AFTER SEVENTEEN MONTHS TRYING TO FIND OUT WHAT WAS WRONG WITH ME...
We drove into the ambulance area of the ER because I couldn’t walk
from the parking area back to the hospital. William went in and told the
nurse that I couldn’t walk, and they sent someone out with a wheelchair.
I could barely lift my arms, and my legs hurt to walk. I felt as though,
whatever was wrong with me, I was fighting a losing battle. I dreaded the
long wait time in the ER and even being in this kind of environment.
William parked the car, came back, and never left my side, reassuring me
that everything would be fine and that if anyone could find out what was
wrong, the doctors at St. Michael’s would.
He’d had prior experience with the doctors here and was confident
that this would be our last stop. We went through the typical registration
process, and the staff was patient and accommodating. We had to wait
until we were called, like everybody else who was not an urgent case.
They called us about forty-five minutes later, and I was surprised and
comforted myself with the thought that maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as
I’d imagined.
We waited another hour or so until we saw a nurse who did the intake,
and we again related the history of my symptoms. William told him we
had a copy of my C-spine MRI on a CD, along with all other reports
from day one of my ordeal. We thought it would save time and resources
because I already had done all the tests, so they wouldn’t have to do them
again. Besides, we just wanted someone to give us feedback regarding the
C-spine MRI. The nurse said that they would do their blood work, in
case other testing missed something. We were then sent to another, more
private room, which I appreciated, because there was an examination
table and I could stretch out, since sitting for so long aggravated my pain.
The on-call ER doctor showed up and retook a history of my symptoms.
His shift would be over soon, and we didn’t see him again.
More time went by, and a young intern came in and asked me to tell
my story again. I did, and he said his colleague would be by to talk with us.
We waited for what seemed like two hours before another young intern
came by and asked us to tell her about my symptoms again. She listened
very attentively as they all did, and I tried to be as specific and detailed as
possible because I thought maybe she would pick up on something that
the other doctors may have missed along the way.
She asked a couple of questions, which I answered. Then I asked her
if I could ask a question. She said yes, and I asked if she’d ever heard of
the kind of tremors I had been experiencing and gave her a synopsis of
what they felt like and when I got them. I got the feeling she thought I
was bizarre when she said she’d never heard about tremors such as these. I
told her about the pain at the back of my head, which felt like a squeezing
sensation. I described the pain that ran from the back of my head to
the skin in my outer ears, especially the left one. She didn’t take any notes,
and I couldn’t help but wonder how she would remember everything I
told her, because it was a lot. She said they were very busy and she would
be back and left the room.
We waited another couple of hours. I could barely find a comfortable
position that didn’t cause intolerable pain. The pain felt like a hot rod
ran into the base of my skull and intensified when I rested my head on
a surface. The nurse told us that pillows were a hot commodity in the
hospital, so there were none. After about four hours of getting to the
hospital, the nurse who did the intake came and said that he would admit
me, and someone would be by to take me to a room.
Everyone we dealt with was very professional and made me feel comfortable,
and I kept thinking, this is it. Someone here will finally figure it
out, and my ordeal will soon end. The nurse got me a sandwich, which I
ravenously ate since we’d been there for about six hours. William refused
to leave me when I told him to go out and get something to eat because
he wanted to be there when the doctor came by. We got to the hospital in
the early afternoon, and it was close to midnight when they moved me to
a room not too far from where we originally were. William helped me to
get cleaned up for bed, and a few minutes after I settled in for the night,
they said I would be transferred to another room.
I tried to stay positive, especially after the nurse said that we would see
a team of specialists the next morning. I would have been quite happy
just seeing a neurologist, but a team sounded more promising. I was put
in a private room, quite different from a typical hospital room as it was
glass all around, and given a sedative and pain meds. I didn’t know what
they were but took them anyway, desperate for relief.
The bed wasn’t a typical hospital bed either, more like an examination
table, and it was not comfortable because it was so narrow. I was in this
room maybe forty-five minutes before another nurse came and said I had
to move again, this time to a standard hospital room I shared with another
patient. The sedative didn’t work, and I was still up at 2:00 a.m. William
asked the nurse if there was something else she could give to help me get
to sleep, and she brought me yet another sedative.
The female intern who saw us in the ER came by and asked how I
was doing. When William told her about my pain, she asked if she should
give me intravenous pain meds. He said no, though, because nothing
seemed to work. William stayed at my bedside the whole time, and I
think I finally dozed off around 4:00 a.m. The pain didn’t let me sleep for
very long, as usual, and I awoke feeling a bit disoriented, not remembering
where I was for a few seconds. William wasn’t where I’d last seen him,
in a chair next to the bed, and I became a bit frantic and called the nurse.
