Healthcare? More Like Nightmare.

Image courtesy of stockimages at freedigitalphotos.net

Doctors do exactly what their title suggests: they doctor. Which, in my experience, has little to do with actually bettering a person’s well-being.

(Why the hell would there be a film called The Good Doctor if that were the norm???)

Sure, they can dress up wounds as well as your Mom dresses a turkey on Thanksgiving. They know where exactly to press down on your abdomen to make you fart like a warthog. Some know where the renal fascia is located in the body. Most importantly, they know how to recognize when they don’t know something in order to send you to a specialist who also doesn’t know much about your condition because “the tests just aren’t showing anything abnormal.”

Yes, doctor, but my face is the size of a watermelon on steroids and I’m peeing blood.

 “You’re medically fine. Your levels are within normal range.”

Yes, doctor, but what’s “normal range”? Are you sure my body fits into that—

“Sorry, must go. Emergency lobotomy. Time is money, Patient #293872938476!”

Oh-oh-okay. Goodbye then. *Checks watch* But I’ve only been here fifteen minutes…

I don’t wish to offend any doctors, nurses, or medical persons who I know personally. Medical staff can be brilliant, helpful, understanding, and they can save lives. I’m just speaking from personal experience here. Not once, NOT ONCE, have I ever visited a doctor who gave a shit about me.

I mean, they saw me as an anatomical figure in one of their college textbooks. Or a timeslot in their ridiculously over-scheduled day. I was something that needed fixing. With pills, usually. And the means were by tests, which, if they came back normal, meant nothing was wrong with me.

When I was a teenager, I had a GP who’d been seeing me for about five years. He always asked the same questions with a generic smile on his face, sitting knees apart on his little wheeled stool below me so as to make me feel less intimidated. How’s your diet? Are you exercising? Is there anything new in your life?

And I answered somewhat truthfully. But always with very short sentences. Because duh, he wasn’t a psychologist. And he didn’t really want to hear what I had to say. The clock on the white wall ticked. I longed to purge, Doc, help me, for the love of god, help me. I’m sick. I don’t know how or why. But I can’t sleep and I ache all over and I’m gaining weight and I’m sad and my hormones are all over the place. I need balance or I’m going to crash.

He prescribed me a depression medication only approved for people over 18.

I was fifteen.

Image courtesy of stockimages at freedigitalphotos.net

In later years, I developed a lump on my thyroid which was screwing up my hormones. It’d been growing since I was fifteen, and by eighteen was clearly visible and easy to feel. Yet when he’d touch my neck feeling for weird things he never noticed the giant nodule sticking out the front. I figured, if the doc won’t mention it, I won’t either, because it’s probably nothing.

Then I moved to Prague and they removed it immediately and put me on a synthetic thyroxin.

I thought, awesome! European healthcare actually cares about my health! They want to get to the source, not cover up the symptoms!

Wrong. They’re still super pressed for time and they’re paid much, much less to pretend to care about you as an individual.

When I had my latest thyroid check up with my endocrinologist just a couple days ago, I walked in, shook his hand, and sat down. He asked me how my life was going without even looking at me. I answered, “It’s good. I got a new job.”

“And do you like it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Please give me your neck.”

I exposed my neck, he felt it for about 2.9387 seconds, concluded it was fine, then typed something on the computer while I sat there, tired from another night of fitful sleep, resisting the urge to scratch at the dry skin on my face, keeping my anxious foot from tapping on the floor, feeling utterly helpless and hormonally-screwed up.

He tossed my blood results at me with a generic smile. “Everything’s perfect. Your levels are just where we want them to be.”

I smiled back. “Great,” I said. But I wanted to scream, I know the fucking tests are fine! That doesn’t mean I’m fucking fine! My hair is thin, my nails are brittle, I eat well and nothing changes, I go to bed and wake up at the same time every day and still I cannot fucking sleep, I have PMS symptoms all month long, my leg won’t stop shaking, and I’ve become a giant, horrible cynic about life!!!

