Hammer and Nail

Maybe this post will be more than straight venting...maybe...

There are a lot of frustrating things about being sick. From day-to-day the issue could be the repeated cancellation of plans and not being able to accomplish what I want or not being able to sleep despite all of my best efforts and then trying to get through the day looking like a coke addict because I have a severe headache and am running on two hours of sleep. Most of the maddening aspects of being sick have little to do with the way other people handle themselves and more to do with the general situation or my personal response to the problems I face. However, one of the most frustrating parts about the past six years deals with my encounters with various doctors and specialists.

Doctors are suppose to be the all-knowing (wo)men in white coats who listen to your symptoms, run a few tests, and come to the rescue with their magic prescription to mend you within a few days. I hated going to the doctor as a kid, but at least I knew I was going to be feeling better soon afterward. I assumed as much in September 2002 even after I was quickly referred to the Children Hospital's outpatient facility. Surely a respected neurologist and esteemed gastroenterologist could join forces and piece the puzzle together. But the tests came up negative and none of the medications being thrown together made any difference in my symptoms. The doctors did not seem particularly worried but I was already an unusual case in that I was not responding to any of the traditionally effective treatment plans. They maintained that there were more tests to run and that something would come up. They hoped to be able to fix the problem shortly.

They did not fix the problem shortly. And it was not even one of those cable company deals where they assure you they will come by between 10 and 4 on Tuesday but actually show up Thursday afternoon at which point they realize there is a problem they are unequipped to rectify and you are stuck without cable and internet for almost a week. I have been waiting six years for my cable to be fixed. The hold music has long worn out its' welcome. (Sidenote: Best part about being sick? Cable television. Family made the plunge fall of freshman year because I was at home all the time with nothing to do. There were days where I would not sleep very well and lie half awake on my couch all night and into the morning and wind up watching the same parts of Sportscenter five or six times between 2-10am...not good times. But go cable.)

Anyways...

I have seen many more doctors since those initial months of expecting a white knight to walk through the door with a stethoscope and clipboard that possessed all the answers. Many specialists over this time have admitted that they have no idea what exactly is going on. It is through their acknowledgments and my own experience that I have discovered that medical science is far more spotty than I had initially realized. It is unknown exactly why some medications work at certain times and the doctors merely can observe the positive effect on symptoms without knowing what is happening within the body. And there are plenty of cases similar to mine, with no real answer in any traditional or non-traditional field. I have no problem with this aspect of medicine. Every single man or woman I have seen about my headaches likely knows more about their field than I will ever know about anything in my entire life. Science is progressing at a tremendous rate and new discoveries are constantly being made. But a general trend has emerged among the various specialists I have seen that I do take issue with. And that is the presumptive nature of the profession...the presumption that they are the hammer and every patient who walks through their door is a nail.

The first psychiatrist I ever saw told me that my illness was psychosomatic and that I possessed an aversion to starting high school. The fourth psychiatrist I visited kept coming back to the point that I had attended five years of magnet programs before high school and continued to pop in and out of the IB program even while sick during high school. He seemed to see the headaches as a result of built-up tension and stress and that I was a possible case of burnout. He did have one thing right...I am now burnt out to some extent. Clearly he was just ahead of the curve. I have been told repeatedly by neurologists that they have seen similar cases and that such-and-such has had a fantastic success rate in treating headaches. In the end I always wound up being referred to another specialist or forced to find someone else on my own due to the ineffective nature of the treatment program. The chiropractor I just stopped seeing firmly believes that my problem can be fixed with continued care and effort. The explanation was perfectly plausible and may be worth trying again at some point. But after six months of treatment and no tangible effects on my pain, I felt perfectly justified walking away despite the admonishment I received on my way out the door. I know that they are trying to help and they truly believe that they have the answer. But that is not something I haven't heard a million times before. The more non-traditional gurus/doctors/specialists fight tooth and nail from the onset in order to establish their branch of medicine as legitimate. It is extremely tiresome to hear for the twelfth time in three visits that many patients can't believe how well such-and-such works despite the field being completely disregarded by Western medicine. I understand that everyone I have ever seen is in business for a reason...the service they sell works. They are good doctors. Some of them are literally the best. And I know that a patient more involved in their treatment is more likely to have better results and that is not even accounting for the placebo effect. And I have seen doctors who have been forthright and completely honest in their assessments that they could do nothing more for me. But the pattern of overbearing doctors became far too noticeable to ignore. I don't care about the diplomas on your wall. I don't care about your success rate. I just want you to be honest and adaptable and see me as more than another kid walking through your door. I want you to recognize that you might not actually have the answer. I want to be more than another nail. And I don't think that is too much to ask.