113. The History of Modern Medicine

As long as I don’t look in the mirror, I still think I’m a kid. When it comes to general health, I feel pretty strong. For reasons beyond my comprehension, though, that is not what doctors see in me. Even as they are uncertain there’s anything wrong, they are certain they need to keep looking, so they pass me around to more specialists. I think they all just like me so much they want me to keep coming back.  I get that… I am pretty entertaining.

It’s as if when you've been diagnosed as having no brain inside your skull by one doctor, he refers you to the skull specialist who says you seem to be doing fine without the brain, so go home and enjoy life. But, he adds, “Better keep it to mindless activity, Sir. Just to be safe, let’s get you scheduled up in Seattle for a Kaleidoscopic MRI.  We’ll get another opinion from our brain specialist. We could be talking about implant surgery at some point. How does that sound?” And from there it catapults into several more tests and consultations.

I’ve also been told on at least two occasions that I’m lucky to still be alive. That is the one thing a doctor can tell me that I completely agree with! Calling myself “Mr. Anomaly,” there have been more than a few times in my short life when I was told by my medical professionals that I have the “most unusual case of (this, that, or the other thing) we’ve ever seen.”  And yet, as I said, I feel like a kid. What the hell?  

To be clear, I have indeed had some serious health episodes in the past. And I’m not saying I’m symptom-free now. But I think I’ve been examined and tested an awful lot. Through the decades, I have been sliced, diced, punctured, snipped, scraped, and cauterized. I’ve been zapped, scoped, biopsied, poked, squeezed, drained and refilled. I think I’ve tried all modes of imaging scans, head to toe. Every solid, liquid, and gas of my body has been sent for testing. The tech at my local clinic sees me so often, she remembers my birthday when I check in. (Well, it’s the same day as hers.) There have been so many clipboards of health history forms and questionnaires. Nothing is as simple as going in and getting an exam and a lollipop—always referrals and more referrals, all scheduled far out beyond the imaginable future.

I’m not complaining, mind you. I enjoy time at the clinic as much as the next guy.

Making my way down the alphabet of medical specialists, every now and then I get to add a new one. Sort of a bucket list. I don’t think there’s a doctor for the letter Z unless Zoo Veterinarian counts. Wanting relief for my chronic dry eye, I’ve seen an optometrist, ophthalmologist, ophthalmological surgeon, neurologist, naturopath, and now a cardiologist. All that stemming from the same original symptom, a droopy eyelid. They have all come up with explanations, the eyelid still droops, and I have 3 new medicines with 3 new side effects for 3 other conditions they discovered along the way. Pretty good, huh?

The droopy eyelid thing is another one for the “Mr. Anomaly” chronicles, as it seems the current diagnosis is that I have ocular myasthenia gravis, or OMG, one of the very rare autoimmune disorders. None of my doctors has ever seen a case of it before. For me, it’s just one more thing to smile about as everyone glances at me and says, “Bob, your left eye seems: 1.) open a little bit more today, or 2.) closed a little bit more today.” It's a fun conversation starter.

Except for a few oddballs and quacks described in my story 93. Physician, Heal Thyself, I get along with all the docs and nurses, they’re always a fun bunch. I think we bring as much light into each other’s lives as possible considering the settings and situations. I create challenging work for them, and they provide the opportunities for me to pay them lots of money—it’s all an entertaining win-win relationship.

Navigating some health institutions and dealing with insurance coverage can be a nightmare, but I am thankful for my great HMO! I make light of all this, and I know there are many out there who are facing some tough health matters. As always, I hope you can find something ironic, ridiculous or downright wonderful to smile about while you stumble your way around the other side of the looking glass.