invisible illness

The Disease – Medication Model of Modern Medicine

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As we begin analyzing the data from our studies and I search for ways to quantify the value of our data, I am repeatedly struck by how the business of modern medicine, especially modern pharmaceutically based medicine, has been conceived of, constructed, and is evaluated on a false and outdated premise of separateness. The notion that a disease is a completely discrete entity, that the disease process is linear and that one medication or set of medications impacts only the specified disease, predominates. This is just not so. Life is complicated, disease is even more complicated, and with the exception of perhaps the outright physical trauma of a limb or the need for immediate decision-making in acute or emergent care, nothing is as simple as the one drug, one organ system perspective from which we measure modern healthcare.

As an example, data from our studies are showing complex clusters of adverse reactions that are multi-system and often evade existing diagnostic categories. The symptoms themselves appear to cluster in ways that are unique and will inevitably lead to a deeper understanding of medication reactions, and hopefully, illness itself. For now, however, they appear to defy the logic of current diagnostic categories. The symptoms never quite fit neatly into a single diagnostic box that defines the disease course or guides a treatment plan.

Instead, the symptoms fall into multiple and sometimes contradicting disease categories, and rather than drill down to an appropriate diagnosis, the individuals in our studies have been assigned a long laundry list of apparently, co-occurring diseases; none, accurately characterizing the scope of their illness. When one disease does not capture the full breadth of symptoms, the trend is to add another. If that doesn’t work and when the interaction between the medications creates more unexplainable symptoms, add yet another diagnosis or three or five. Soon the patient has many active diagnoses, with multiple medications to go with. One has to wonder, how so many individuals can have so many diseases at once. Since, I suspect the laws of probability, and indeed, human physiology are contrary to the current multi-disease trend, it leads me to believe that the western model of defining and treating illness, as anatomically and genetically discrete entities, has reached the limits of utility. A paradigm shift may be in order.

Paradigms, especially in medicine and science, are often guided by forces that determine the limits of what can be known, or more cynically, what are considered acceptable pursuits of knowledge and science versus the flights of fancy of fringe scientists. In this case, I would argue that the forces controlling what can be known are those who profit directly from the current diagnostic system – the pharmaceutical industry. The deeply entrenched conflicts of interest between these corporations, policy makers, regulators, politicians, academic institutions, academic journals, medical societies, patient organizations, media organizations – the very ‘thought leaders’ that determine what is valid and what is not – lends credence to these suspicions.

And by every measure, what is currently valid, are the simplistic and discrete categories, with easily identifiable lists of medications for each, where additional diagnoses equal more medication possibilities or in economic terms more product sales opportunities. Whether the symptoms within these disease categories overlap with each other or even represent a true disease process seems to have little bearing on whether a medication can be fit to match a certain set of symptoms and linked to a diagnostic billing code. The diagnostic billing code becomes at once the arbiter of defined diseases and of what can be known about a particular disease. If there is no billing code, read no product or medication opportunity, the disease doesn’t exist, but if there are multiple, overlapping disease categories, no matter how poorly defined or distant from what the patient may actually be experiencing, there is product opportunity, and therefore the disease, or more likely, the diseases he or she is experiencing, exist.  And, if the criteria for defining a particular disease can be relaxed to include more patients and to maximize prescribing opportunities, well then, that is even better.

Consider the most recent recommendation by the American Heart Association and the American College of Cardiology to reduce the risk level for heart attacks necessitating a need for increased prescriptions of statin drugs. The change in guidelines will mean more Americans will be diagnosed with heart disease necessitating prescriptions for the cholesterol lowering drugs, a boon to the drug industry. In a few years, epidemiologists and those who study healthcare trends will report a predictable increase in the number of Americans with heart disease, more money will be poured into preventing heart disease with more medications prescribed and so on. It’s a fantastic business model, control the definition of disease to control the market for products. Will more Americans have heart disease? Not likely, but changing the diagnostic criteria, changing the billing code, to open product markets will give illusion of increasing illness and this benefits the manufacturers of these products.

