I HATE MS: What Doctors Do Not Know #3

“I treat all my patients the same” is BS

When I was diagnosed with MS, my Ivy League doctor barely looked at me. As an Indian immigrant, I imagined he might have been like early Gandhi, holding negative views of Africans from his notch above in a racial hierarchy. Perhaps as a neurologist at the best hospital in the region, my lower socioeconomic status was an eyesore.

What I knew for certain was that the week before, when he had done a lumbar puncture, popularly known as a “spinal tap,”I felt the needle digging into my back. I screamed in pain and he berated ME for “giving him trouble.” Once more, I had felt the needle in my back despite the numbing medication he had given me. Once more, I let him know that I still felt the needle probing for my spinal cord. This last time I started to squirm away.

It was not the extra anesthesia that left a bad taste in my mouth. I did not trust this doctor with my health OR my well-being. Still, I saw him again the following week to get the results of the spinal tap. Looking at my MRI images, he said that there were indeed lesions on my brain and on my spine. In addition, the spinal tap showed material in it (proteins?) consistent with an MS diagnosis.

“Wait, could you repeat that. I have MS? What does that mean?”

“We have to treat it immediately.” He gave me a laundry list of drugs to possibly take. “There’s Avonex, Tysabri, Tecfidera, Gilenya, Copaxone….”

“Could you repeat that? Um, how do you spell that.”

“There are three groups of MS medications: injectable pens, infusions, or oral pills.”

I had whipped out my Notes app on my Iphone, misspelling several drugs and taking notes on the different side effects from the drugs. The whole time, he was looking at his computer screen.

I was overwhelmed with a diagnosis of a chronic illness and this doctor could not even look up for a full minute to break the news to me gently.

I said nothing. That was when he sensed something was wrong.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“How would YOU feel?” I asked him, pointedly.

He immediately jumped out of his seat. He walked to where I was seated on the examination table and forced himself to place an unfeeling hand on my thigh. I was disgusted by this false semblance of care.

I’m certain that the doctor had good intentions in trying to be aggressive in his treatment. It’s unfortunate that they make great pavement for the road to hell.

I scheduled a second opinion with another neurologist who was much more personable. This doctor confirmed the diagnosis and talked me through the different options of DMDs, handing me a pack of brochures from pharmaceutical representatives. I immediately went on Gilenya to start the process of fighting my body’s battle with itself.

I learned that doctors are people with whom we are supposed to have relationships. Like in any type of relationship, if you feel the other person is unkind and unfeeling, do not walk, but run away. While it is easy to refuse subsequent treatment, there are (thankfully) many other neurologists in the country. Yes, the racial biases of medical professionals is a reality. However, we have to keep trying again and again until we find one whom we can trust to overcome this incurable disease as much as possible.