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| How awesome would it be if I POOPED CUPCAKES!? |
Tick tock tick tock.....guess what tomorrow is? The LAST TAPER. I am so exhausted at this point that I can't work up too much anxiety about it, but maybe after a nap or two I'll find the energy to get concerned.
I should probably be taking all of the supplements etc. to help with this fatigue, but instead of doing something useful I'll continue with the asshole naturopath story!
When last we left off, I was skipping out of the office feeling hopeful and renewed. Sure, this guy had just told me to cut out carbs completely and take some weird tree extracts, but at least there was a plan in place that was NATURAL. He arranged for me to come back the next day to do some blood tests, including a fancy genetic test for Celiac, which he was semi-convinced I had (according to him, 40% of Crohn's patients have Celiac, which is why the carb free diets often work so well for them. I have yet to find this statistic listed anywhere else).
In hindsight, during that first visit, there were several red flags that should have alerted me that no, Dorothy, you are not in Kansas anymore (Kansas being the realm of sane medical advice supported by peer-reviewed journals and double blind testing). If anyone utters any of the following phrases, it might be a good idea to step back and put down your Chai tea:
1.) What THEY don't tell you is....
2.) I wish THEY would do their research and not ignore these findings....
3.) I have to educate THEM about these things.....
4.) The testing THEY do is outdated and THEY ignore your symptoms until you have a full blown disease (ok, that last part might be true).....
I know there is some animosity between the medical doctors and the naturopaths, but any practitioner setting up an US vs. THEM dicothomy, no matter how much they preach mutual admiration and a spirit of cooperation, is courting you for THEIR team.
Some other red (or maybe yellow) flags:
1.) Mentioning over and over again the many conferences you've spoken at/attended/organized
2.) Mentioning over and over again the many doctors you collaborate with, and then not knowing a single one at the research hospital in town
3.) Saying that I should completely cut out carbs, but not telling me how (or why, exactly)
Actual conversation:
Me: So, you mean like the Specific Carbohydrate Diet?
Him: Sure, or any one like it. Just cut out all of that stuff.
Me: So you mean like no carbs or no gluten or what?
Him: Cut it all out.
The receptionist, when she was reading his recommendations and getting the supplements for me, actually said, did he give you any information about going these diets? When I said no, she looked kind of shocked, and said she would give me a printout with some internet resources. She never did.
Granted, I am remembering these conversations a few months after they happened, but I'm sure I'm forgetting (or repressing!) the most obnoxious quotes.
Let me reiterate that at this point, I was scared, newly diagnosed, and feeling like crap. I had take a leave of absence from work, and I was overwhelmed with information and statistics and opinions. I don't want to say that the asshole naturopath took advantage of this, only that I was susceptible to what he was saying because I was completely overloaded and looking for direction and guidance.
Annnnnnyway, I dragged my mom with me the next day for my blood draw. I used to be petrified when I had my blood drawn; I would get faint and anxious and nauseous and insist on laying down so I didn't pass out. At this point though, I just kind of throw my arm down on the table and point out my good vein. I didn't want her to hold my hand, I wanted her to meet him and judge the sale's pitch.
Sure enough, he succeeded in drawing her in. It was kind of fascinating to watch her drop her defenses, to begin to tell him about her work. He threw out statistics and facts and numbers, and made a series of ridiculously corny puns (one especially insensitive one involving Parkinson's disease, if I recall correctly). He didn't make any puns for me during my first appointment.
Now, the naturopaths I've been to draw blood themselves, in their offices. For some reason, I find this to be rather quaint and charming. It's certainly more personal than bundling you off to the lab, where you get a number (like a deli!) and wait to be called back to the antiseptic hallway of small curtained rooms where the phlebotomists live. I should mention at this point that I noticed, in my first appointment, that this naturopath had dirty nails. Not long, jagged talons encrusted in filth, but visible dirt underneath his nails. When it came time to draw my blood, he pulled all of the equipment out of the cabinet and put it on the counter, and then advanced to my arm and started poking around. I don't think he washed his hands. I'm pretty sure there was an alcohol swab involved, but I know this: he did not wear gloves. I know I have semi-difficult veins-when I asked why he wasn't wearing gloves, he said gloves made it too hard to feel them, and expressly said, "It's more of a risk to me than it is for you, and it's a risk I'm willing to take." Writing about it now makes me want to vomit.
I still let him do it. My mom, who is not a quiet or retiring woman, let him do it. I write about this for a number of reasons. First, I think women, no matter how strong or confident, are often cowed by male doctors. I think we've been trained to submit. I think that sometimes, especially when we are sick or scared, we let ourselves be bullied and do not advocate for the things we know to be right for ourselves (or safe!). Not all male doctors are like this, and certainly I've been to a few female doctors who were just as aggressive. But sitting in that room, I let him take my blood in a way that I didn't feel was safe. I did it because I didn't want to seem whiny, or paranoid, or difficult. I did it because I was tired of fighting against all of the things that were happening in, and to, my body. I did it because I thought he had all the answers.
Second, I let him do it because I was tired of searching for someone to take the reins. As I mentioned before, I had been doctor shopping, and I'd seen a number of (male and female) gastroenterologists. The last one I'd seen, a few days before meeting the asshole naturopath, told me that he thought it was great to interview a number of doctors, because I needed to find someone I was comfortable with, but that ultimately I needed to "choose a horse," because I had important treatment decisions to make. When I saw the asshole naturopath, I thought he might be my horse, that he might be able to make the tough decisions for me. Here's the thing that I learned: you can pick a horse, but that doesn't absolve you of taking responsibility for your actions and being the steward of your body. You can trust a doctor, naturopath or medical, but you still must make decisions that feel right for you. Trust does not, and should not, equal compliance without questioning.
At those first two appointments, I did not question. I did not stand up for myself. At the third appointment, where the asshole naturopath earned his appellation, I did both, and the results were thoroughly illuminating.
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