Doctor Thinks Little and Does Less
I have a hard decision I have to face. What would be cut and dry with any other doctor is complicated by the fact that my current doctor works for the same company as my mom and that company has a really great reputation. However, he is riding on their shirt tails. I’ve seen the best of their best, my children’s pediatrician for starters, and it looks like I’m seeing the sub par now.
It started great. He spoke English natively. I’m not going to lie, that is huge. He recognized my husband’s health wasn’t fully caused by his weight, but in fact his weight was a byproduct of his health. That is amazing. Unique, and amazing. He himself is no tiny dancer so he gets it isn’t always easy.
I/we have spent 9 years trying to find a general practice doctor that we were willing to return to time and time again. We/I really thought he was the one.
This whole beta blocker thing has be questioning that, though. And it’s dragging up things from a year ago.
I was given every possible reason that I gained so much weight so fast but he refused to even entertain the idea it was the med he put me on right before my weight began to rise. He blamed my already born baby, but it couldn’t be the beta blocker. It was my diet, that had improved drastically. He was so fast to draw my labs because surely they explained my weight gain.
I got my labs today. They are perfect. Phenomenal. Obscenely beautiful. People are going “Hot damn how the hell does a fat girl have labs like that?!?!” Be jealous, bitches, my blood work is beautiful. And strangely, does not hold the secrets to sudden 10 pound weight gain. In fact, they might even explain sudden 10 pound weight loss, if that were the case. Jealous yet?
And my lovely friend Luna, in all of 5 minutes with her amazing access to uncharted documents was able to pull up and send me 4 amazing scientific research studies, some dating back to 1990, all agreeing without a shadow of a doubt that oh hey, beta blockers cause weight gain.
Her words summarizing the studies:
“According to the 1990 study in the British Medical Journal, patients on propranolol gained an average of 2 to 3 pounds compared to control patients. This figure of 2 to 3 pounds is the 95% confidence interval. These researchers are 95% certain that weight gain of this magnitude did occur, due to the effects of propranolol.
The more recent 2005 study in the Journal of Headache Pain found that while fewer patients on propranolol gained weight than on some other beta blockers, the weight gain seen was of a greater magnitude when it occurred, up to 13 pounds in their sample.”
So was I left wondering what did I want to do with this knowledge? Is my immature need to have the last word and be proven right going to drive me to losing a “great doctor”.
My views of last summer are changing. Where I was obscenely pregnant. In the most pain I had ever been in. And faced with the decision of trying to work through that pain or admit I couldn’t, and go one leave without any sort of pay since Sciatica isn’t means for short term disability.
I get that last part. I really do. But with my well and carefully established for his records history of BPD, depression, and hospital admittance due to suicidal idealization, desire, and intents… It wasn’t just my life in danger last June, it was the life of my Sammy as well. I flat out said things were turning south. I had a clear short term disability out due to my depression I was in. I didn’t have gun/knife/razor/pills in hand but it was clear where things were headed. No?
I mean my psychiatrists within 30 seconds of talking to me, over the phone not even in person, was ready to do what she had to do to get me on medical leave. And the doctor who I sat in front of wasn’t willing to consider signing the paper in hand.
Ok, I had a psychiatrist. My life, Sammy’s life wasn’t in his hands. Thank God, because he expressed doubt my meds doctor would even be willing to sign the papers.
Seems he is not an overly well informed doctor.
And flat out? I’m stable right now. We are cutting back on my therapy and meds appointment visits because I’m stable. I refer to it as remission.
But not unlike remission for cancer, there are no guarantees this is gone for good. I may spend years stable. I may spend the rest of my life stable. Or things may go to hell in a hand basket in a few years and I won’t be able to get in as quickly as needed with my psyche team and my life may very well be in his hands.
Am I’m no longer convinced those are capable hands.
I mean, if he can’t even admit that maybe, just maybe, a medication known for causing weight gain could have caused me to gain 10-20 pounds (the exact number is up for debate) in 2 months, or sign a stupid paper saying I’m currently a danger to myself and unborn child, then how can he face the bigger task of damage control, I’m on the path to taking my own life and I don’t have a psychiatrist on ready back-up?
After all, I was on that path last summer and he did nothing.
Maybe not having my meds doc at my beck and call will make a difference. But can I count on that?
Because sciatica was not life threatening to me or the baby. Yes, sir, I understand that. However, what it was doing to my mental health very much was.