We scheduled another appointment for seven months from now, and whoosh, I was out the door.

He’s an endocrinologist. His thing is glands and hormones. And when I first talked to him about my issues, with a quiet voice and embarrassed shrug, he dismissed it immediately as not being his area. “Go to a gynecologist.” So I did. She checked me, talked to me for about ten minutes, sweating and touching the pouches under her eyes, and—guess what?

THE RESULTS WERE FUCKING FINE.

Something’s not right here. Not only do I feel completely unwelcome to talk in depth about my physical problems, but I feel like I’m a walking numbered chart, not a unique person with unique DNA, with a unique environmental background, a unique set of organs that are sensitive in unique ways, a unique demeanor and personality and mindset that affects my overall well-being… nope.

I’m a test result.

My well-being has been cut down to fit the medical industry’s idea of what a good patient is. Someone who doesn’t take up too much time, someone who responds well to meds, someone who is willing to be tested and doesn’t cause an uproar when those tests show nothing out of the ordinary. Someone who should fit into a “normal” created just to ease the job, just like standardized tests were created to ease the college admittance process.

A fucking cop-out. Sorry, but the “normal” spectrum of bodily functions obviously isn’t working for me and for many other people who feel more helpless and unhopeful when they leave the doctor’s office than when they entered it.

I’m sick of being sick. I’m sick of giving other people who don’t give a shit the power to decide when I’m fine or not.

I will heal myself. I will be my own doctor. And I will get better. Because I know myself and I know instinctively how my body wants to work, not how it should work based on a too-wide scale of normality.

Image courtesy of David Castillo Dominici at freedigitalphotos.net

I’m not going to give up on my own body, because I’m expecting it to carry me around for the next 100 years. Yes, I’m hell bent on reaching the year 2100. So sue me.

We all need to start taking our health into our own hands. If you’ve got a knife sticking out of your jugular, okay, yes, go to the hospital. But otherwise, you don’t need them. You don’t need to play their money game. Their time’s-a-ticking game. You’re not patient #293847293, you are you, and only you know what you need to do.

Go do it.

4 Ways the Internet is Owning You

Hey, what’s up? How you doing?

*Shrugs* Meh. You?

Meh. Could be better. Could be worse.

Yeah.

*Stares at phone*

Does this scene evoke a sense of déjà vu? Most of us have experienced some form of this exchange at least once in our lives. Urban Dictionary explains that the word "meh" is “a universal, non-committal answer to every question ever posed. It’s the answer that doesn't actually give any answer.”

Our elders have dubbed us “Generation Y” (because reasons). But I suggest switching to a more evocative, descriptive title:

Generation Meh.

When you’re at work, you’re staring into a computer screen and surfing the web. When you’re with your friends at a restaurant or bar, you’re all sending WhatsApp messages to your S.O.s (baes? beaus? boos? baboons?!??!) or taking selfies to upload on Instagram, or tweeting that hilarious one-liner your cheeky friend just uttered, or, God forbid, not even paying attention to the conversation because you’re too busy trying to reach the number 2084. And when you’re at home, you’re plugged into the internet watching movies illegally or scrolling through Facebook or reading the latest funny “24 Things That...” article George Takei posted.

Yeah there are Buzzfeed videos about how addicted Generation Meh is to their devices. And we watch them while on our devices. And we chuckle and say “meh”.

The truth is that the internet is our version of the 1960’s drug explosion. Except instead of feeling freer and more connected to each other, we feel more and more alone and dissatisfied with daily life. How can that be? 

(Side note: Already whilst composing this article I’ve checked my Facebook at least three times.)

But here are some thoughts to consider—in the form of a familiar Buzzfeed list.

1. The internet isolates us

We can be in a room full of people and yet our minds are still connected on some level to this intangible bog of wires and satellites called the internet. If we’re bored of the person in front of us, we can tune them out with Spotify or engage our friend in facebook chat conversation (forget using actual words, we can just send a line up of funny emoticons). 

