Your medical records reflect your medical care

I am a person who interviews and makes records of what people say and also how people appear to me. But I have never seen anything like what has happened to me in this rural community surrounding Lake Isabella.

It has to do with my medical records. Now I already knew my doctors and the whole clinic in fact, recognized my emotional volatility, or my bi-polar. But it was being exacerbated by an autoimmune disorder, called Grave's disease, which attacks the endocrine system most especially the thyroid.

The thyroid is your friend, trust me, you don't want this butterfly gland in the middle of your neck, to be altered in any way. And most especially if you are bi-polar.

But that is not the point of my story, the point is directed at the clinic which treats me for this and a roster of other problems I won't go into.

I did not check what was being observed and "written" about me. In fact, I trusted that they would be accurate and articulate. And fair and non judgemental.

No, that is not at all what happened. The people I have trusted to treat me have labeled me: bi-polar.

I found out about it at the worst of times. I had suffered a serious head injury, had a stroke about 10 days out, and was going down hill fast in weight and overall health.

So, I thought I must get to the best place for medicine, and I was told to go to UCLA.

After my own attempt to drive myself there in desperation, I became lost on the road, and found myself with a migraine in the middle of LA traffic, ended up in emergency where the strange looks began.

I wrote up my own list of symptoms and all the things I could think of which may be happening to me.

One office after another, month after month, my sister took me to different doctors at UCLA. Again, they would scrutinize me and always come up with a blank.

Then the great, number two in the country, UCLA endocrinology department put me on a the incorrect thyroid medicine. (that's for another time)

Well, they didn't have to be too great did they, because they were reading materials I had no idea was even written about me.

Finally, in the third month of this quest for answers, I saw a neurologist. I sat in front of him and explained the injury, the pain, the eye problems, the physical symptoms of the issues.

He stared at me strangely. By this time I was actually healing on my own, and I had become more aware. His gaze was so unusual I couldn't help wondering what was going on.

When he took off to print me a list of medications to choose from, I stood up and walked to the records open on his desk.

I looked down, a tear streamed down my face, I saw the words, bi-polar.

Suddenly I knew why everyone was looking at me the way they were. It was my medical records speaking, seeped in prejudice and dismissing as a credible patient.

The doctor returned to find me looking stunned with tears running down my face. All I could say was, "is this what you think?"

He immediately said, he could be his own judge and he didn't find those records to be anything but prejudicial. He instructed me to bring my own records and only the tests not the remarks.

My sister met me and I told her what had happened. We both were in shock. After all the traveling, the traffic, the money, I had been treated like a nonhuman.

We both decided not to go to UCLA again as the well was poisoned.

When I got back home, I called the clinic and asked to make an appointment with my medical records. This was before the shift the office had to the computer version.

I took my hefty records to an examining room and began to look at every page since the day I came there the first time.

My mind reeled from the remarks. "Used the word fuck a lot." That was all my visit reflected. That was the total observation.

I heard outside in the office the murmurs of staff wondering what I was doing. And the person who wrote that statement, who I no longer see, and would not like to see again in my life, said to a staff member in a hostile voice, "what is she doing here."

Well lady, I'll tell you that was my question too after I read what you wrote.

But we all have to learn. I learned a very difficult lesson and now we are all going to be learning.

Someone recently, when I had a difficult time in another hospital, told me after she overheard me arguing with the seemingly whole nursing staff, "keep fighting for yourself, you're doing a good job."

And I want all of you to know that you have to fight. Fight this prejudice. Don't let medical records ruin your care. More on this subject, much more...

Writing from the heart...

Although this blog is about a lot of things, bi-polar disorder, creativity, sprituality, life, love, happiness and fighting of course, I thought I would start here to explain what I will be writing about on my other blog this week.

It's a personal story, and it's a real story, of rural health. My interest in writing it is to stave off the bad medicine which seems to happen at the Rural Health Clinic in Mt. Mesa, California.

When I say "bad medicine" that means a lot of different things. I think about how the fact that I am bi-polar has kept me from getting treated like a human being over there.

I left the place two months ago, and have been planning this story since the last day I spoke to my doctor over there. It's not like we spoke, we hit a wall, and he thought that was okay. (I carry a sledge hammer though and walls don't bother me much)

This story, I hope, will make better healthcare professionals out of these people. Not that I think it will happen overnight: they're not going to read it and suddenly understand what kind of fuck ups having been going on over there.

I'm sure they will be angry with me at first. I think what I will be saying in it's rawest form, will be at the very least uncomfortable, and at the most it will have them blowing smoke out of their ears.

But when we don't complain, when we don't tell the truth, things don't change and illness festers.

Walking away from a situation only to know others will follow that same path and may suffer the same mistakes you endured, is not fair.

Telling the truth, is what is fair. I'm going to tell it like it was. All of it.

The community here can accept it or reject it, it's truly up to them. But I will have the knowledge that I tried to make a change.

Healthcare reform has less to do with insurance as it has to do with how we treat people, and how we allow the pharmaceutical companies to remain in control of the medications, while insurance companies control their part of the money. It's a mess.

It doesn't have to be, but it is. I was going to go into insurance as some of my family wanted me to work with them. They thought i would be good at it. I did go to the point of taking the classes and getting the license, then realized, what kind of fucked up industry is this?

I did not like it or respect it, knowing that with a few changes, we all could have good insurance, doctors could be paid what they want, pharmaceuticals could still get their share, and insurance companies could simplify and have all the money they want.

I'll preview this as I intend to outline the whole plan on the other blog: Your government, your problem: an owner's manual.

But what if every single person in this country put in money to cover their insurance? If you take the population figures, and multiply by $5, then you would have a booming industry. Anyone who is not a resident would pay more, and those on vacation here would have to pay a healthcare tax before departing their plane.

Done. Everyone has insurance, and everyone is treated. Volume. (I stole that thought from a CFO)

It didn't take much to figure this out, but our government can't seem to get those hands out of their pockets long enough to do the right thing.

Obama's plan should scare us all. It was thrown together too quickly for one thing, and second, the beneficiaries of the plans are the insurance companies and pharma. Nothing changed, it was just spun.

Back to the story, I am only one, but everyone is one, and all of us can do something about the things that come across in our lives the one's that call to us, our call to duty.

This story is calling me...See you soon Rural Health Clinic