Pain Management????

Yet again I went to a new pain management doctor, and yet again, I get no help!! I want SOMEONE to explain to these doctors that they are involved in false advertisement. I mean, really, how can you advertise that your Pain Management and then refuse to help the pain. This is my third attempt at a pain management doc. Numero Uno at least tried to work on me for awhile. He tried numerous nerve blocks in my neck and none of them cured the pain. He did put me on narcotics for a few months, then suddenly said "you have failed treatment." Me, FAIL???? If you ask me HE FAILED!! or at least my BODY failed, but I, personally, did not FAIL! How dare he blame me for my migraines. Jerk! I want to get better and the audacity of a doctor to accuse me of not wanting to get better is asinine!

The biggest problem with migraines is they are not a visible illness. You can't see them. Migraines don't show up on CT Scans or MRIs. My brain looks normal the problem is it doesn't feel normal. And, yes, my brain is in there; I've seen it! Vanderbilt did an MRA and it was very cool to actually SEE my brain. It's picture perfect. I wish it showed something. Even a tiny sign on my brain that says: Pain starts here would be fantastic. Then the doctors could see it and have proof that I'm not lying to them or creating the pain myself. Trust me, I want a life and this wasn't the life I had in mind.

After so many difficulties with previous pain management docs I have come up with three criteria that one must meet:

1. You must believe my pain is REAL. I will be honest with you, but you must understand that migraines are real and extremely painful.

2. You must not give up on me. I can't give up on myself and I need a doctor that won't give up on me either. When a treatment fails, keep trying and trying. Never quit.

3. When I have a migraine that I cannot control with my home medications you must be willing to help me. I want to quit going to the ER. They're getting sick of me, and the ER is the last place you want to be with a migraine (screaming babies and crazy people).

Let me just say that I don't think my 3 criteria should be that hard to meet. Boy was I wrong. The new doc, we'll call him jerk #3, was shockingly rude. I've always heard about those doctors who are rude and don't want to hear anything you say. I'd never met one until yesterday. My neuro had sent me the paperwork to fill out in the mail, and I'd noticed that no where in the documentation did it ask about my previous treatments or places where I'd attempted treatment. It barely asked any questions at all. The other 2 pain management doctors that I'd gone to had extensive questionnaires. They wanted to know everything I'd ever done since birth. This was warning sign number 1.

He had a lovely Indian accent. I love those. His English was good, but his manners were atrocious!! He asked me what I had and I told him I have chronic migraines. That's where he cut me off. He started poking around on my neck and I expected that. He discovered I have a lot of pain in my neck (already knew that). Then he went right in to explaining what nerve blocks he was going to do. I spoke up to inform him I'd already had numerous nerve blocks in my neck. He didn't care. "No questions, I'm explaining!" Nice. Not! He started explaining my problem was in the area of my Greater Occipital Nerve (duh, that's where all migraines originate.) No matter how I tried to explain that we'd been through treatment from many, many different doctors and clinics over the years, he just kept cutting me off.

He asked, "Do you work?" I told him I'd had to quit working 4 years ago due to the migraines. You should have seen the ugly look I got for that one, and he said, "Other people work with headaches." Great, this is getting ugly. He then asked me what I did when I used to work, and I told him I used to be a Kindergarten teacher. "You're an intelligent woman, if you were a teacher. I will give injections in your neck here (pointing to neck on poster). I don't want to hear block isn't working because I put a steroid in with the block and your neck will swell here (on the outside). Don't tell me it made it worse because the swelling is on the outside and your pain is here (in spine). Many people say it hurt and I don't want you telling me about pain because it's swelling. There will be a bump".......blah......blah.......blah. I won't even tell you what was going through my head at this point. After he had talked AT me for 2 minutes. He finally took a breath and I attempted to get words out. I ATTEMPTED to explain that I'd have all those nerve blocks before, I'd been to one of the best migraine clinics in the country, and to Vanderbilt for treatment. I think I got out three or four words out before he returned to talking AT me. He simply didn't care what I'd tried. THIS was what HE was going to do. "I must use scientific approach." "I don't do narcotics." Fine, but will you help me with the pain I have and help to ease it, something, because I have excruciating migraines at least 2 or 3 times a week and my pain NEVER goes away. My neurologist sends me to the Cancer Treatment Center about once a week for a Stadol injection.....And I kid you not, "NO ONE HAS EVER DIED FROM A HEADACHE! YOU CAN'T DIE. Lay down in dark quiet room ,take aspirin or ibuprofen'"... This was the point at which I imploded. I kept my mouth shut and Phillip was sitting open mouthed in shock. We were both in shock. How dare he? I explained that my neurologist expects him to treat the pain when I have a migraine that is beyond my control. He reiterated that I can't die and told me, "okay, I give you few more minutes to explain why no narcotics. I must use scientific approach. Americans think they going to die from pain. They won't. No one needs narcotics." I told him, "I'm not asking for narcotics, just help with severe migraines." He said...........blah............blah............blah............I'm an inconsiderate a-hole.............blah........blah.........I don't care about your pain.........................you won't die...................... At least that is what I heard. I had completely tuned him out at this point and my eyes had welled up with tears. I did NOT want to cry in front of this jerk. "Go back out front." Great! Now I had to go back into the packed waiting room and sit there and try desperately not to cry. I couldn't do it. I headed to the bathroom as quickly as I could. I was in there for a very long time trying to recover, but I just couldn't stop crying. I finally got back to the waiting room and told Phillip to talk about anything just not what had just happened. He was still stunned so he handed me a magazine to read. I couldn't keep it all in, but I was trying really hard. The appointment secretary finally called me and started to set up a date for my MRI, then 2 dates for nerve blocks in my neck. Eventually we exited the building and I burst out sobbing.

