Life as an Extreme Sport

The Return of House

House returns tonight, and I’m politely delaying this post for my West Coast friends. However, y’all are SOL after 12am EST. If you haven’t watched the show yet, don’t read the rest of this entry.

Anyhow, the much anticipated return of House, and perhaps this year I’ll actually start making more thoughtful posts about it. I do seem to start the beginning of school optimistic that I’ll be intelligent and thoughtful about what I’m watching; always seems to devolve quickly. Of course, the difference is that I’m going to be taking a lot fewer credit hours now, not to mention not teaching or doing anything else – this should lend itself more to thougthful analysis. Tonight’s episode, for example, is an excellent illustration of cost benefit analysis and hospital administraion (Cuddy) versus doctor desire for treatment. Of course, since this is a television drama, at the end Cuddy bends and does what’s right – which is not always what is just, ethical, or beneficial – and heals the patient with House’s cure. It was a beautiful, touching scene, and I’m a big softie so of course I cried.

And then Cuddy didn’t tell House, per Wilson. Because Wilson feels House needs to learn “no”, and this is the way he will – by not having an evidence-based reason for treatment, being told no, and learning that he must always have a scientific reason, nevermind that his entire job is predicated upon seeing clues no one else does, and he not even always understands. Ahem.

I’m not certain I’ve ever been clear just how conflicted the character of Wilson leaves me. He’s an oncologist, he should understand chronic pain. And yet he has, for the past three years, scorned House his pain, refused to help, challenged him to go without medication, and generally been a complete ass. Yet at the same time he’s endearing – a funny sense of humour, wry, sarcatic, and the perfect foil to House. But over the last year, they’ve started making Wilson into something I don’t quite like, and this episode seals it. Thankfully, it looks like the following episode will blow it right open.

There is a scene about 50 minutes in to the episode that I ache in resonance to. House is running, trying to enjoy the feeling, the floating, the freedom that comes when you’re not in pain. He overheats, and stands in a fountain to cool down. But he’s finding that high, the bliss, the feeling of adrenaline and endorphins that, if you have nastyass chronic pain, you get when you’ve pain relief and no other way.

I can’t remember the last time I felt that way without the assistance of chemical aid. The last time I’ve been able to push my body to extremes and feel joy, instead of fire.

Colour Me Red

Well. Colour me a touch embarassed.

On the one hand, I’ve always known this is an out in the open blog, here for anyone to find if they’re so inclined. I took a few steps to keep it hidden, for a while, but then said no, and opened it up to search engines about, oh, a little over a month ago. Even though I’ve known that, I never really expected anyone to read anything here, unless they weer friends. And god knows, most of the friends aren’t terribly interested in reading here, either. It’s mostly a record for me, so I can look back and remember and keep track…

So it’s a bit, oh, alarmingly embarassing to be told others are reading and watching. Others being what I suppose you could call colleagues. I think I’m still blushing.

More seriously, and interestingly, I suddenly find the censor standing up front and center. Don’t say anything controversial, don’t talk about thoughts or ideas or dreams and desires. Just stay quiet, maybe occasionally post a thought about Sartre and the class readings – clam up.

Think safe and secure, first and foremost. Turn into that anemone.

It’s going to take a bit of effort to get over that, and actually be comfortable – but that’s the point, right? Place nothing online that you wouldn’t mind anyone reading, seeing; that you wouldn’t mind losing control over and letting to the wild. If you’ll say it here, make sure you’ll say it in person.

But it’s hard to reconcile that with reality. It’s easy to feel safe, secure, and anonymous here in my wee corner of the web – and I’m not. No more so than anyone else. And having that brought quite to my attention makes me now wonder if I really mean it, can I really do it? I don’t know.

I did, however, have a very interesting lunch today – and see, I am mentioning it. A lot of advice about what to do the next while; an overload of advice, really. Nothing I didn’t know, but it’s good to hear it from someone else. And of course, above all else, two things: be patient while things are worked out, and be aggressive about being there and visible, without being a pest. And reassurance that no, I won’t be forgotten in the chaos. Nice to get some reassurance, too, that how I was feeling about everything – frustrations and impatience and excitement – was both valid and not over the top or otherwise inappropriate. Plus, it was just nice to get out of the house and talk with someone, especially someone with the same interests. I could listen to Sean talk about public health for hours; it’s terrifically interesting.

However, the cynical Buddhist would like to know what she did, karmically, to always end up being the first, the guinea pig.

I suppose I should take some solice: at least they can’t screw up with me any worse than my parents did…

Fin

Two weeks out, and my feelings about the bioethics course are still pretty much the same. It felt, largely, like a giant waste of time. It was such an area of potential, so many grand opportunities of could be, and I feel like it was wasted on a group of people who either didn’t want to be there or didn’t have the maturity for it (primarily the undergradate LIM students), or who wanted to be there but either had inaccurate expectations or no knowledge about, well, philosophy and bioethics.

While I don’t think that you should need a degree in, say, philosophy, to be in the program, I do think you need some philosophy background before taking a two week intensive course in bioethics, especially when that course is being taught by not only experts but the fathers of the field. We spent way, way too much time going over Philosophy 101 (not to mention History 101, and too many other 101s), and not enough actually delving into the material at hand. Additionally, having the additional LIM students meant having much, much too large a group, which negated the seminar aspect of the course and turned it into any other lecture class.

It’s not what I signed up for, it’s not what I was told about. And frankly, I don’t appreciate the underhandedness that went into it – we were told it was a seminar of graduate students, no more than 15-odd people, until the first day. “Oh, btw, we have undergraduates that are going to double the class size, too!” It was sneaky, and I think it was done because they knew people wouldn’t want to come into the program, otherwise.

