PLEASE, JUST MAKE ME FEEL BETTER – Marilyn Armstrong

FOWC with Fandango — Health

I visited my favorite doctor last week. She is the only one of my original set of doctors I kept when I changed insurers. Despite her not being covered directly by my new insurance, she “gets me” in a way that only someone who has known you for a long time possibly can.

I hadn’t seen her in while — she was on vacation — so we had some catching up to do. We talked about me, her, life, getting older, and how things don’t feel like they did when we were young. Mostly, we discussed how important it is to feel better.

Anyone who has been sick for a long time knows what I mean when I say:


“I just want to feel better.”

There comes a moment in time when whatever is wrong with you has dragged on for what feels like an eternity. You can’t remember what it was like to feel good. You’ve done everything you are supposed to do yet still, you feel like crap.

Whether it’s cancer, recovering from surgery, anxiety, bipolarity, the pain of chronic illness — or any combination of the above plus all the other things I forgot to mention — there comes a day when all you want is to feel better.

You really don’t care how. Whatever it takes, whatever drugs, surgery, therapy, whatever. Please, make me feel better. I want a day without pain. Without anxiety, depression, or nausea. I want to feel normal, whatever normal is. Because I am not sure I remember “normal” anymore.

The problem is that feeling better isn’t considered a medical issue. As far as doctors are concerned, feeling better is your problem, not theirs. You can’t test for feeling better. You can’t plot it on a chart.

There is no medical value to how you feel. If you can’t put it on a chart or turn it into a statistic, it’s not real and not important.


To me, it’s the only important thing. Since feeling lousy isn’t an illness, feeling better isn’t a cure. If it isn’t a cure, the medical community isn’t all that interested.

Meanwhile, the doctor keeps telling you you’re fine. Except you don’t feel fine. You are tired, in pain, crabby, unable to sleep. Nauseated. Exasperated. Depressed. Fed up with everything.

Just three of my doctors believe feeling good is a legitimate medical goal. One is my primary care doctor, the next is my cardiologist and the final one is my shrink.

Her task is to help me feel better. “After all you’ve gone through,” she says, “that’s what I can do for you. I can help you feel more like you used to feel before all that horrible stuff happened.”

She understands. She gets it. I’m going to keep her. The hell with insurance.

A PAIN IN THE NECK

When Pain Decides, by Rich Paschall


There are many powerful motivators in life.  Money is at the top of some lists.  It certainly seems to be the main motivation for many leaders of corporations and governments.  Doing good, rather than doing evil or even just doing nothing, inspires people to do good works that will benefit their community and their world, however large that may be.  Fear can also be a motivator to get you to do things or to avoid people, places, things .  What motivates you to act in a certain way?

Pain is clearly a strong motivator.  People will generally avoid things that cause pain.  At least, they will when they know better.  My earliest memory involves broken glass.  I was barely more than a toddler when glass broke on the floor and my father and grandfather were yelling at me to stay put.  This of course frightened me and I ran across the floor to one of them.  I was barefoot at the time.  The next thing I knew one of them was carrying me down to the doctor’s office, conveniently on the same street.  The other hurried along side.  I guess the good doctor picked a little glass out of me and sent me home.  I knew never to run through broken glass again, at least not barefoot.

Sometimes we learn about pain the hard way.  The oven is hot. The radiator is hot.  The campfire is hot.  Heavy objects will hurt if they fall on us.  Knives will cut.  Scissors will cut.  Razor blades are for an adult to carefully handle.  Falling off your bike is bad. Falling down stairs is bad.  Falling on the ice is bad.  Being hit by a car…  Well, some things are very bad.

All of these tragedies and possible tragedies motivate us to lead a safer life.  No matter how well our parents try to “child-proof” the house, there are still painful lessons to be learned.  From them, we discover how to stay safe and avoid pain.