This man didn't meet any of the 3 criteria I'd set for a good pain management doc. NOT ONE!!! After a few hours of pondering over things I decided I'm not giving this jerk any of my money or waste my insurance company's money on this man. He didn't deserve it. Pain management doctors #1 and #2 had already done the nerve blocks. We knew they didn't work. I called jerk #3's office and asked him to release me back to my neurologist because I cannot see a doctor who is so uncaring and tells me I can't die from this. The receptionist asked me if he'd really said that. Oh yes he did! She told me, "Well, get this message to Dr. G*** and we'll get back to you." As far as I'm concerned there's no need to contact me again. I have enough trouble being me, I'm not going to tolerate a jerk-wad doctor talking down to me like some wimpy, whiny baby. I never wish migraines on my worst enemy, but this man needs to have a severe, month long migraine that never lets up. Then he might understand the difference between a migraine and a headache. They are WORLDS apart. Solar systems apart.

Once my composure had returned I spent the remainder of the day searching the Internet and making phone calls to migraine clinics in the vicinity trying to find an understanding doctor. I'm not going blind into any more pain management offices. NEVER AGAIN!

Hour after hour I came across articles about how American pain management doctors do not treat pain for many of their patients. I had no idea so many were sharing the same struggle of finding a HELPFUL doctor. There are whole websites dedicated to advocating for those suffering from chronic pain and cannot find relief. I will keep looking until I find one. Wish me luck :)

You've GOT to be kidding me !!!??!

Warning:  Migraine Rant!!

I swear (and trust me-I've been swearing all day)!  First, I couldn't sleep last night, because when my migraines hit sometimes I can't sleep.  Lying still is what most people do when they have a migraine, but me, of course not.  Did you expect me to be normal?  You should know better by now.  I'm UNIQUE :)  Somehow that word is quickly becoming the equivalent of screeching nails on a chalk board.  For some strange reason, I have a hard time lying down during my migraines.  I sit up and, like a crazy person, rock back and forth a bit (during SUPER bad ones).  I know, scary huh?  Most of the time I sit and push my thumbs into my eye socket and hope that somehow I can pop that sucker back into my head.  It feels like my eyes are going to burst.  Seems reasonable to me that pushing them back in is the rational thing to do.  It's not???  Of course it is.  Okay, maybe I really am weird (I refuse to say unique).  At one point in my life I embraced my uniqueness and was proud to be my own person.  PLEASE, GOD.....I just want to be NORMAL.  Slightly out of kilter?  A tad bit on the weird side?  A few fries short of a happy meal?  Please, anything but UNIQUE!  

Seriously though, I spent my night in agonizing pain.  I just kept knitting headbands trying to ignore all those evil nerve sensors, on overdrive, screaming for my attention.  But I refuse to listen to them.  They have to shut up sooner or later.  I've taken all of my abortive medications.  Nothing left.  I knit through the wee hours, with my poor dog wondering is it day or night?  He's confused because he wants to sleep, but I can't.  He gets a little moody about disturbing his slumber.  Well, now as the day dawns and my vision is so blurry that it looks like my house is full of a cool, winter morning  haze after a big downfall of snow.  Alas, no snow.  It's only September.  I did discover the Lime & Violet podcast about knitting.  Always wondered about people's fascinations with podcasting.  Lime & Violet are rather kooky, and a bit irreverent while talking all about their lives and knitting.  I felt like a lone person sitting on a park bench, overhearing best friends catch up on all the latest gossip.  This new adventure kept me distracted until my much healthier half got up.  This is where my patience runs out on me every time.  I've suffered through the night, managed to keep my butt (actually head) out of the Emergency Room, and now the long wait from 7:30 when hubby leaves until 9:00 when my neurologist opens for the day.  I get the nurse on the phone, who knows me quite well, and we discuss how I'm not fabulous today and I have officially given up on curing myself.  She types notes to send to my doctor and then asks me, "what would you like today?"  I always rely on my trusty Stadol shot, which rarely fails (note the very important RARELY) "I don't know.  He knows I'm out of my Stadol nasal spray 2 weeks early,  I'm betting he's just going to shoot me at this point!"  She actually added that to the end of her note to my doctor.  Luckily, he decided to send me to the hospital to get a shot with a needle and not a gun.  Not sure that a gun wouldn't have been a better option.  WHEN are they going to start doing head transplants?  I would like to have a nice, new head with the same freckles and formerly natural red hair, just leave off the extra two chins.  Yep, sounds good to me.  