Unfortunately or fortunately, depending upon which side one is on, lowering the threshold for prescribing opportunities does more than simply increase the number of patients to be given a particular diagnosis, it opens up additional product markets or diagnostic opportunities when the side effects of the primary drug kick in and necessitate treatment. In women, for example, statins increase the risk of Type 2 diabetes. By lowering the criteria for diagnosing heart disease and prescribing statins to more patients, not only will we see an increase in the rates of heart disease in a few years, but because the research tabulating disease rates rely on the diagnostic billing codes, we will also see a corresponding increase in the rate of Type 2 diabetes, most likely created by the increased use of statins. Similarly, because the medication used to treat Type 2 diabetes elicits a corresponding reduction in vitamin B12 levels, which present as a heterogeneous set of neurocognitive symptoms, in a few years, we’ll also see an increased rate of mental health conditions indicated by the growing rates of psychotropic medication prescriptions. And so on.

To be both the arbiter of what is known and can be known, to control the definition of disease and the guidelines for prescribing, is a brilliant business model, but one that does nothing to improve human health, further medical discovery or scientific understanding. Indeed, the survival of this model relies entirely on maintaining the facade of anatomical separateness in disease processes and on not recognizing the totality of medication effects across an entire physiological system. This model relies on remaining ignorant of the inter-connectedness of disease processes and by association the possibility of broad based ‘complicated’ medication reactions.

If diseases remain separate entities and medications work only on specified disease targets, then disease categories remain entirely under the purview of those who stand to benefit from prescribing opportunities. Data that link the onset of a disease to the use of a medication or redefine the scope of a disease process and medication target beyond a specified anatomical region can be easily dismissed. And that is where I find myself, having collected data that questions the accuracy of the current model of anatomically discrete, one medication-one target model of disease. Our data question a paradigm. What does one do with that?

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This article was published originally on November 18, 2013. 

Becoming the Person I Hoped I Was

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When life changes its mind about the size of the mountain you’re climbing, you will suddenly find that you have some decisions to make.  My husband got sick.  He was hit, badly, with long term side effects stemming from a short course of Ciprofloxacin (Cipro), a fluoroquinolone antibiotic. The side effects from Cipro can be a horrific and long term, but are often invisible. Blood tests come back normal, neurological exams reveal nothing of note, the sufferer often looks fine, and worst of all, most doctors are completely unfamiliar with these adverse reactions. This of course means that most people are completely unfamiliar.  We certainly were.  But without a doubt my husband was sick, and I had some decisions to make. The biggest decision I at first didn’t know I was making (daily, even minute by minute) continues to be this: what kind of person am I going to be?

I have unknowingly been faced with this decision before. Two years ago, James, the husband of a coworker got sick. Really sick. He had stage four esophageal cancer, and it was very unlikely that he would survive long after the “last hope” surgery.  His wife was not in a position to stay home and take care of him and she had to continue working full time. They also had two elementary age girls. Not much could be worse.

After his surgery, James had trouble getting enough calories. I like to bake so I made him some cookies, and a couple of chocolate cakes. Actually, what I really did was make cookies and cakes for my future husband and for parties, but I made sure to double the batches so I could give some to James. This was the extent of my support. James and his wife expressed their gratitude far beyond the reality of the gesture. This attention embarrassed me a little, but mostly made me feel rather pleased with myself. Yes! I am one of those people who bake when my acquaintances are ill!  What an amazing, empathetic, wonderful person I am. I did not go so far as to credit myself with James’s survival and subsequent return to health, but I allowed for how the chocolate probably helped.

I had made the decision to act on my compassion. A little. Well, not so very much actually. Almost literally the crumbs from my kitchen. Yet I now understand the level of gratitude around a few cookies. Today similar small gestures from the people around me stun me with appreciation of my own. I understand it now. My friend makes enough extra soup so that I can have lunch for three days. My coworker orders the annual holiday craft for my students without bothering me with the details. Another friend texts to see if I need anything at Trader Joes. “I’m going later, what can I get you?”  These moments stick.

Cipro toxicity isn’t like cancer. It isn’t something that people already understand to be a struggle. Like many chronic conditions, it can become invisible to those not suffering. It is easy to ignore something (or someone) who disappears from daily life, without any official medical diagnosis. So easy in fact that this is many people’s natural inclination. To ignore or minimize. This was my inclination.

