© 2025 Robert Sickles
I have been mostly satisfied, even sometimes greatly impressed, by doctors and healthcare professionals who have helped me over the years. I suppose that’s not the lead-in that makes you want to read further. Well, take heart, the subject of this story is the few who have been far less inspiring.
Not Feeling Very Welby
Around the age of 40, my sedentary habits and poor work posture caught up to me and I developed terrible back and leg pain. I was scared of what was happening to me, so headed to the clinic to see whichever doctor was available, knowing that my regular guy was on vacation. “Oh good,” I thought, as a gray-haired doctor resembling TV’s Dr. Marcus Welby entered the exam room. Alas, not so good. He was semi-retired and on call for substitute duty. He said he’d rather be golfing, and seemed impatient with me from the start. He was an old-schooler and showed no interest in listening to my opinion of what was ailing me. After an exam and x-ray, he grinned for the first time. And almost like it satisfied him to give me bad news, said that my fun time was over and I was in for a lifetime of pain with no relief. I was stunned, but expected to hear the “but…” part of his diagnosis. Nope, he just continued, “You’re really messed up this time, fella. Welcome to degenerative disk disorder. All you can do now is keep taking the pain meds.” He wrote a prescription and left me to find my own way out.
When I came back for follow-up, my regular doctor calmly undid all that by saying that after I got the pain managed, I could start walking, and everything would improve. Which it did.
Dr. Eeyore
Years later, and I was suffering with another vertebra-related problem. A disk in my neck was pushing on the nerve that runs down my left arm, causing a relentless pain, the mother of all “pins and needles.” Probably triggered by a minor rear-ender on the freeway. Sleepless nights, no effect from pain meds, and so forth. My GP referred me to a rheumatologist, a guy I will always refer to as Dr. Eeyore.
This poor man was in an emotional slump. He assumed I didn’t know what a rheumatologist was, and of course I didn’t. So, he started a lengthy explanation of his training and skills. Most of all, he complained about the lack of respect he got from every other practice of medicine. He was getting pissy. “None of them even know what I do, and especially the young jackasses. They think they know it all and can do it all! I believe my specialty is doomed. I sit here waiting for referrals, but since none of them knows how I can help, I might as well pull the trigger on this profession. Mr. Sckles why are you here?”
Hmm, “Pulling the trigger…” That made me nervous. I checked my watch and tried to make eye contact with the model skeleton hanging in the corner. Maybe I’d have a nicer conversation with Mr. Bonejangles?
“So, Doctor, I have to admit that I also don’t know what a rheumatologist does, nor why I am here, but Primary Care wanted me to see you. I'm just the patient, you know?” That set him off on the opposite tack.
His face reddened. “Yeah, right, and that’s the other end of the problem… doctors who don’t know how to diagnose anything, so they throw patients up to me to figure it out for them. It’s a waste of my time and hospital resources.”
I couldn’t be sure if he was complaining of being underutilized or overworked, but he went on like this a while longer until I interrupted him, asking if he knew who Eeyore is.
“You mean the cartoon donkey or whatever he is? Why?”
“Yes,” I said, “the character from the Winnie the Pooh stories. Eeyore is the ultimate pessimist, kind of a depressed attitude. He’s pretty smart, but so critical of others’ abilities. Little kids learn by seeing how he behaves and they want to be, you know, better than that.” I paused there to see his reaction.
Doctor scowled and appeared far away, stopping his rant for about four seconds, and then continued on as before. Eventually he did get around to examining me, referred me for tests, and suggested that neurosurgery could be an option. He asked me to make a follow-up appointment at his front desk.
I commented subtly to his receptionist that Doc seemed a little down today. “Is it just me today, or is he like that?” She didn’t speak but replied with dramatic eye-rolling.
When I came back for my follow-up, Doctor started by thanking me for the reality check. He had looked up Eeyore and said he could recognize himself in that character, and had made the effort to see things differently. He was trying to work better with patients and his staff. On my way out, the receptionist was beaming.
The Right to Bare Arms
One test Dr. Eeyore wanted for my neck vertebrae-nerve pain is called the EMG. It determines nerve activity and muscle response. I understood that this data would guide a neurosurgeon to pinpoint his operation. The prep entails a smear of some kind of gel, and electrodes stuck in my bare skin arm. Then follows an application of voltage. Yes, as you are thinking, similar to the electric chair.
The nice technician connected me to her machine, and warmly assured that this will take just a moment and I won’t feel more than a little ol’ tingly-tickle-poo. She flipped the switch and instantly I was writhing and whimpering, tearfully begging her to turn it off. She paused it and said she’ll adjust something and try again. But there was no change in the intensity of the pain, and I yelled out, “Are you serious?! It’s torture! This has to stop or there’s going to be a Robert-shaped hole in your wall!” I took her by the forearm and asked, “Why don’t you let me run this test on your arm?” The session ended prematurely and I left.
I was actually scheduled for surgery to fix the bulging disk in my neck, but the EMG test data was inconclusive and I was told I’d have to have it all over again. Bugger that, and forget the surgery! I overcame the arm nerve pain on my own with help from chiropractic and physical therapy.
Linda and others have confirmed that EMG is unbearable, and it leaves a pain or discomfort that lasts for hours or days. I can only hope it has been improved or replaced by now. Fair warning to all.
Luckily, I Won’t Live Much Longer
(Sorry, no illustration came to mind for this one)
Of course, the title is facetious. Fact is, that is about the gist of the comment one doctor said to me. I had a round of tests including a biopsy with my Urologist. The upshot was that I didn’t have cancer. At the conclusion of all that, he was beaming, “Well, Mr. Sickles, the test results are negative, you are not sick. However, even if you did develop some form of tumor or whatever down there, it would be very slow growing— and at your age, well, you’ve got 5, maybe 6 more years before you die of something else anyway.” I was dumbstruck. He reached for a handshake. and continued with a grin, “I think it’s safe to say, uh… I feel we don’t need to see you so often from here on out.”
I can affirm that the feeling was mutual!
I realize that my experiences don’t even come close to those of individuals who have been misdiagnosed, endured bad surgeries or awful reactions to medicines. I’m fortunate that in my circumstances I was able to slide past the emotional and physical harm my doctors could have done to me. I’m just sayin’… there is a vast range of competency and compassion in our medical professionals! My conclusion is that the best healers begin by healing within themselves.
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My husband and I both had to have the nerve test. We call it the jumping frog test. Luckily our discomfort didn’t last beyond the test. But if I had been a spy I would have revealed anything and everything. I’m proud to say I completed the test, the neck surgery for herniated disk was successful. My weenie daughter has terrible carpal tunnel but she couldn’t finish the test. Glad to hear you were able to resolve your arm pain. I suffered for months.
First time I have had a good deep belly laugh since saying the big goodbye to Lady Satterlee on Saturday.