So, off to the hospital we go.  My poor hubby takes another long lunch to trudge with me up to the hospital and how he manages to not go crazy I will never know.  The one good thing is the hospital no longer sends me to One Day Surgery to get my shot.  It took at least 1- 1 1/2 hours to go through Admissions (gee, they are always so eager to work fast)  I think they should put me into the system permanently 'cause, heck, they already know who I am when I arrive.  Sad isn't it.  Now I go to the Cancer Treatment Center to get my shots.  I only had to go through the registration once (which was last Thursday, ugh) and from now on I just check in and head straight back to the infusion room.  It's bright, but not noisy.  You do get a nice cushy recliner to sit in and a tv to stare at.  I loved that I just walk right in, tell them what I need, and go on my way.  The nurse takes my blood pressure (surprisingly low) and temperature, then asks me where I want my shot.  Arm or Hip?  Hip-hip-hooray!  I know, bad joke.  I try to keep track of which hip got it last, this time was lefty's turn.  Here it comes, "just a little stick."  "Ready?"  Yep.  Hit me with your best shot.  2mg of Stadol and 50mg of Phenergan.  If you've ever had Phenergan stuck into your hip, you'd know that it burns like the dickens!  Little prick, no big deal.  Stinging left butt cheek on fire. Oh yea, that feels good.  Not.  At least a nurse taught me years ago to lift my weight off of the foot belonging to said hip, that helps you not tighten your muscles while you've got a needle stuck into your butt.  Butt/hip? What's the difference?  Some nurses aim high and others low.    We won't mention the time I lost my balance.  It all ends up pulsing though my body eager to get to work on those damn screaming nerve cells.  It's about time something shut them up.  For a little while at least.  Now, I sit patiently and await the meds to work over the next 30 minutes.  Getting better.  Slowly, but better.  After checking on me every little bit to make sure I don't have some bizarre reaction, I'm released to go home.  Off to bed!  Sleep!  Please, oh, please, just a few hours of peaceful rest.  

I crash at the house and am finally getting some relief.  If only that could last more that a few blissful hours.  Not pain free, but much less pain.  What would a day without pain feel like?  I have completely forgotten over the past 7 years.  How would it feel?  Would I know what to do with myself?  Or would I waste it, that one glorious, sacred day?  Feet back on the ground, now.  I get all settled in and prepare to snooze away in peaceful slumber.   

Phone rings.  My phone ringer sounds like the song from the Twilight Zone.  Du, du, doo, du, Du, du, doo, du.  Wish I was stuck in the twilight zone, it sure feels like it.  I roll over about to ignore it, but picked the thing up and saw my neurologist's office was calling.  Hmmm, what could they want?  The secretary? desk clerk?  appointment specialist? let's call her, Sue is calling to tell me about the appointment she was setting up with a new pain management doctor in Memphis.  Good.  Nope.  A BIG, GIANT, ROTTEN, STINKING, PUKING, RAGING bad.

Noooooooooooooooooo, I'm in the Twilight Zone. Oh crap! Reality sucks!  The aforementioned  Pain Management doctor has reviewed my records and has decided not to accept me as a patient.  Are you kidding me?  Can he do that?  What?  No, really, WHAT???  WARNING!! WARNING!! Tears swelling.  Abort! Abort!

Breathe

Big Deep Breaths

Calming Breaths

Soothing Thoughts. 

Go to my happy place.

Hang up phone.  NOW cry like baby, while dog looks on thoroughly confused.  Oh, and she ended the phone call by saying my neurologist doesn't know anyone else to refer me to, but he will gladly give me a recommendation to any doctor or clinic I can find that will treat me.  Oh joy.  

Reality bites.

I gathered my beaten, battered, bludgeoned, and thoroughly murdered hopes up off the floor, put on my big girl panties, and called the husband to whimper and cry on.  He's a good listener.  He is wary of giving any advice at this point.  He's quite aware this is a dangerous moment and no matter which path he chooses (sympathetic or calm and reassuring) this is a volatile moment.  He chose quiet support.  Which of course my ranting self took as, "so."  BOOM  There went my dignity.  Not Calm.  Now Pissed.  "How can a doctor do that?  Now what am I going to do? I can't believe this?  Is there anything we haven't tried yet?  You've just got to be kidding."  Please be kidding, please.  Sorry.  Sorry.  I know.  Stay calm.  We will just keep trying.   Hung up phone.  

No way I was getting restful sleep now.  I knitted the five remaining rows of the headband I was working on.  I was so steamed, I knitted fast and furious.  The stitches were so tight, I practically needed pliers to get them to budge.  Somehow not feeling the therapeutic relief that usually comes with knitting.

Yep, I'm unique.  Now I can scare off a doctor by just sending him my medical history.  Great.

Tomorrow:  Happy Thoughts