Here’s the Medicare numbers: https://openpaymentsdata.cms.gov/
Now, remember. I always go on the supposition that I am not unique. If this kind of thing can happen to me, it is probably happening to others. Our facts may differ, but there is, most likely, similarities in our stories.
So here goes:
On September 1st, 2016, I started taking a drug touted to me by my neurologist and her sidekick neuropsychologist. I was beginning to have difficulty grabbing words out of my vocabulary.
“This drug,” the psychologist said, “will impede the progression of that process—stop it dead in its tracks.”
That drug was Aricept. It was considered to be an off-label use. It impacts the brain, and damn did it impact my brain and most of my other organs. I dutifully opened the prescription bottle each and every day to take my dose. By the end of December, I was toast. I experienced rabid insomnia, constant diarrhea, and too many other side effects to mention.
My first bout with the hospital had me instinctively calling my neurologist.
“I have patients to see,” she loudly declared.
The mouse in my mind whispered, but I thought I was your patient. Hell followed.
I entered the hospital two additional times until another doctor finally took me off the drug in May because he felt it was causing muscle spasms, but that wasn’t the worst of it. No doctor I had seen even questioned that drug as being the source of my problems. They simply added more drugs—one of which incited temporary blindness. I caught that one quick. I was starting to learn.
During my first bout at the hospital, I was put on a combination of drugs by a Nurse Practitioner that causes pre-renal failure in women in my age group. I just happened to distrust that bloke enough to stop the mix after five days. Is my kidney function impaired? Somewhat, but here’s hoping.
In October of last year, I fell. Perhaps you read The Saga of Cracks. I made the mistake of grinding to my feet and going home to ensure I was truly hurt. When I finally relented and went to the doctor a few days later, I asked for help and was denied. Complications ensued, my good knee went bad, and instead of help, I got this:
I’ve slowly come to the conclusion that a paycheck was in the offing. I had assets that could be liquidated. Instead of putting me in the hospital to fix my knee, they tucked me under failure to thrive. Now that’s nursing home fodder. Can’t take care of yourself? We’ve got just the hellhole to stick you in. My question is this: Does the hospital dumping you in one of its four affiliate hellholes get a piece of the action? The only way to acquire compassion these days is to have a fat enough bank account to pay for it and keep the vultures away—I mean the two-legged kind.
Luckily, I escaped.
We were once patients. We are now paychecks. When I asked one doctor when medicine went in the shitters, he said, “About the ’80s.” From my point of view, it’s been at least from the ’60s.
I chanced upon a woman on my way out of a building housing one of my doctors. She spoke of her husband’s death. He had had cancer, and he and his wife had been told some miracle drug would save his life. What a heartache.
As the husband slowly wound towards death, the wife told the staff, “Hey—he’s dying!” The equivalent back was turned; falsified compassion withdrawn, and the man died. Buck made and the body simply became the meat on a slab it always was.
Dr. Vinay Prasad is trying to raise the alarm on the ineffectiveness of these drugs. www.vinayakkprasad.com. They’re expensive, of course, and professionals gain access to fancy clothes and buckets of champagne.
Netflix stocks a few terrific documentaries about doctors, pharmaceuticals, and medical devices. Don’t take my word for it—watch them. The word is there.
Attacking the Devil–the Thalidomide story
There is a new’s story on a doctor enriching himself through bad medicine here: https://abcnews.go.com/Health/whistle-blower-helped-expose-michigan-cancer-doctor-mistreated/story?id=32369291
Death by Medicine
As long as there is a living, breathing, warm body, a bank account can be stocked. And these entities have essentially inured themselves from consequences by taking charge of our legal system. The only way out for the little guy is doing his/her own research.
White-coat syndrome has taken on a new meaning—be afraid—be very afraid.
And by the way… I hear the FDA gets 40% of its budget from Big Pharma and the Medical Device industries.
Copyright 2018 Joyce Bowen