The last seven days have been rather memorable, and not always pleasantly so. Any readers who actually follow this blog might remember that I ended up in quite severe pain last Wednesday. Whilst walking to the chiropractor. As I stepped up the kerb using my athroscoped knee, its revenge was spectacular and sudden. Movement of any sort became impossible whilst I bellowed like a bull.
Chiropractor to the Stars, the lovely Liam, gave me the gentlest of massages around the knee whilst he tried to work out what the hell had happened. He was all for persuading me to ring the Boy Wonder's rooms to explain my predicament. Knowing he was on leave saved me the possible horror of a trip to the Big Smoke. Instead, I made an appointment to see the local quack the following day.
One major irritant about living out of the metro area is the lack (perceived or real) of General Practice services. We are fortunate to have two different doctors' surgeries here in Beverley, but I had not patronised them much for different reasons.
Back in 2014, when Michael nearly died, our then local doctor disagreed with my decision to criticise a respiratory specialist whom I believed treated Michael poorly. We were invited not to attend that group of doctors anymore. As there was no second surgery at that point, we shifted quacks to York. We had an absolutely fabulous doctor there, until one day, she decided she wanted to be an actor rather than a doctor and that was that. We then moved lock, stock and barrel another thirty-five kilometres to another Surgery in Northam. We have been pretty satisfied with the doctors there...Until recently. Of the twin doctors we see there regularly, one is now almost impossible to see for an emergency on even up to a week in advance. The other has just blotted the copybook one time to many. Comments such as "people like you are the reason the NDIS is going broke" have not been particularly endearing. Accusing us of "doctor shopping" and then telling us to use the local one in a different circumstance was hurtful and confusing. I have just about had enough.
Anyway, last Thursday, Michael delivered my body to see the local bloke. He was empathetic, brisk and reassuring. He prescribed rest and good pain relief, using heat packs if they helped and promised me I'd be feeling a lot better in a few days. I retired to bed and there I stayed until Saturday evening.
I couldn't understand why I felt so terrible. Rapidly through Thursday and into Friday, fatigue became all encompassing, nausea was awful and bouts of diarrhoea added to my general misery. On Friday, I slept for eighteen out of twenty-four hours and just was wiped out.
I thought that maybe the pain killers were the culprits. So I stopped them and returned to good old Panadol. I stayed in bed with my heat pack and my discomfort as my knee improved mightily, but my other symptoms remained.
By Saturday evening, I was utterly fed up. With no appetite, the ever-present collywobbles and lethargy having become my best friend, action was necessary. The time had come to use the "little grey cells" and solve this most annoying puzzle.
I have always loved detective stories. From Hercule Poirot to Jessica Fletcher, Jay Swan to Miss Marple, Father Brown to Phryne Fisher, they have provided me with escapism, intrigue, red herrings, convoluted explanations and occasionally simple solutions. I needed to employ some of their enquiring skills.
I thought back to Thursday. The only variable was a drug named Trulicity, which I had been prescribed as Ozempic had become difficult to obtain. Both medications for Type 2 Diabetes, I had hoped to have a helping hand in my weight loss journey having heard of their ability to do exactly this.
Having been on Ozempic with no side effects for two months, I didn't really question the prescribing of Trulicity. I was assured by the GP that they were the same drug, just a different name. I had injected myself with Trulicity on Thursday without a second thought...
Fast forward to yesterday. My nausea was easing, the fatigue lessening and the dreaded trots were receding to a bad memory. Whilst in Northam for Michael to see the podiatrist, I decided to report to the Surgery what I regarded as an adverse event to a drug. The reception staff took my reporting very seriously indeed. I was told they would squeeze me in to see my doctor of choice.
In due course, I was ushered into the inner sanctum. A medical student was also there, which was absolutely no problem to me. I thought my story might actually be a relevant teaching opportunity.
So I explained. My doctor didn't seem to think that being unable to stay awake more than six hours on Friday was a huge issue, that the drug had these side effects and that I hadn't had an allergic reaction. I responded that I didn't think it was an allergic reaction, rather a very nasty episode that needed to be recorded. Her reply was that reporting adverse events just involved lots of paperwork and she was of the opinion that course of action wasn't warranted.
Did I feel fobbed off? Undoubtedly. I did not feel heard in any way, shape of form. Plus, on the advice of a nursing friend of mine, I had researched both drugs. Although similar, they were not the same medications. Both drugs came with warning of the possibility of developing thyroid cancer, pancreatitis and kidney failure. Among other potentially undesirable issues.
I have decided I shall have to try and lose weight the old-fashioned way. More exercise and less food. I suppose the good news is that Trulicity gave me a head start on appetite reduction!
Interestingly, today I listened to an interview with a chap named Ben Bravery, a zoologist who decided to study medicine after having bowel cancer in his twenties. Now training as a psychiatrist, he has chosen this course because he wants to treat the whole person, not just the illness. He noted that doctors are usually very well educated in medical knowledge and not that crash-hot in providing understanding, empathy and time with their patients. He used the daily doctors' rounds as an example of patients often being left confused, anxious and frightened. Ben described his own experiences as an impetus for writing "The Patient Doctor". He described exactly my feelings of dissatisfaction with my consultation the day before.
My detective work had paid off. I have now resolved to become even more better informed about my health and my choices, particularly as I age. I have always believed that knowledge is power. I forgot my own mantra with Trulicity.
Will this post be widely read? I hope so, but sometimes I believe topics like these make people uncomfortable.
Comments welcome.
His book - on my list to read.
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