She told me that he had gone out to the car, and so I called him on his
cell phone. He got back to the room quickly and said that he was tired
and couldn’t sleep in the chair, so when I finally fell asleep, he’d gone to
the car and was able to get an hour or so. He told me that he watched me
as I slept, and I woke up every ten to twelve minutes, groaned in pain, and
then dozed back off to sleep.
We knew the team of doctors would make their rounds around 10:00
a.m., so I got ready and waited for their arrival. The attending doctor, Dr.
James, came by and said that we would have more privacy if we went
to a nearby conference room. I sensed William’s eagerness at the mere
thought of laying it all out on the table because he believed with all his
heart that my problems stemmed from my spine. He wheeled me into
the dimly lit conference room. There were about five, maybe six other
very young people already seated at the table. Dr. James asked if it was
okay that they were there, and I agreed and wondered if this was the
team of specialists. He said that they were interns, and I speculated about
how much experience they had, but I told myself to keep an open mind.
William couldn’t wait to get to the whiteboard to draw it all out for
them, but this didn’t happen, as the meeting took a completely different
turn than the one we anticipated.
The female intern who had listened to my history of symptoms in the
ER the previous night read from her notes everything I told her, practically
word for word. It was very detailed, just as I’d described. It impressed
me that she’d remembered so much because she didn’t take notes during
our conversation. It was as if she recorded our conversation because
her recollection of my symptoms was quite extraordinary. Especially, I
thought, having worked (I’m sure) a twelve-hour or more shift, seeing
various patients with various symptoms. When the intern finished, Dr.
James, who sat crossed-legged with a notepad on his lap, scribbling as he
listened to the intern, raised his head. His glasses were poised at the end
of his nose as he looked over them at William and me, and asked if we
agreed with everything the intern had read. We said that, yes, we agreed.
After telling us that I’d had a plethora of tests done as well as the blood
work they did the night before, which were negative for any disease, he
said, “There is nothing wrong with you!”
I was in total shock, and my eyes filled with tears, and my heart raced.
I kept my composure when I felt a wave of heat move over my body. The
thought ran through my head: If a doctor at such a reputable hospital said
nothing was wrong with me, then this indeed was the end of the road.
After talking a bit more about all the tests I had, which showed
nothing, he looked at William, wagged his index finger at him, and said,
“It’s time to get your wife off the medical treadmill and stop taking her
from doctor to doctor.”
If hearing the words nothing is wrong with you didn’t cut like a knife,
this statement was full of implications, the most important being that I
shouldn’t or couldn’t seek any further medical investigations. I knew in
my heart that I would end up immobile.
I didn’t think I could’ve felt any worse, but then he continued on
his verbal tirade: “Some people would kill for your results.” He then
proceeded to tell a story about a patient who came to the ER with
headaches, and they couldn’t find anything wrong with her after she had
various tests.
He said, “She had gone up north to a mental health retreat and
was cured.”
I could see the steam coming out of William’s ears, and he then interjected.
“So let me ask you something: The body doesn’t send a signal to
the brain that you have pain unless you have pain?”
The doctor responded. “Oh, yes, it does!”
“Do tell,” William said.
Dr. James explained that whatever was happening with me was a
mind-body thing that they didn’t understand and wasn’t within their
medical scope.
I could hear the disgust in William’s tone. He then turned to the
young interns, and said, “Let me ask you a question. If a patient comes
to you presenting with signs of a pinched sciatic nerve, what are their
symptoms? It’s a burning, shooting, stabbing, throbbing pain coming out
of their ass, and it’s either going down their right leg or their left leg.
Would you agree?”
All the interns nodded their heads in agreement.
William said, “Exactly! My wife has the same problem, but it’s coming
out of her neck.”
None of them responded verbally, but Dr. James kept on his dialogue
about the mind-body connection being something that is not fully
understood. At this point, I spoke up, saying that I was quite aware of
the mind-body connection because I was a Reiki Master, and I was
quite mindful of the possibility of thoughts affecting one’s health. I told
them that, because I understand the mind-body connection, I had seen
a psychotherapist.
“Did you pay for this service?” asked Dr. James
“Yes,” William said, “a hundred dollars an hour.” His response was
even more confusing and disturbing.
“Oh, he’s not a real doctor!”
