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2024: A Medical Nightmare

Deah, Indie Author



Rant of realism. Words of praise.


There’s nothing like prolonged interaction with the conventional western allopathic healthcare system to make me appreciate so called “alternative”, and much more holistic, healing modalities.


To be sure, when I had repeated and sudden onsets of acute unrelenting pain, a trip to the hospital was warranted. I had resisted help for two years, using supplements and phototherapy patches to quell pain, forgetting about it in between attacks. That was a mistake, but — never one to rush to the doctor — totally in character for me.


Initially the ER docs decided the most immediate and clearly recognized problem they could treat was a tubo-ovarian abscess. That needed draining. And 24/7 treatment with IV antibiotics for a week. Potassium dangerously low? Well, my heart needs that, so add it to the drip. Extremely anemic? A few blood transfusions are in order. Now things are getting serious. Sigh. Short term inpatient care made sense to me. Good. Do it. All done? Fantastic. Thanks. Bye.


But the pain returned a few weeks later. This time I didn’t wait.  The “mass” in the colon and “spots” in the liver previously seen but untreated were fairly quickly now determined to be — surprise! — metastatic cancer. From a month in a hospital bed followed by two months of chemotherapy, I soon began to feel like they were almost unthinkingly treating a statistic with statistically suggested poison.


It seemed a mathematical formula for them. The patient has X, therefore X requires Y and Z. A robot could have administered it.


My hospital was particularly “good” about assuring me that I had the right to refuse any treatment. It didn’t take long to realize that this was a CYA offer from the legal department, and not a care paradigm philosophy. Never was this paired with providing modalities I trusted, such as homeopathy, or botanical medicine – things that are standard in some other countries. Things that, admittedly, don’t work as fast as synthetic, symptom suppressing pharmaceuticals, and are difficult to research for efficacy in the revered double-blind controlled study.


I, the individual, virtually disappeared while they treated the physicians’ oft-erroneous chart notes (always below the level of actionable malpractice, of course).


Blood tests results, given in percentages, showed lower than the range of normal values prompted extra goodies in my IVs, which destroyed the veins in my arms. So they put a midline or some such in my chest.


Text book determinations of what to do with the generic cancer patient typically derived from research on male bodies, overshadowed what I might uniquely need or want.


There was nothing healing about any of it.


Once I’d given consent to chemo as an out patient, life became both surreal and mechanical. I’ll expand on that later. Suffice to say here that when forced to perceive my entire existence as that of a terminal cancer patient — I was given 6-24 months to live, another impersonal statistic — normalcy becomes a distant memory.


Chemo kills everything. Cancer cells, somewhat, plus healthy cells a lot.  Immune system is destroyed, along with previously happy nerve endings. Pain in the gut was replaced with burning points in my feet from Fourth of July sparklers of the type no sane parent allows their kids to play with. And puffy inflammation marshmallows under my toes. An inability to touch or eat anything cold. Not to mention constant side effects like nausea, lack of appetite, and dramatic weight loss.


Well to be honest, I didn’t mind that bit too much, except that none of my jeans fit anymore and I had no idea what size to order now.


Just when I started to feel almost human again, I had another hospitalization for a few days when they removed the tumor. The first half of 2024 was spent trading one discomfort for multiple sets of others. Let’s fast forward to the second half.


Oncologists in general have one small toolbox. Being accustomed to naturopathic medicine where NDs can handle a wide variety of health issues, this was just weird and disorienting to me. Caring about my emotional stability and quality of life, even knowing anything to recommend for reversing the side effects their treatments caused,  weren’t in the oncology model of care. This is how healthcare in America has gotten so expensive. Everybody gets a piece of you because they all have such narrow scopes of practice.


So dealing with pain and side effects is the job of a different clinic. Palliative Care. From them I learned that acupuncture was useful for chemo induced peripheral neuropathy.


But of course, that clinic doesn’t actually do acupuncture. I had to find that on my own.


Ahhh. Finally, a holistic modality I believe in. After screening a number of licensed acupuncturists in a 5 mile radius, and rejecting those who did dry needling, and some other bizarre type of substance injections in meridian points, I found someone who does real acupuncture and practices Traditional Chinese Medicine.


If you’ve never had acupuncture or are needle phobic, it might sound strange when I say I love going to these sessions. Maybe it helps that I already knew a little about this modality and why Dr. Wong would stick needles in my feet to bring qi to my liver, and in my legs below the knee to balance my gallbladder channel when that organ was removed 50 years ago. I am totally comfortable with his knowledge. Plus, his patience with my questions and friendly manner make him a true healing presence.


In addition, the Chinese herbs he has given me have done wonders for restoring my energy and sense of well-being. They are also clearing the rash from my arms caused by the liver’s inability to process all the toxins in my body, due to chemo and cancer damage.


I feel so much better now, that it seemed the oncologist was talking about someone else last week when she said I probably have just 6 months left. Honestly, I almost laughed out loud when she said that. She could be right, of course, and I could wake up dead one of these days after a morning nap.


She had told me in November that pain felt in the region of the liver would be a sign that my demise was growing closer. She neglected to mention that liver pain can be referred to the neck. So when I had a stiff neck that Dr. Wong’s needles didn’t clear completely and I couldn’t resolve it with heat, Tylenol, or phototherapy patches, I went to my chiropractor.


Dr. Prentice is another practitioner who employs classical techniques. I trust his hands and really like that he doesn’t need mechanical devices to perform spinal adjustments. Most of the half hour appointments with him are spent chatting and laughing as he massages my neck, back, and legs. He’s very gentle and careful when cracking my neck, and after just a couple sessions the pain there is almost gone. He lifts my spirits, and I’m always energized for days after seeing him.  


I don’t think that was referred liver pain anymore. We're pretty sure it is thoracic outlet syndrome.


I won’t be seeing the oncologist anymore. We parted amicably after agreeing that she had nothing more to offer me. More chemo wouldn’t lengthen life that much and definitely would destroy the good quality of life I now enjoy. She thought more blood tests would only be worrying for me. I disagreed, but it wasn’t worth arguing about. I can get those much cheaper from my primary doc, anyway, if I want.


Maybe details worry her, or most patients. But that’s how little she got to know me. I do better with the availability of more information, not less. That’s probably the journalist in me. I like details. They let me plan and emotionally prepare.


While I am feeling older than fire – or instant coffee at least – I’m not feeling like I’m on death’s door. I have clarity of mind, energy for reading and writing, and interest in world affairs, as dismal as those are right now. I can still get myself to Taco Time for a burrito. My sarcasm is intact and will probably be the last thing to go. Life is good.


I bet I last the whole year, and maybe more. Any takers on that bet?

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