Fictitious Disorders
I have a love/hate relationship with doctors. I don’t think I ask too much of them, I just want them to be honest! I have had two doctors that have said the unthinkable, “I don’t know what’s wrong!” Good for them! They took a wait and see approach, such as two weeks, or they said, they would have to confer with another doc who might shed some light on the problem.
I bristle when I am told. “It’s all in your head,” or it’s impossible! I also hate to be spoken to as if I am stupid or a child. In fact, I rarely, if ever would speak to a child the way some physicians have spoken to me.
Among the worst offenders was the doctor who just wouldn’t believe me when I ran through a litany of complaints. He told me I was a hypochondriac. To satisfy me he decided to send me, completely out of my way to have some “tests” run in a NYC hospital. It wasn’t necessary to send me into the city and I knew he was making a point. He might have mentioned that I should have somebody with me, but he was so sure I was lying to him, he thought it unnecessary.
I took the Long Island Railroad to NY and walked about 6 blocks or so to the appointment. It was a 6 hour appointment. I was not allowed to eat or drink from dinner on. I was told I could eat when the test was over. I didn’t bring anything with me, I thought I would just stop off at someplace and grab a bite till I got home.
The test turned out to be a 6 hour glucose tolerance test. I arrived on time, filled out the myriad of forms and waited. Finally, about 20 past the arrival time, I was brought into a room, where a technician drew blood. I was returned to the waiting room. Shortly after I was given glucose to drink, I can’t remember in what form it came, it was many years ago, but it was horribly sweet and kind of stuck in my throat. Again, I waited till they drew blood again.
Something happened to me within 15 minutes or so. I was bouncing all over the place, talking to everyone who would respond. I would have done headstands and cartwheels in the waiting room, if I had the nerve, and the know-how. That high lasted about an hour as I remember and every half hour more blood was drawn. After 3 and a half hours, the technician, told me I was finished! I said, I thought it was a 6 hour test. He didn’t explain, he just said, finished. That high had definitely worn off. I left the office to retrace my steps back to catch the train home. I felt weird, slightly off balance, lethargic. After a block I found myself holding on to the walls. It seemed forever to return to Penn Station. I knew the way to the Long Island trains, but I knew I would faint. So, right there in the middle of the station, I sat down on the floor. Within minutes 2 cops were there trying to help me up. At first they thought I was a junkie, but one of the cops looked at my arm and asked me if I had just come from a hospital. I managed to get the story out and that cop went immediately to get me some orange juice. The sweetness of the juice reminded me of the glucose. After 15 minutes, I started to feel better, but I wasn’t all there. The cops took my ID from my purse, I think I told them my phone number and they contacted my husband. I already had the ticket so they knew which train to put me on. The police told him when the train was supposed to arrive at my stop and that he should meet me there. The conductor was also aware to make sure I got off the train. That part of that nightmare was over. When I returned and ate something I felt back to normal. I believe at the time I was about 30 years old. The follow up appointment with the doctor was the following week.
The doctor was dubious about the results of the test! Can you imagine, not only was I a lier, but the lab must be too. He wanted me to repeat the test in a month at a different facility!
I refused to go anyplace far from home and this time I knew to have someone with me. I can’t believe I subjected my self to that again. I later found out that after I ingested the glucose my sugar rose to a normal 140. By the time the test was eliminated it was 40! They should never had let me out of the building without feeding me something. I was lucky, who knows what might have happened had it not been cops to rescue me.
The second test confirmed the finding of the first. This time I fell asleep! They had to get me to drink something before they would let me leave the building.
The doctor apologized. You could tell from his apology that he still didn’t believe it but I guess he didn’t want to be sued or reported for such treatment. Some people just don’t believe in certain things. Some doctors , even in our “modern” times have mental roadblocks. The patients suffer. My diagnosis was hypoglycemia. That stayed with me through years and I did whatever I could to control it, from little tiny mini meals, to herbal medicine. All pretty much to no avail, eventually it became diabetes. I do very well for large periods of time on my regimen, and then for no apparent reason, the sugar goes whacko! I’m in one of those, “what the hell happened” phases right now. It is so frustrating.
This second example began when my husband and I went to Albany to visit people we knew very well. In the past we had always stayed at their house and this time was no different. I think we were there for 4 days, and it was a lovely visit.
After being home for about two-three weeks, I started to get itchy in intimate places. I couldn’t see anything to account for the itch, and I couldn’t think of anything to cause it. I tried topical itch creams, and powders but it kept getting worse. I changed detergents, I washed my clothes three times a week. Nothing helped. I went to the doctor, a different one from my glucose experience. I was told, after a brief perfunctory exam that it was “all in my head.” The doctor gave me exercises to take pressure points from the itchy areas. It was ridiculous. Next it was suggested I see a shrink! I was itching so I said yes. OMG! The doctor was trying to lead me into conclusions that were ridiculous. Dredging up things from the past etc. I finally said to him, “ I’m out of here, anything you are trying to elicit would have had implications way before a little trip to Albany.” Finally, someone said, “See a dermatologist!” I didn’t think about that, but I had nothing to lose. Well, my made up, psychological disorder was SCABIES! Where would I have picked up Scabies! I didn’t want to call and ask my hosts about it, but this was ridiculous. It turns out that our friend had a case of scabies before we arrived. She had caught it from a piano student of hers who took lessons in the house. She had no idea how she was exposed to the damn things. She was treated and seemed to be in the clear. No one else in the household had gotten the little critters, so they didn’t think they should mention it! I wasted weeks, I suffered weeks, while everyone was convinced I was crazy!
Well, I was treated and it was easily remedied, but I had to continue to change bedding daily. About a week after my itches abated, my husband was affected. All he did was go to the Dermatologist and treated. How come no one thought he was crazy! Within 2 weeks, the scabies were gone, and never returned. I hated changing the bedding so much!
There was an episode on the TV series “Seinfeld” where Elaine, one of the central characters develops an itch. She goes to the doctor. Her chart is right in front of her so she looks at it and when the doctor sees her “snooping” her appointment is over. She goes to other doctors but apparently her name is blacklisted on some imaginary patient list and no one will see her. In desperation she goes to a veterinarian. While she is waiting , he receives a phone call from somewhere but as a result he will not see her.
Of course that is fictitious, but the feeling is real. Your chart, follows you, almost like the threats teachers used to use about putting a comment on your “permanent record.”
That reminds me of an event that happened to me in school. When I had my physical to enter Junior High, now called Middle School, I remember clearly that my doctor while recording my height and weight on the form had his pen leak ink. I was just about 4’10, (short!) and weighed 81 lbs. He blotted the leak and laughed when he said, it looked like I weighed 181 lbs. He couldn’t erase it but he wasn’t bothered by it either.
I remember so well, it was the first day and I was a 7th/8th grader ( I was in a special class that combined the two levels into one. I was sitting in a Social Studies class when a monitor entered our room with a note to have me sent down to the doctor immediately.
I had no idea why but I went with the monitor. When I walked into the nurses office, she looked at me and told me to come back later because they were expected a very sick child. I told her they sent for me. The doctor looked at me and stupidly said, “You can’t way 181!” I thought he was crazy, then I remembered the ink leak. I explained what happened, but they decided to weigh me anyway! The real explanation just wasn’t enough.