I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry, and I thought I could’ve saved
myself $700. What kind of doctor did I pour my heart out to, if Philip
wasn’t a real doctor?
I wanted Dr. James and the interns to understand that, even if they
didn’t understand the mind-body connection, I understood it. I told
them that it had been scientifically proven, for example, that being
around a body of water has a calming effect on the mind, which results
in physiological changes in the body, and that the phenomenon is known
as blue mind.
I said research showed that simply being near the waters’ edge affected
the mental state of a person. In the experiment, the participants’ heart
and pulse rates were reduced, which resulted in a calmer state. I talked
briefly about the effects of meditation on the mind, and about being in
nature, for example, walking on grass and its grounding effects. There was
one male intern in the room, and in my peripheral vision, I noticed he
nodded his head, and I thought he agreed with me. The other interns
watched me with blank stares on their faces, and no one said anything.
I thought that, just maybe, there was one person who did understand
the mind-body connection, and I said to him, “You’re nodding your head
yes. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
He then looked like a deer caught in headlights, his eyes opened wide
and a confused expression on his face. He quickly shook his head to
indicate he didn’t understand. I thought to myself, if these are the kind of
doctors medical schools are producing, we are in big trouble! And worse, that Dr.
James was training them to view patients the same way he does.
I wanted to get out of the conference room, hospital, and city as fast
as I could because I couldn’t bear to listen to any more of Dr. James’
reprimands that I was making up this pain in my head. The combination
of anger, fear, resentment, frustration, and pure disbelief over what had
transpired left me emotionally drained. The words to describe how I felt
about this doctor and the interns in the room who tried to convince me
that my pain was not real, don’t exist. (Actually, the words do exist, but
I’m trying to keep the party polite.)
We went back to the room, and the nurse told us that we had to wait
for the doctor to discharge me. We waited for almost an hour until one
of the interns who was in the meeting room came by and handed me a
single sheet of paper. I looked at it and read the following:
I came to the hospital on August 29, 2018, and left on August 30, 2018.
I came in because of Somatoform Disorder.
I didn’t know what the term somatoform meant, but the word disorder
gave me a chill when I read it. I asked for clarification because no one
used the word disorder in the conference room. I don’t remember what
the intern said, but she pointed to the information on the page regarding
follow-up, medications, and rationale. The doctor prescribed: lorazepam
for insomnia and anxiety and baclofen for muscle rigidity and tightness.
from the parking area back to the hospital. William went in and told the
nurse that I couldn’t walk, and they sent someone out with a wheelchair.
I could barely lift my arms, and my legs hurt to walk. I felt as though,
whatever was wrong with me, I was fighting a losing battle. I dreaded the
long wait time in the ER and even being in this kind of environment.
William parked the car, came back, and never left my side, reassuring me
that everything would be fine and that if anyone could find out what was
wrong, the doctors at St. Michael’s would.
He’d had prior experience with the doctors here and was confident
that this would be our last stop. We went through the typical registration
process, and the staff was patient and accommodating. We had to wait
until we were called, like everybody else who was not an urgent case.
They called us about forty-five minutes later, and I was surprised and
comforted myself with the thought that maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as
I’d imagined.
We waited another hour or so until we saw a nurse who did the intake,
and we again related the history of my symptoms. William told him we
had a copy of my C-spine MRI on a CD, along with all other reports
from day one of my ordeal. We thought it would save time and resources
because I already had done all the tests, so they wouldn’t have to do them
again. Besides, we just wanted someone to give us feedback regarding the
C-spine MRI. The nurse said that they would do their blood work, in
case other testing missed something. We were then sent to another, more
private room, which I appreciated, because there was an examination
table and I could stretch out, since sitting for so long aggravated my pain.
The on-call ER doctor showed up and retook a history of my symptoms.
His shift would be over soon, and we didn’t see him again.
More time went by, and a young intern came in and asked me to tell
my story again. I did, and he said his colleague would be by to talk with us.
We waited for what seemed like two hours before another young intern
came by and asked us to tell her about my symptoms again. She listened
very attentively as they all did, and I tried to be as specific and detailed as
possible because I thought maybe she would pick up on something that
the other doctors may have missed along the way.
She asked a couple of questions, which I answered. Then I asked her
if I could ask a question. She said yes, and I asked if she’d ever heard of
the kind of tremors I had been experiencing and gave her a synopsis of
what they felt like and when I got them. I got the feeling she thought I
was bizarre when she said she’d never heard about tremors such as these. I
told her about the pain at the back of my head, which felt like a squeezing
sensation. I described the pain that ran from the back of my head to
the skin in my outer ears, especially the left one. She didn’t take any notes,
and I couldn’t help but wonder how she would remember everything I
told her, because it was a lot. She said they were very busy and she would
be back and left the room.