On the best days the gratitude I now feel for small acts of kindness can seem a fair trade for the unawareness that formerly accompanied our good health.  The rarity of these acts makes them more powerful. Many people who know our story ask my husband how he is, but more often people don’t. Ever. I suspect these people do care (or at least I am deciding to believe they do). So what is the disconnect?

From my own experience, reaching out to help anyone in need takes an ability to look beyond, briefly, the ever present squawk from the needs of your own life. That was me.  Since my husband has been sick I have heard from many people about their own struggles. How did I not notice my sister has been fighting through horrible digestive issues? How did I miss my friend having constant headaches for four months (after taking Cipro, by the way!)? How did I miss my coworker’s father passing away?

When I did used to look beyond my life, I would often be immobilized by anxiety. There is a real courage involved in moving past the fear and discomfort of saying something wrong. In the past I lacked that courage. I justified with thoughts that generally began, “I don’t want to remind her of….”  Really? Did I think there was a moment that she had forgotten that her father had died, her husband had cancer, her head was pounding, whatever? No. It may hide for a moment but she always knows it’s there. What she does not know is that I remembered it’s there. And that I cared. It is the rare person who can push past these obstacles and offer something anyway.  It is the rare moment when they do.

I am also grateful because I believe acts of compassion, small as they may be, give me a glimpse into the very best selves of those around me. My father and sister could not be more supportive. My aunt has been lovely. Our closest friends have rallied throughout. Although I already knew this information about my family, many of the friends I have chosen in my life are turning out to have a depth to them that has not been apparent to me before. Perhaps this was always true and I just never had occasion to see it. Or perhaps this is something that my friends are deciding about themselves, in the same way that I am deciding about myself. Maybe with every decision we make there is an associated change in ourselves. I don’t know. I do know that the way this has deepened my feelings for these people is as if, from the mountain, I thought I was looking at the edge of a lake in the distance. But now after climbing a little higher, it turns out it is the beach of an ocean. What a dazzling view.

Since my husband’s illness began 6 months ago, every person in my life has been presenting me with an unintended gift the moment I started paying attention. The gift of example. Everyone has and is modeling the kind of person I want (and don’t want) to be.  Who do I want to be when the people around me are in need?  Do I want to be the person who texts from the grocery store?  The person who takes over chores without being asked? Or the person who is so unsure of what to say that she says nothing at all? (How many times have I been that person? Too many to count.)  It’s an obvious decision once you’re aware of it. It’s a choice that I did not even know I was making before this experience. Non-action is a decision. Generally it’s the worst decision.

I have come to believe more and more that it is our actions that define us, not our thoughts, our intentions, or even our feelings. Still, I wish I could go back in time two years and smack the feelings right out of myself. The silent self-satisfaction over a chocolate cake… how very shameful. There is no way to go back and offer to babysit, or cook a meal, or shop, or just ask (frequently) how things are going, and what can I do for you today to help? Or better, just do something that needs to be done, without asking. I can’t go backward and do that. Most disgraceful for me is that cancer is a very “visible” disease and I did my best to not see it. There is only one way to atone. Open my eyes for the rest of my life, and act on what I see, and even what cannot be seen. It is not a coincidence that every time I see James, he asks if there is anything he can do for us. My husband is sick and I am here now. Life is full of decisions. Today I am deciding to be grateful for the chance to have a do over. From now on I get to decide to be the kind of person I always hoped I was.

 

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This post was originally published in December of 2013. 

Coming Out of the Disease Closet – The Challenges of Chronic Illness

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“When do you come out of the closet?”

“What?!” I replied, half choking on my coffee.

This question came as my friend, a fellow chronic disease sister, and I were getting coffee and discussing the usual thing topics girls in their twenties discuss, work, friends, boys, relationships, boys, world news, boys, you know the usual.

She clarified; “Say you are dating someone, when do you tell them that you are sick… You know, come out of the ‘disease closet’?”

I took a moment to reflect because it was a good question; oddly worded but nonetheless a good, thought-provoking question.

