I'm not certain why I'm posting this picture, other than the fact that it captures my mood over the last few months. I snapped it down at Dartmouth Hitchcock during my latest, and apparently final, epidural. It was my third epidural over the last three years. The first one, in the spring of 2021, gave me some real relief, although that might have been from starting Gabapentin for the first time. My doctor had me start the med and get the epidural at the same time, and my kickback was that even if they helped wouldn't we be masking the cause of the improvement? I did have a lovely Indian Summer that last almost a year when I felt a lot better, but then it faded away. I had a second epidural in spring 2023 and this last one in spring 2024, and both of them gave me partial relief for about a week. And then nothing. And my neurologist told me that since neither had really worked it was doubtful that insurance would ever agree to pay for another one. It seems to sum up everything that has plagued the last three-plus years: no one figure out my problem, a lot of painful and expensive procedures, random medications based on no specific diagnosis, and a for-profit insurance company that doesn't really care. In the end I've gone off the meds they had me on, partially because the side effects far outweighed the minimal benefits - but also because it's almost necessary that the situation gets worse because it will increase the chance that exaggerated symptoms might attract some medical professional's attention. This is no way to run a railroad.
No comments:
Post a Comment