We waited another couple of hours. I could barely find a comfortable
position that didn’t cause intolerable pain. The pain felt like a hot rod
ran into the base of my skull and intensified when I rested my head on
a surface. The nurse told us that pillows were a hot commodity in the
hospital, so there were none. After about four hours of getting to the
hospital, the nurse who did the intake came and said that he would admit
me, and someone would be by to take me to a room.
Everyone we dealt with was very professional and made me feel comfortable,
and I kept thinking, this is it. Someone here will finally figure it
out, and my ordeal will soon end. The nurse got me a sandwich, which I
ravenously ate since we’d been there for about six hours. William refused
to leave me when I told him to go out and get something to eat because
he wanted to be there when the doctor came by. We got to the hospital in
the early afternoon, and it was close to midnight when they moved me to
a room not too far from where we originally were. William helped me to
get cleaned up for bed, and a few minutes after I settled in for the night,
they said I would be transferred to another room.
I tried to stay positive, especially after the nurse said that we would see
a team of specialists the next morning. I would have been quite happy
just seeing a neurologist, but a team sounded more promising. I was put
in a private room, quite different from a typical hospital room as it was
glass all around, and given a sedative and pain meds. I didn’t know what
they were but took them anyway, desperate for relief.
The bed wasn’t a typical hospital bed either, more like an examination
table, and it was not comfortable because it was so narrow. I was in this
room maybe forty-five minutes before another nurse came and said I had
to move again, this time to a standard hospital room I shared with another
patient. The sedative didn’t work, and I was still up at 2:00 a.m. William
asked the nurse if there was something else she could give to help me get
to sleep, and she brought me yet another sedative.
The female intern who saw us in the ER came by and asked how I
was doing. When William told her about my pain, she asked if she should
give me intravenous pain meds. He said no, though, because nothing
seemed to work. William stayed at my bedside the whole time, and I
think I finally dozed off around 4:00 a.m. The pain didn’t let me sleep for
very long, as usual, and I awoke feeling a bit disoriented, not remembering
where I was for a few seconds. William wasn’t where I’d last seen him,
in a chair next to the bed, and I became a bit frantic and called the nurse.
She told me that he had gone out to the car, and so I called him on his
cell phone. He got back to the room quickly and said that he was tired
and couldn’t sleep in the chair, so when I finally fell asleep, he’d gone to
the car and was able to get an hour or so. He told me that he watched me
as I slept, and I woke up every ten to twelve minutes, groaned in pain, and
then dozed back off to sleep.
We knew the team of doctors would make their rounds around 10:00
a.m., so I got ready and waited for their arrival. The attending doctor, Dr.
James, came by and said that we would have more privacy if we went
to a nearby conference room. I sensed William’s eagerness at the mere
thought of laying it all out on the table because he believed with all his
heart that my problems stemmed from my spine. He wheeled me into
the dimly lit conference room. There were about five, maybe six other
very young people already seated at the table. Dr. James asked if it was
okay that they were there, and I agreed and wondered if this was the
team of specialists. He said that they were interns, and I speculated about
how much experience they had, but I told myself to keep an open mind.
William couldn’t wait to get to the whiteboard to draw it all out for
them, but this didn’t happen, as the meeting took a completely different
turn than the one we anticipated.
The female intern who had listened to my history of symptoms in the
ER the previous night read from her notes everything I told her, practically
word for word. It was very detailed, just as I’d described. It impressed
me that she’d remembered so much because she didn’t take notes during
our conversation. It was as if she recorded our conversation because
her recollection of my symptoms was quite extraordinary. Especially, I
thought, having worked (I’m sure) a twelve-hour or more shift, seeing
various patients with various symptoms. When the intern finished, Dr.
James, who sat crossed-legged with a notepad on his lap, scribbling as he
listened to the intern, raised his head. His glasses were poised at the end
of his nose as he looked over them at William and me, and asked if we
agreed with everything the intern had read. We said that, yes, we agreed.
After telling us that I’d had a plethora of tests done as well as the blood
work they did the night before, which were negative for any disease, he
said, “There is nothing wrong with you!”
I was in total shock, and my eyes filled with tears, and my heart raced.
I kept my composure when I felt a wave of heat move over my body. The
thought ran through my head: If a doctor at such a reputable hospital said
nothing was wrong with me, then this indeed was the end of the road.
