The Journey from illness to vibrance is a rocky road. The last ten years of my life have been the worst ever. I blame the medical careless system, based on profit, a heinously immoral unhealthcare system, for all of it.
So many poor, so few wealthy, it is cause to wonder Who, What, Why, Where, When and How it all began and WWWWW&H it will end. I no longer wonder Why. I Got It…
The poor provide jobs for the upper class professionals; college degreed and self-satisfied doctors, lawyers, corporated big dogs, senators, congressmen and hatchetmen alike. They are pawns with money, so they don’t rock the boat. They are the largest liars because their politics belie their liberal protestations as they pretend to help within a cruel system, as if they were Nazi technicians vivisecting children and dogs under orders of the fuhrer. Yes, a harsh statement, but having lived this nightmare in child form, (helpless and poor), it appears that my natal gift to see through bullshit has made me a medical liability from the doctors’ standpoints. Do not touch me with a ten foot pole, lest I seduce or unmask you.
I Got Fired -Again!
My records show that I have had eight primary-careless doctors in eighteen months. That is inaccurate because four of them were not accepting new patients, but the insurance lady did not know that bit of information. In eighteen months I have seen four PCP docs: Lolly, Pulie, The Troll, and Lelicia (names have been changed to protect the guilty) – Lolly for 2 visits, bridged my meds for several months. Thanks, Lolly! She was lovely, but I moved because her office would not call me back, ever, literally. I needed communication.
I saw Pulie for 2 or 3 visits of 10 minutes or less because every time, she disappeared from the room never to return. Her assistant did the work for her. When the inadequate appointments were finished they scheduled my next appointment for four months away. Gee? I could not walk, I was exhausted, sleeping 14 hours a day, peeing my pants and generally depressed in spite of taking antidepressants, among other things. She obviously wanted nothing to do with me. And I am no angel! I am demanding and questioning by nature. I do research and present it to the doctor. They hate that.
I saw the Troll for 2 visits; a long intake at the first visit and then the second when she held her hand up to my face and told me to stop talking after asking me to explain something.
“I will do the talking,” she said. I was so offended that I stood up and told her,
“This will not work for me. I am out of here, you are not my doctor.”
And then she said something to the effect, “Then you are not my patient.” Oh dear, I cannot remember the details of this last quote, but the upshot was a hilarious battle of “who fired who first?” Very funny. I should record all of my interactions with these people since I have a habit of blocking unpleasant encounters and reinterpreting details to fit feelings. Ah yes, even my laser vision is human.
My most recent encounter was a PCP called Lelicia. She was kind and gentle and a good listener, a perfect dream. I was enchanted. Upon meeting her my legs would barely carry me. I was struggling to be alive. I was writing from my bed because I could not sit or stand for more than ten minutes at a time. I used a shiny golden cane and bright blue walker with bigger wheels to go over the jagged ruts in Coquille sidewalks. I slept on average, 14 hours a day. I was depressed physically but not emotionally because of the drugs that would not allow crying or empathic reactions. I couldn’t walk up and down the hill from my woodsy hideaway ten blocks each way. I kept pushing myself, but the more I walked, the worse my pain.
The legs gave out completely one day in autumn. It was balmy and sweet smelling with aroma of foreign flowers. I made it up the hill three blocks before I squeezed the brakes on the walker, tipped my aching body onto the grass and spread my awful self out for a rest. Before I even had time to catch my breath, the lady (Michelle, she told me) from the blue house across the street came and rescued me. She brought the walker and the groceries and put us all into her truck, and drove me the eight blocks to my little cottage on the dead road by the ravine.
The most recent carelessness provider (not her fault, she is constrained by Big Pharma) was the delightful Lelicia. I saw her a few times (don’t want to look that up at this time, but it may have been four visits). Those were long appointments where she asked questions and took notes and listened to me. I was in PCP heaven! At that time I learned that the Reverse T3 test has great impact on thyroid protocol. If rT3 is high, then too much T4 present in the blood. That does not mean that T4 should be reduced. It means that T4 should be removed and only T3 given until the blood tests show better results. I explained this to her and stopped taking my Levoxyl and began to take a non prescription Natural Dessicated Thyroid from a “bovine” source (can’t say “cow”). The next time I saw Lelicia, I bounded into the office, no cane, beaming with joy and energy. I told her how I got this way. I explained that since I am so very short on funds, it would be so nice for her to “prior authorize” a prescription for Armour Thyroid, so that my insurance would cover it. Otherwise, I might have to go without the meds and fall into the old hypothyroid symptoms, or simply die, because the remaining half of my thyroid is now full of lumps and doesn’t work. So, yes, I will literally die if I can’t get this right. No wonder I refuse to allow their abuses and negligence. (not their faults-Big Pharma and the AMA in collusion).
She said “Ok, but first we must test.” We had to get a TSH test, the standard for thyroid treatment according to the “Book of Pharmaceutical Colluders,” written and financed by Big Pharma Yacht Association. I went for the blood and the desk lady said, “No free TSH for you, lady. Insurance says ‘no!'” I could have paid $130 for the test, but that was not possible nor desirable, so I went again to see her. This particular appointment had been bumped from the afternoon of December 28 to the morning of January 4, 2018.
I haven’t had a morning appointment in ages, because my night owl self overrules them. I was awake all night and foolishly went in anyway. I dragged myself in to the office. She took one look at me and freaked out. I told her I was sleep deprived and that adjusting to new meds is dicey, but she could not cope, so the very next day she sent a letter of resignation to me that only reached me five days later.
It did seem strange at first, but as my recollections of our last visit came lurching back to me, I remembered the moment she divorced me…
She had sent me for the TSH test – twice. Twice I had refused due to lack of insurance coverage. She told me that it would be malpractice to prescribe medicine without proper testing. At that point I hit the nail on the head. So said I …
“It would be malpractice to watch someone suffering from well known symptoms of a disease and refuse treatment. Now THAT would be malpractice.” These two sentences got me fired. Of this I am positive.
Then, I added, “You have seen me get better on NDT and seen me at my worst on Levothyroxine. The evidence is right in front of you.”
She said, “The evidence is in the test.”
Screeching Halt! Shots rang out and once again, Jewell Starsinger fell dead. Metaphorically Speaking… All at once I could see it clearly. It is not Lelicia’s fault, or any of the other Once Idealistic Healers’ faults. The responsibility is ours for allowing business to take control over government. The responsibility is ours for blaming politicians when we asked them to “take care of it” for us while we indulged in the comsumerist culture we desired. We are “hoist in our own petard,” like unlikely boulders crashing into walls, healthcarelessly wishing this wasn’t going to hurt so bad.
Starsinger Woman 