The internet tricks us into believing we’re a part of a community, when really we’re missing the community surrounding our physical body. We can’t hear the intonations of voices, study body language, facial expressions, we can’t touch, we can’t make eye contact—all vital to our emotional growth. As we have fewer and fewer genuine, long-lasting social interactions that don’t depend on some form of distraction from someone’s device, we begin to lose our ability to interact. A lot of us count ourselves as “introspective” or “introverted”, and more people are being diagnosed with social anxiety. There's even a new disorder called Social Media Anxiety Disorder:

"As individuals turn to social media networking sites to fulfill their needs, they mistakenly assume that their problems will be resolved. Unfortunately, the networking sites cause these vulnerable individuals to compare their lives in contrast with other friends, and inadvertently fall victim. As a result, this comparison causes blows to self-esteem, negative effects on the individual's life, flame wars, hate crimes, increase in blood pressure, and missing out on life's important moments."

We use our devices as safety blankets in social situations. When we feel awkward or don’t know how to talk to someone, we send texts and check our newsfeed. It takes our minds off the reality—that we’re forgetting how to be with other people.

 2. The internet is a drug

You know about dopamine, right? It’s that little neurotransmitter that transmits happiness throughout the brain whenever you experience a moment of reward. When you buy that new LCD TV, your brain rewards you with dopamine to make you crave more moments of satisfaction. The same thing occurs when you get likes on Facebook. Or when you pin a picture of something you desire on Pinterest. Or when your tweet gets re-tweeted enough times to make you feel important. 

Each like, each pin, each re-tweet, sends a blip of dopamine into your system. And it feels good. Damn good. Unfortunately this blip is very temporary and, like a regular drug, it leaves you wanting more. That’s one of the reasons why we feel a bit down when that HILARIOUS photo of the dancing cat-and-ferret duo we shared only received two likes after twelve hours—which pretty much means that’s as much as it’s ever going to get. The more we build an online presence, the more opportunity there is for rewards to occur. The more rewards we get, the more dopamine is shot into our system. Even more insidious is the fact that one study found internet addiction can alter the patterns of white matter in the brain: “These changes showed evidence of disrupting pathways related to emotions, decision-making, and self-control.” 

3. The internet is painful

Until we just have virtual reality goggles that we can strap to our heads, we're having to jut out our necks and bend them to look at our phones, and when we're sitting at a computer it's more than likely we're leaning forward with our shoulders rounded or slumped. The result? PAINNNNNNNN.

According to this article, 

"The average human head weighs 10 pounds in a neutral position -- when your ears are over your shoulders. For every inch you tilt your head forward, the pressure on your spine doubles. So if you're looking at a smartphone in your lap, your neck is holding up what feels like 20 or 30 pounds."

Ouch. Physiotherapists are calling this phenomenon "Text Neck"--but if affects way more than the neck. It affects your spine, nerve tissues, and metabolism. When you're slouching, you're taking in 30% less air when you breathe. And that means less oxygen in your blood, which can lead to vascular diseases and gastrointestinal problems.  

Basically, be aware of your posture and body position when engaging with your devices. Your head should be sitting on your neck so that your ears are in line with your shoulders. Your feet should be flat on the floor and your spine straight. Hold your phone directly in front of your face if you have to, even though that would just look obnoxious to other people.

4. The internet sedates us

Whether or not we’re addicted to the internet, it still placates us. There’s a reason it’s called the inter-NET or the world wide WEB. Like the Matrix, when we’re plugged into this enormous database, we believe we have knowledge and power at our fingertips. The problem is that when we’re convinced we’re making change by sharing petitions or buying goats online for a poor family in Indonesia we’re actually just lying on our backs with wires coming out of our heads. The world’s elite (the Illuminati, the Bushes, the Banks, whatever you wish to call them) are still screwing us over and we’re not doing anything about it.

