Lucky Me

There are a few blogs I read all the time.  They range from the silly to the stupid, the ridiculous to the sweet.

And then there’s Dr. Grumpy.

He claims to be either a neurologist or a Yak herder.  Some days, I can’t tell which is true.

Other days, he rants about hilarious patients, formidable hospital administrations, stupid insurance companies, and his teenage children.

Mostly, he seems slightly out of touch with the Average Joe.

Which leads me to believe he really is a Yak herder, and lives in Nepal.  Or a neurologist with little comprehension of what people not making six-figure incomes have to deal with when it comes to health care.

Honestly, I can’t tell.

In general, though, I like him.  Not that it matters to the doc, but there it is.

The comments on his blog are often enlightening, too.

Other doctors, PAs, pharmacists, and other healthcare professionals chime in and it’s those people I take issue with the most.

I have lamented, ad nauseum, about the “invisible diseases”, the pain-centered illnesses like fibromyalgia, CFS, arachnoiditis, and CRPS and the treatment sufferers get at the hands of callous health care people.

I get that one can become jaded at the constant barrage of people looking for the pharmacological quick fix.  I. Get. That.

What I don’t get is how a doctor, or any other healthcare professional, can look me in the eye and dare to tell me I’m not sick, I’m not hurting, I’m making it all up.

Don’t get me wrong, Dr. Grumpy never goes there.  But his followers, the ones who comment, they do. Often.

I always try to point out their ignorance, and am sometimes met with hostility.  Sometimes with disdain, and sometimes with arrogance.

I’m rarely treated with compassion.

And that’s what’s wrong.  We, the people suffering from the silent illnesses, we deserve the same compassion as the cancer patient, the anxiety patient, hell the “every” patient.

I’ve given up trying to get that compassion from the cold, hard, world-at-large.  I’m very lucky my pain doctor is understanding, and that my pharmacist is someone I’ve known for over 20 years.  I rarely, if ever, have to deal with the sideways glances and raised eyebrows at my monthly ‘scripts that keep me upright, productive, mobile and happy.

I’m one of the lucky ones, and that too, is so wrong.


Posted on February 5, 2016, in Fun With Fibromyalgia, In All Seriousness, Uncategorized and tagged . Bookmark the permalink. 4 Comments.

  1. I love Dr Grumpy! But I do see the difficulty with having a silent illness. As a nurse, some of it is the culture of the institution. The attitude towards “chronic” patient varies a lot by setting – and it can vary within the setting day by day, depending on which staff members are there. Nurses are people, and have preconceived ideas. Patients that are stoic “can’t be in all that much pain, because he’s watching thr football game” never thinking about distraction. Patients who are dramatic “they aren’t in that much pain, they just want attention.”

    • I totally understand, otter, but I’m fighting the same fight faced by patients with mental illnesses 30, 40, 50 years ago. I won’t be happy until the silent illnesses are treated with the same gravitas as every other illness.

  2. Yup, I getcha. My silent illness is Depression. I’m a lucky one, too, because I’m able to keep it at home when it’s bad. Ironically (maybe… I’m not always sure about irony), getting out into the world to go to work is often my first line of defense against Depression. Not that it lasts beyond the workday, but it’s something. I’m not at the point of pharma options yet, and that also makes me a lucky one.

    You might want to quit reading the comments on Dr. Grumpy, if they affect you so negatively. I understand what you’re trying to do (educate the masses), but people are stupid. No good deed goes unpunished, as they say. For my own sanity, I pretty much avoid the negativity.

    • Hugs to you, my dear emelle…but I am unaffected (emotionally) by invisible denizens of the ‘Net. I learned, a LONG time ago, not to treat them as *real*. I mean, I know they are humans, at least I think they are, but to me they are not real. I’m not explaining this very well, am I? Point is, I am able to stay emotionally detached. I just want to try to educate the (stupid) masses wherever and whenever possible. Who knows? Maybe one of them is dealing with someone like me IRL, and it could help. I’m exceedingly lucky in that while certainly empathetic to my RL people, I lack that intense long-distance empathy (the double-edged sword) that would cause me emotional pain when I read something online directed at me. In that, I guess I am truly lucky.


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