Medical angels and enemies

When I realized I was facing a serious health challenge that was going to put me in the hands of doctors and nurses for the coming months, one of my strongest reactions was anger. I was, once again, going to be at the mercy of people who saw me as a piece of meat on an assembly line. Traumatic experiences in medical care, involving severe pain and callous degradation, bubbled to the surface and left me breathless with resentment and fear. They sit deep in my tissues. For years after a particularly painful—and unnecessary—procedure, I could not lie on my back because it evoked the pain of the original event.

Given the angelic nature attributed to the profession, medical personnel are often surprised to be met with distrust and anger. Allow me to forego rationality and put it bluntly:

You (insert any medical profession) could have prevented (or detected earlier) this (insert medical problem). By ignoring or trivializing my symptoms, you missed important signs of impending illness.

You identified this (insert diagnosis) in me and now see me as a (diagnosis).

You will administer the (insert treatment) that entails an endless list of side effects and usually includes pain, discomfort, sick leave, etc, etc.

You are the ‘we’, I am the ‘them’. Subject, object. Reverse the perspective, and you are the enemy.

There’s a myth that people go into the medical field because they want to ‘help’ people. But many go into it so they can be experts and tell people what to do. This is so much easier than working together with someone to help her regain health. Working together involves listening, really hearing and processing, what is being said (or not said). There’s no training for that in medical schools.

While some people are born with compassion, most of us need to learn it through experience. It’s ironic that medical school is so demanding that only very healthy people even attempt it. I find myself wishing every practitioner would be afflicted with some vague and chronic condition entailing pain and fatigue. Or at least one life-threatening medical event. There is much to be learned.

So now, again, I step onto the conveyer belt of medical care. I will try to find the compassionate care providers (they are out there!). When I meet the enemy, I will gird my loins, which is not easy with a colostomy, and do whatever I can to protect myself.

Suggestions from my readers are gratefully accepted.