I thought back to the first time I came out of the disease closet. It was after a few weeks of dating this guy I really liked, who was a bit older than me. I was having surgery in a month and I knew I needed to talk about the surgery before it happened (so it wouldn’t seem suspicious if I wasn’t up to going out for two weeks or so). I very hesitantly told him a brief version of my medical history and the impending surgery. He took a few minutes to pause and then finally after what felt like forever he said “So you can’t have kids.” I was 18 at the time and so my response was “I don’t know I haven’t really tried, have you? I mean who really knows if they can have kids unless they’ve tried.” He followed up with the standard ‘you’re a very brave girl’ spiel and that was the end of that. I think we had one or two more dates after that and then two weeks before my surgery he stopped returning my texts and calls. No explanation, nothing, that was that.

I had (or at least I thought I had) learned a lot from that experience; with the main takeaway being ‘my private matters are best kept private.’ I am 21 now and I have been dealing with health issues from the day I was born. I’m not looking for praise or an award, I just want to live a normal life. I graduated high school with honors, I graduated from college in three years and have found a lot of success in the working world. If I never told you I was sick, you would never know that I have stage IV endometriosis with endometrial lesions growing all the way up towards my liver and covering almost the entirety of my reproductive system, causing me crippling pain at least once a month.

When I am in pain you would never know it. Despite being in pain, I will still meet you for coffee. I will still go to class or to work or meet with a client and there will be a smile on my face, because I just want to be normal. I don’t want to have to come out of the closet because someone somewhere decided being ill is shameful. I have nothing to hide. I have stage IV endometriosis, thyroid disease, chronic migraines, weird allergies and narrow angle glaucoma and I’d wear it all on my shirt if I didn’t think that people would judge me as being ‘lesser.’ I wouldn’t be stuck in some ‘disease closet’ if I thought that I could tell people these things without having them give me ‘sad’ eyes or tell me (or not tell me) they don’t want to date me anymore because I have ‘too many problems.’

But I can’t say all of these things openly because there is a stigma attached to people with chronic diseases; those who are disabled, those who fight their bodies on a daily basis. I don’t get to talk about these experiences, the countless hospital visits, the fifteen surgeries that have made me a stronger, better person because I am stuck in this ‘disease closet;’ because to be ‘ill’ is to be abnormal and we are taught to be ashamed of abnormality.

Its not easy but we all need to stop hiding. No one is ‘lesser’ for being different and no one should be made to feel that way. By hiding, we convey that we have something worthy of hiding, something that we should be ashamed of. I’m not saying to go to the next person you meet and say “Hi I am so and so and I have such and such” because that’s just a different way of defining yourself by your illness. Instead, you should be able to talk candidly about what ever adversities have been thrown your way without feeling ashamed. Through openness we teach acceptance of ourselves and of others. I apologize if that sounds like it came out of a fortune cookie – but its true! I’ve learned that the problem wasn’t coming out of the ‘disease closet’ to others, the problem was I hadn’t ‘come out’ to myself.

If you would like to share your story regarding your personal experiences dealing a chronic illness or telling others about your health issues, feel free to do so in the comment section below. Or write a blog for Hormones Matter. If more women would come out of the disease closet maybe we can begin the long journey of curing some of these often invisible illnesses. Come out of the disease closet.

This post was published previously in February 2013.

Navigating Invisible Illness in the Age of Modern Medicine

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Much has been about said about empowering and educating patients to be partners in the healthcare dance. From the e-patient and e-health revolutions through the piles of research showing more engaged patients have better outcomes, all seem to point a more active role and increased responsibility for the patient in his or her own care. But how does that work when the illness is not clearly defined, is not easily diagnosed or for which effective treatments are limited? What does it mean to be an empowered patient with an invisible illness?

This is the question that many women face on a regular basis. Indeed, for a number of predominantly female disorders, whether hormonally modulated or not, there are often many years before the symptoms are addressed as real and not figments of the female imagination. Chronic fatigue and fibromyalgia are two such examples, but so are endometriosis and an array of other perhaps more subtle hormone conditions.

During those years before modern medicine and the research community recognize the reality that define a particular disease process; during the years when women are prescribed psychiatric meds for non psychiatric conditions; during the years when pain medications with diverse side-effect profiles blur the line between the original disease and the one that is induced pharmacologically; during those years, how does one become the e-patient, the e-woman, without becoming a physician herself?

Really, we want to know.
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