After talking a bit more about all the tests I had, which showed
nothing, he looked at William, wagged his index finger at him, and said,
“It’s time to get your wife off the medical treadmill and stop taking her
from doctor to doctor.”
If hearing the words nothing is wrong with you didn’t cut like a knife,
this statement was full of implications, the most important being that I
shouldn’t or couldn’t seek any further medical investigations. I knew in
my heart that I would end up immobile.
I didn’t think I could’ve felt any worse, but then he continued on
his verbal tirade: “Some people would kill for your results.” He then
proceeded to tell a story about a patient who came to the ER with
headaches, and they couldn’t find anything wrong with her after she had
various tests.
He said, “She had gone up north to a mental health retreat and
was cured.”
I could see the steam coming out of William’s ears, and he then interjected.
“So let me ask you something: The body doesn’t send a signal to
the brain that you have pain unless you have pain?”
The doctor responded. “Oh, yes, it does!”
“Do tell,” William said.
Dr. James explained that whatever was happening with me was a
mind-body thing that they didn’t understand and wasn’t within their
medical scope.
I could hear the disgust in William’s tone. He then turned to the
young interns, and said, “Let me ask you a question. If a patient comes
to you presenting with signs of a pinched sciatic nerve, what are their
symptoms? It’s a burning, shooting, stabbing, throbbing pain coming out
of their ass, and it’s either going down their right leg or their left leg.
Would you agree?”
All the interns nodded their heads in agreement.
William said, “Exactly! My wife has the same problem, but it’s coming
out of her neck.”
None of them responded verbally, but Dr. James kept on his dialogue
about the mind-body connection being something that is not fully
understood. At this point, I spoke up, saying that I was quite aware of
the mind-body connection because I was a Reiki Master, and I was
quite mindful of the possibility of thoughts affecting one’s health. I told
them that, because I understand the mind-body connection, I had seen
a psychotherapist.
“Did you pay for this service?” asked Dr. James
“Yes,” William said, “a hundred dollars an hour.” His response was
even more confusing and disturbing.
“Oh, he’s not a real doctor!”
I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry, and I thought I could’ve saved
myself $700. What kind of doctor did I pour my heart out to, if Philip
wasn’t a real doctor?
I wanted Dr. James and the interns to understand that, even if they
didn’t understand the mind-body connection, I understood it. I told
them that it had been scientifically proven, for example, that being
around a body of water has a calming effect on the mind, which results
in physiological changes in the body, and that the phenomenon is known
as blue mind.
I said research showed that simply being near the waters’ edge affected
the mental state of a person. In the experiment, the participants’ heart
and pulse rates were reduced, which resulted in a calmer state. I talked
briefly about the effects of meditation on the mind, and about being in
nature, for example, walking on grass and its grounding effects. There was
one male intern in the room, and in my peripheral vision, I noticed he
nodded his head, and I thought he agreed with me. The other interns
watched me with blank stares on their faces, and no one said anything.
I thought that, just maybe, there was one person who did understand
the mind-body connection, and I said to him, “You’re nodding your head
yes. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
He then looked like a deer caught in headlights, his eyes opened wide
and a confused expression on his face. He quickly shook his head to
indicate he didn’t understand. I thought to myself, if these are the kind of
doctors medical schools are producing, we are in big trouble! And worse, that Dr.
James was training them to view patients the same way he does.
I wanted to get out of the conference room, hospital, and city as fast
as I could because I couldn’t bear to listen to any more of Dr. James’
reprimands that I was making up this pain in my head. The combination
of anger, fear, resentment, frustration, and pure disbelief over what had
transpired left me emotionally drained. The words to describe how I felt
about this doctor and the interns in the room who tried to convince me
that my pain was not real, don’t exist. (Actually, the words do exist, but
I’m trying to keep the party polite.)
We went back to the room, and the nurse told us that we had to wait
for the doctor to discharge me. We waited for almost an hour until one
of the interns who was in the meeting room came by and handed me a
single sheet of paper. I looked at it and read the following:
I came to the hospital on August 29, 2018, and left on August 30, 2018.
I came in because of Somatoform Disorder.
I didn’t know what the term somatoform meant, but the word disorder
gave me a chill when I read it. I asked for clarification because no one
used the word disorder in the conference room. I don’t remember what
the intern said, but she pointed to the information on the page regarding
follow-up, medications, and rationale. The doctor prescribed: lorazepam
for insomnia and anxiety and baclofen for muscle rigidity and tightness.