Take, for instance, the ALS ice bucket challenge. 




Celebrities participated and so did many of you. It was a world-wide phenomenon that raised millions of dollars for the ALS Association. A good thing, right? Well, consider this: their total revenue for the year 2014 was $24,030,687.  But how was that money spent? 

Well, according to their tax returns the cost of running the association was $12,000,000--including the administrators' salaries, yearly bonuses, travel expenses, "pension plans", and "non-employee labor". In addition, $1 million was spent on "Lobbying". (Source)

And the truth about the "research" being done to find a cure--which is where you hoped your money was going when you donated--is that, since forming in 1985, the association has not invested in any new cures for ALS. Their one attempt (Biogen’s drug dexpramipexole) was tossed out the window in 2013 due to poor results, and it cost $75 million to fund these poor results. (Source)

Did we do our research before jumping on the ALS bandwagon? Or did we get so caught up in the internet hype, the entertaining ice bucket videos, the wet shirts and shirtless celebrities, and the narcissistic craze of posting your own video to show your support of those suffering with the disease?

The Ice Bucket Challenge was a rouse developed by those in power to suck out our energy, placate us, make us feel like we were making a difference, drug us with dopamine, while stealing our money. Next time you want to give to charity, donate your time—not your fragile immune system.

The internet keeps us isolated, drugged, and indifferent. It’s not that we don’t have political opinions or don’t ever spew out lines such as “God, I just hate how the government is so corrupt. I wish I could do something.” But as soon as the words leave our lips, we turn back to our laptops and type “funniest cat videos of 2014” into Google.

Riots and revolution begin with people who have had enough. People who are full of daredevil passion. You think you have that? You might at some point, but the internet helps you drain it into meaningless, innocuous outlets. Battling it out online is just what the powers-that-be want you to do. They want you to let out your frustration by hurtling angry birds at inanimate objects or rating all the celebrities’ Oscar outfits as one-star on your favorite gossip website. When you release your built-up passion and dissatisfaction into all those clever memes you created you’re effectively handing away your care. You’re placating yourself so you don’t have to feel anything or actively change anything. Because feeling passion and anger and dissatisfaction with the real world around you is too hard to handle anymore. Better distract yourself by killing orcs in World of Warcraft—now that’ll make you feel like a real dissenter!

Conclusion

I don’t believe in complaining unless you have a solution to offer.

Unfortunately, the only solution to stop the evil that is the internet without getting rid of it entirely (I mean, come on—who wants to go back to using the Dewey Decimal System or, like, opening up a physical book?) is to regain our self-control. We do have power over the elite, and that is our will power. We don't have to buy into what they feed us. 

To regain our control over ourselves, we have to think critically before we jump into some random online cause. Acknowledge our addiction to social media interactions and assess if they're actually making us feel better about ourselves. 

If we set some limits, we won’t get sucked into the void as often and as harshly. Begin by setting small goals for yourself. Say, “Today I’ll surf the web a total of three hours and no more.” Or, “Today I’ll sign out of Facebook by 5pm and not log back in until tomorrow morning.” Or, "Today I won't post any hateful comments or start angry discussions."

As ridiculous as these goals may seem, they represent your power. You’ll find yourself feeling lighter, less stressed, less bored, less overwhelmed by useless information, and more connected to the NOW—the moment in time in which you’re existing. Hours pass by when we’re online and we don’t even feel them passing. Doesn’t that disturb you? You’re being so berated constantly by things flashing and updating and notifying that you are now unused to silence and stillness. And that’s a scary thought.

If you want to start a cause or fight for one, go out and do it. Physically participating in something (a riot, protest, picketing, attending speeches, or just voting) moves bigger mountains and will probably give you a life-altering experience.

Don't give in to the Generation Meh reality. Start setting an example for your friends and neighbors by being more Generation FTW. 

I bet 90% of you didn’t even make it to the end of this post. If you did, congrats. Please run for president.