Sometimes pain may keep you off your bike, off the ski slope or off the golf course.  The aches and pains of age may stop you from doing things you used to love.  You may see the roller coaster at Great America, but decide your back will not take such a jolt.  A sore knee may keep you from hiking or a headache may keep you out of the sun.  You may be motivated to keep away from many activities.

No matter how carefully you live your life, however, other factors may intrude that cause pain and painful decisions.   A whole encyclopedia of maladies may force you into the doctor’s office in search of relief from pain.  Have you ever heard yourself ask the doctor to give you something for the pain?

There are plenty of “some things” to be had.  I know. I have many of them on hand.

If you consider the health of your family and friends over the years, you may see a lot of pain and suffering.  Sometimes people’s lives become an exercise in treating pain.  Some doctors are wary of treating the pain, which is a symptom, rather than the problem.  Getting something for the pain and going home is not often a good route to take.

In  the middle of last year, neck pain and arm and shoulder numbness caused me to go to the doctor.  My manager in the freight forwarding world was concerned I was having a stroke.  I assured him I was just having a lot of pain.  A stroke will cause numbness on one side and usually a severe headache as well.  Know the warning signs of stroke.  It is a different kind of pain.

Without going through all of the steps and studies along the way, I can say I ended up at a pain doctor who realized there was more than a pain in the neck.  He treated that pain but also caused for a lower back problem to be found.  Rather than deal with the neck problem, I had an operation on the lower back which alleviated pain and numbness, but not the original problem.

Why did I avoid the original problem?  Because the back surgery sounded like it could be solved with a minimally invasive procedure while the neck surgery sounded scary and painful.  It was pain that caused me to opt for one surgery over what was actually a bigger problem.

While I was looking into options for the neck, I finally picked a neurosurgeon and scheduled surgery.  Why would I let someone cut into my neck because of a couple herniated discs?  What motivates me to have the procedure I had been avoiding?

When I was much younger I had a procedure that caused for a spinal injection.  When I awoke, I found a weird feeling in the spine and numbness from the waist down.  It went away in a short time, but the back was sore and I swore then, I would never let anyone touch my spine again.  What happened to change that?  Pain.

The surgery I avoided became inevitable.  Pain made the decision for me.  It is time to go forward with an attempt to replace a couple herniated discs and put C5 back in place.  I absolutely do not want to do it.  A larger motivating factor came into play.

This will take me away from my computer for a day or two or three.  Hopefully I will be able to answers any comments in a timely fashion.  If not, I guess you will know what motivating factor kept me away from my appointed rounds.

DOMINANT THEME DU JOUR

So, it turns out, Garry’s ongoing “I don’t feel good” was getting worse. I schlepped him to the doctor.

What do you know? He’s allergic to Lisinopril — a blood pressure medication. Now he’s on a short run of Prednisone to bring down the swelling in his face and throat and probably all that interior stuff. Who’d have thought that was the problem? He’s been on this same medication for at least 20 years.

Our bodies are a moving target. Just because a medication has always worked, it doesn’t mean you can’t develop an allergy to it tomorrow. One day, I showed up allergic to penicillin — and this put me on the “NO NO” list for all related “cillins.” This can get quite complicated when I need antibiotics.

Allergy confirmed!

Getting Garry “doctored” was very much the central theme of the day. We actually forgot to do Bonnie’s eyes this morning, something that’s so much a part of our ritual I didn’t think it was possible to forget it.

On the plus side, our usual doctor was not in and Garry discovered the other doctor in the practice is a fan. Watched him for all those year, through all those Boston crises.

So his problem will be cured, he got a lot of attaboys, and it is just as well we didn’t go traveling this week. Go figure, right?

FAT CELLS: I HAVE A THEORY

Actually, this isn’t a new theory. It came to me back when I had lost more than 100 pounds. Since I was suddenly thin, I was wondered where all that fat had gone. I knew, from my very scanty reading of physics, that matter and energy are the same.

So if fat used to be matter, but it was no longer on my body, where had it gone?


