my experience of my doctor appearing confident in reverting back to a probable IBS diagnosis without providing options for further investigation. Ultimately, a Gastroenterologist referral was initiated at my March 2, 2026 appointment with my family physician.

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Another ongoing point of tension has been the routine suggestion of birth control as a first-line approach for pelvic/abdominal pain. I understand that hormonal treatments are commonly used in Canada, and in some cases required before accessing specialized care, such as at the Centre for Pelvic Pain and Endometriosis. But for me, this admission criteria feels premature and misleading.

In the past, hormonal birth control has had a significant impact on how I feel –physically and mentally. I didn’t feel informed as to what was happening to my body. I didn’t feel human. My appetite was unpleasant, with cravings that didn’t make sense. I didn’t feel like myself. I felt like a zombie, and I was unable to sleep restfully. Being asked to “trial” it again, without a clear diagnosis, feels less like a solution and more like an experiment I’m not fully comfortable with.

What I’m looking for isn’t to reject treatment; it’s to better understand what we’re treating. Why am I being advised to trial synthetic medication as a “let’s see what happens”?

If I actually have IBS, or some form of IBD (Inflammatory Bowel Disease), why start with birth control? (Why birth control at all, but that’s our Canadian health system’s take on women’s health, right?)

Why “treat” symptoms as Endometriosis if in the end it is IBS or IBD?

Endometriosis can create its own bloodstream. Ultimately, the disease can create its own nerve-centric microenvironment where it can take you from a solely hormonal, gynecological condition to an invasive neuroinflammatory condition (neuroangiogenesis).

At the core of this is a simple question: is it unreasonable to want to understand my own body?

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Let’s pause here for a moment.

Part of what’s made this experience so difficult is the reality of navigating Canada’s public healthcare system. Based on current wait times, it likely would’ve taken over a year for me to see a gynecologist if I hadn’t persistently followed up with the clinic I was referred to in Nelson, British Columbia. Even with that effort, it took four months to secure an appointment. I was informed that patient cases are not being pushed ahead unless they indicate cancer or if a patient is pregnant.

From there, the proposed path forward felt unclear. The expectation seemed to be that I would begin a “trial” of birth control before being considered for further evaluation by an Endometriosis specialist in Vancouver, British Columbia. In many cases, a definitive diagnosis of Endometriosis requires laparoscopic (exploratory) surgery –even when imaging suggests its presence.

What’s difficult for me is the timeline this creates. Adjusting to hormonal birth control can take months, meaning that by the time its effects are assessed, significant time has already passed. When layered onto existing wait times, it can feel like years go by without a clear understanding of what’s happening in my body. In that time, the condition could remain hidden or it could continue progressing without me knowing which is true.

In my experience, birth control has been presented as a starting point, but not necessarily as part of a clearly defined diagnostic plan. I understand that it can be an effective tool for managing symptoms in some individual cases. At the same time, my symptoms feel broader than cyclical, and I find myself questioning whether symptom management alone is enough without deeper and transparent investigation.

What I’m ultimately seeking is clarity. If Endometriosis is a possibility, I want to understand how that diagnosis is being explored. If it isn’t, I want to know what has been reasonably ruled out along the way.

Priorities in women’s health feel unclear. I often find myself questioning how treatment pathways are laid out, and why certain options, like birth control, are emphasized over others. Especially in my case where birth control was introduced early. It’s not just about symptom management; it’s about understanding the wider, long-term impacts of pathways being offered to me.

I’m also mindful of the potential risks and complications associated with birth control, regardless of its intended purpose. Take Danika Fleury’s story for instance. The birth control method I’m being offered is the Mirena® IUD.

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At what point do I stop pursuing a referral to a pelvic pain specialist?

There’s a human side to this that’s harder to quantify. Balancing ongoing symptoms, medical appointments, and full-time work has been exhausting on a level I’ve never experienced before –chronic fatigue is real, I promise you that. Not just for myself, but for some of those around me –my support system, whom I’m eternally grateful for. Managing my health has begun to feel like a full-time responsibility in itself that requires constant attention, follow-up, and more intense self-advocacy than I could’ve initially imagined.

I don’t see myself as working against my doctors. Parts of this experience have felt degrading, and I’m noticing a pattern of limited transparency. There’s something soothing about hearing a doctor (or anyone in any profession) say, “I don’t know, but I’ll help you find someone who does.” An “I don’t know” demonstrates honesty, and it’s an opportunity to build trust –a feeling I haven’t experienced much of in my journey. This would make my journey feel more collaborative while seeking answers rather than a consistent feeling of uncertainty.

The quality of care I’m receiving is important to me because of how generic the care I’m receiving is and how life-threatening our system’s wait times can become.

If advocating for myself means being seen as a difficult patient, then that’s something I’m learning to accept. I didn’t achieve my TMD (Temporomandibular Joint Dysfunction) diagnosis and treatment by sitting silent and waiting for specialty care that isn’t easily recognized as a disabling health condition in Canada. I only stumbled upon a dentist who held himself accountable for not knowing how to proceed, but I also can’t discount my drive for seeking clarity from dentists before him.

I understand that healthcare contains a significant amount of science and experiment, but integrity can go a long way –clear communication, thoughtful investigation, and a willingness to look deeper than what’s on the surface. I’m still searching for a path forward –one that feels thorough, transparent and genuinely patient-centred.