The Imaginary February
Since getting the private medical report and a diagnosis for Steven’s pain a week ago today, we’ve experienced the sublime and the ridiculous of the medical profession.
I managed to track down the psychiatrist who spoke in court in 2011 and he wrote me a lovely letter on Friday. He remembered me and Steven and was willing to help.
Ironically the day before he contacted me and after a week of trying to make contact with Steven’s own psychiatrist, I got a phone call from her. She had read the report and I was really shocked that she was taking it seriously. She has agreed to accelerate the reduction in the medication (hopefully with the outcome of Steven coming off them all) and we had a great conversation about how to do that and what to have in place if we encounter any problems during the weaning off period. It was all very encouraging.
And now the not so encouraging, I waited all day on Tuesday for the GP to phone me back. Nothing happened. I phoned late on Tuesday afternoon and was told me he would phone me, either after his surgery that evening or Wednesday morning. Nothing. I phoned on lunchtime on Wednesday to be told that he had the day off and to try again on Thursday. Come Thursday, nothing happened, so it took more calls from me and he eventually phoned back at 4.30pm. I could tell instantly that he was miffed. He had read the report and I guess that he didn’t like us going to the clinic to speed up the process. His first comment threw me: “There is nothing in the report about his gall bladder. They may have missed that”. I said that it was a full body scan and if they had found a problem in the gall bladder they would have mentioned it. I reminded him that they had found a problem (in the liver) and that’s where we should be concentrating.
And then came the killer line:
“Mr Neary, have you ever heard of a thing called imagined pain?”
I was speaking from the hall at the time. Steven was in the kitchen having his hair cut. As he was sitting down, he was yelping with the pain. I stuck the phone round the kitchen door and said – “Does that sound imaginary to you?” He then delivered a short lecture on how people can have a pain originally (“Steven did have a kidney infection to bein with”) but once the pain subsides, they become convinced the pain is still there.
I wanted to hit him. A full CT scan has revealed a serious problem and he wants to dismiss it as imagined pain.
I write last blog post that I have a current mission to separate all the people involved in Steven’s care into the useful and the use-less and cut out the latter. They take up so much energy for nothing. In fact, if I continue to engage with this prat, it could have life threatening consequences for Steven. He has to go.
Actually he’s got precious little to offer at the moment. I’m sure the problem is with the medication and it’s the psychiatrist we need on side and thankfully we have that.
After I came off the phone on Thursday, I was ranting to the support worker about the insensitivity of the GP – “He’s putting it down to imagination”. Steven burst the ball of rage:
“Okay Dad. I’ll do it”.
He went over to the stereo and found “Just an Illusion” by Imagination and we sang and danced our way out of my fury.
From → Social Care