Energy! My fat had become giant clouds of fat cells.


Those low-hanging clouds are really fat cells, waiting to adhere to your hips.

This is how it works. There you are, doing just fine. La di da, fa la la la la … Then you eat one tiny little sandwich and okay, maybe a sliver of pie — and suddenly, you are forty pounds heavier. You can’t figure out how that happened? You are sure some evil sorceress put a hex on you.

The truth? You walked into someone’s fat cell cloud. All those hyper-energized fat cells attacked your body and made you INSTANTLY FAT!

Watch out! The fat is coming!

It wasn’t what you ate. It wasn’t the lack of exercise. It wasn’t your failure to develop a warm and loving relationship with green vegetables and ground kale breakfast drinks (gag). IT WAS FAT CELL CLOUDS.

It explains everything! Doctors, please chat with the physicists. I’m sure I’ve got it right. We need to rethink the entire diet thing. We need to destroy those clouds of fat before they spring onto your hips!

DIDN’T MOST AMERICANS HAVE MEDICAL COVERAGE BEFORE OBAMACARE? REPEAL IS UP TODAY OR TOMORROW!

The HEALTH CARE REPEAL BILL is back. Again. Maybe you thought it was finished and were paying attention to other stuff? McConnell and his evil party are planning to vote on REPEAL tomorrow or Wednesday. I got this directly from Elizabeth Warren’s office a few minutes ago. This isn’t from an external news source. Straight from the Senate office, so if you thought you could relax, don’t.

Post your story! Anywhere. Everywhere. Now.


The original question on Quora was “didn’t a majority of Americans have medical coverage before Obamacare”?

I thought about the answer. This is one of those issues in which I had — still have — a gigantic personal stake. I’m one of those people who would never get insurance without laws forcing them to give it to me. Maybe a majority of working adults had medical coverage, but among those who were not — for whatever reason — working, mostly, they had nothing. This includes disabled people, old people, people injured and unable to return to work. And, of course, children.

We were among the group who no longer had medical insurance, although we’d had it before.

I was desperately ill. Massachusetts had not gotten its own medical care system yet and the U.S. had nothing, the situation to which it seems we will shortly return. I could be fixed, but no one would help me because I didn’t have insurance. I went from not well, to sicker, then even sicker. One day, I realized I was dying. For real. I was beyond sick. I felt as if the air was blowing through me and I was disappearing.

Someone told me about a doctor in Boston who might be interested. He was interested, but I had no insurance and no money. When it suddenly occurred to me that I really was dying, no kidding, I called the doctor. I said I was dying. He told me to come to the emergency room and he would take care of the rest. They took me in. I spent three weeks with a vitamin drip in my jugular vein trying to get me physically able for surgery. Then, he invented a surgery to fix me. It had never been done before and he warned me it might not work. I pointed out I had nothing to lose because I was going to die otherwise.

Anyway, after the surgery, my abdomen went septic and he had to call in the plastic surgery swat team. They performed another surgery, cutting out all the rotting skin on my abdomen and leaving me with a scar that looks like I was partially eaten by a shark. But I got better and a couple of weeks later, I went home. I only weighed 90 pounds and was warned that no matter how difficult it was, I had to eat. I needed to get back up to about 130 pounds. Which I did.

The hospital took care of the bill. I never paid for anything. Miracle number one.

Eventually I got Medicare — after finally getting disability. The process took almost four years. In between, I got cancer in both breasts and was fed a lot of poison and … then …

My heart failed. A lot of surgeries, later, I got more leases on life — and the hospital ate any expenses not covered by Medicare. They knew I couldn’t pay it. It is one of the things about dealing with large hospitals — they can manage catastrophes like me.

In the course of this period, Massachusetts got its own healthcare program and then there was Obamacare. By that time, I was already on Medicare.

I am alive. That I’m still breathing is amazing. This is just a brief overview — but before there was health care, if you weren’t absurdly lucky and just happened to have a brilliant doctor and a few top quality hospitals to lend you a hand, you would be dead. I could as easily be long gone by now.


Not having real health insurance is not politics: it is life or death.
It has nothing to do with how you vote. And as a reminder, the dead do not vote.

How did this stuff happen? How did we go from being good earners with high incomes to not having medical insurance and watching me slip from life to death?

I’m glad you asked.

I became too sick to work. My earlier job had fallen to bankruptcy. I was too ill to find new work. My husband had also stopped working. We had no money, no insurance, and I was dying. It is amazing how quickly a life can fall apart. It takes surprisingly little and ill-health is often where it begins. We thought we had enough — or soon would have enough — but when you are sick and uninsured, whatever money you put away disappears.

This is a “life accident.” You work. You’re doing fine. Your company goes bankrupt and you are not eligible for COBRA — assuming COBRA even exists. Some people lose jobs because they got old, or the company decides they will do better with younger, cheaper help. If you have a union, you might (at least) get some kind of payment to go with your pink slip. If not, you’re just old and unemployed and very unlikely to find equivalent — or any — employment. Because there aren’t that many companies looking to hire mature workers.

Your health insurance — assuming you had it — leaves when you leave and if your mate is part of your insurance, both of you are now without insurance. Sure, there are emergency rooms, but an ER won’t cure your cancer or repair your heart. If you have cancer and you do not have insurance, you are dead. Emergency rooms don’t take care of long-term illness. They might fix your broken leg — and send you the bill — but if you’ve got breast cancer? You’re done.

What kind of country are we building? What kind of world will this be if we have stripped the last hint of human kindness from our culture? What is wrong with compassion — even if it costs a little more? To me, this isn’t political. It’s humanity. It’s caring for others, including those you’ve never met.

That’s what compassion is.

MAKE ME FEEL BETTER

I visited my favorite doctor last week. She is the only one of my original set of doctors I kept when I changed insurers. Despite her not being covered directly by my new insurance, she is irreplaceable. She “gets me.” To try to establish this kind of relationship with a new doctor? I’m not sure I’ve got that many years left. Or if there is another doctor like her.

I hadn’t seen her since her in while, so we had some catching up to do. We talked about me, her, life, getting older, and how things don’t feel like they did when we were young. Mostly, we discussed how important it is to feel better.

Anyone who has been sick for a long time knows what I mean when I say “I just want to feel better.”

There comes a moment in time when whatever is wrong with you has dragged on for what feels like an eternity. You can’t remember what it was like to feel good. You’ve done everything you are supposed to do and still, you feel like crap. Whether it’s cancer, recovering from surgery, anxiety, bipolarity, the pain of chronic illness — or any combination of the above plus whatever else I didn’t mention — one day, you just want to feel better.

You really don’t care how. Whatever it takes, whatever drugs, surgery, therapy, whatever. Please, make me feel better. I want a day without pain. Without anxiety, depression, nausea. I want to feel normal or at least something close to that. Whatever normal is. Because I am not sure I clearly remember “normal.”

As far as doctors are concerned, feeling better isn’t a medical thing. You can’t test for it. It doesn’t register on a chart. You can’t log it in the notes. There is no medical value to how you feel. If you can’t put it on a chart or turn it into a statistic, it’s unreal … and unimportant.

To me, it’s the only important thing.

Feeling lousy isn’t an illness, so feeling better isn’t a cure. The doctor keeps telling you you’re fine, except you don’t feel fine. You are tired, in pain, crabby, unable to sleep. Nauseated. Exasperated. Depressed. Fed up with everything.

Just three of my doctors — out of so many — believe feeling good is a legitimate medical goal. One is my primary care doctor, the next is my cardiologist and the last is my shrink. Her task is to help me feel better. “After all you’ve gone through,” she says, “that’s what I can do for you. I can help you feel more like you used to feel before all that horrible stuff happened.”

She understands. She gets it.

I’m going to keep her. The hell with insurance.