This program needs revamping; I can only hope that actually ends up happening, and sooner rather than later.

Dax [August 16]

“No doctor is skilled enough to treat a man without his consent.”

This is an amazing experience. I’m not sure how else to categorize it. And for me, it’s intensely personal, as well. Pain management was nearly non-existent when Dax was injured, and has come forward leaps and bounds since the 1970s. And it is in large part through the activism of Dax and people like him that this has happened; awareness has increased to the point that those of us who suffer debilitating pain can receive the treatment we need, and can live relatively normal lives. I can’t imagine being asked to endure what Dax did, even for a day, and yet not only did he do it, but he emerged from it strong enough to continue arguing for the benefit of others.

I wondered in my last entry if Dax still felt the way he did the last time I’d read anything; that he still wished the doctors would have allowed him to die. After all, he has a successful life, a legal practice, a wife, friends. It took seven years for him to regain a quality of life he thought was worth living for, and that was simply too high a price to pay.

I can’t say I blame him. Sulfamonolode and wet to dry bandages aren’t used any more, considered too barbaric. And no wonder! A topical antiseptic across raw wounds that felt like pouring alcohol on or allowing bandages to dry and adhere to the wound to yank it off again. Debridement in a tank full of chlorox and water doesn’t sound fun, either; I wonder if they still use that? My one experience on a burn ward, during my pre-med days, there was actually a severely burned boy there; about 75% 3rd degree burns from a frat party gone wrong. He, at least, was being kept sedated and under wet wraps and this sort of…goop, for lack of better word, was covering his open wounds. Last I’d heard, he’d made a decent recovery.

Listening to what Dax had to go through, I am struck by the thought that, so often, what is done in medicine is not done with the best interest of the patient in mind. It’s done with the best interest of the health care professionals in mind, or the lawyers, or the hospital itself — but not the patient. The patient is simply there to endure whatever is being done to him or her, and even in this day and age there is so often no choice in what’s being done — being dismissed AMA is much harder than people make it sound like it is.

It also strikes me that Dax simply was not given the opportunity to communicate. Communication has been a recurrent theme this course, and this case is a consummate illustration of miscommunication.

Interestingly, Dax doesn’t think autonomy is a one-way street. He does feel that it’s two way, and that doc’s do not have a right to force treatment, just as patients don’t have the right to force doctors to perform procedures they don’t believe in. While, when I’m arguing for autonomy, I often find myself making similar argument, things like the controversy over the Plan B pill make me hesitate to throw my lot full in. If a woman desperately needs an abortion for, say, medical reasons, but the only person with any training for 100 miles has opted to no longer perform abortions, who is right? Whose autonomy reigns supreme? Autonomy might be a two-way street, but it’s still one where head-on collisions can and so often do occur. We really have got to move beyond autonomy as an answer; there is simply too much, too many situations, where it is not feasible, where it does not solve conflict.

He who controls the knowledge has power, and because of this Dax rather adamantly believes that doctors should not be the only ones with authority to perform certain procedures; they should not, in fact, control the knowledge. (And around here I’ve got scribbled in the margin that he has an excellent understanding of JS Mill, although of course I didn’t write down precisely what prompted that note.) It was, however, around here that Dax told his feeding tube story, and the joy in his voice as he talks about this, to this day, is amazing — and it’s because he had control.

Control is often an important issue for patients. They are in a situation without knowledge, where their body is out of their control, with doc’s operating on esoteric knowledge that, informed consent dreams aside, no patient can hope to immediately understand. As patient, you begin fighting for whatever you can control, in these situations — even if it is a small and simple thing. Not eating. Not having a feeding tube inserted.

As a person, then, in a place of both power and negotiating ability, it must be exceedingly important to remember to cede as much control as possible to the party who feels they are without (which, I would wager, is the patient the majority of the time).

The entire Dax case brings me back to wondering if informed consent is truly possible, and the old saw of whether or not you can truly give consent without having a medical degree? These days, especially, it seems like many doctors will just throw every possible amount of information and option at you, and leave you to figure out what to do — often with the aide of the ever-unreliable internet. I’m hearing more and more arguments against the idea, and that it’s simply a cop-out for doctors; I don’t know if I would go this far, but I do think it’s the sign of a litigious society that it’s such a major issue. Well, and I wonder if we shouldn’t coach it in terms of informed consent so much as proper information for consent.

I’m thankful I was able to thank Dax in person; as I’ve said, he’s someone who, stranger to me, has had a huge impact in the quality of my own life. I’m also glad I was able to clear up the misconception that I was Colleen; rather unpleasant to be confused for her, although given I was sitting behind her I understand why. But since I actually agree with most of what Dax says, and find myself squabbling over minutiae and splitting hairs (well, I’d argue that discussions of autonomy aren’t minutiae, but I will conceded that they are highly esoteric and not important to the everyday person), it was good to not have the association of “person with RSD” and “handicapped person” together.

Unfortunately, there are not a lot of answers in Dax’s presentation, as there are not in his case. The questions of autonomy, consent, and medical knowledge — they are still as much up in the air now as they ever were. Perhaps the difference is simply that they are indeed out in the air, being discussed and thought about, instead of not questioned at all.

The End [August 17-18]

Unfortunately, at this point in the week my pain issue kicked up to the point that I have few notes. Dr. Thompson, the intensivist, was exceedingly kind to us, in both our excessive questioning and tour of MICU/SICU. His offer to share his recent book was also kind, and something I plan on taking him up on.

The extreme cold in our classroom chased me away from AMC shortly later, and I went home to nap. Against my better judgment, I did join everyone for dinner — and am glad that I did. Sitting with Alicia, Glenn, and Sean at dinner was an amazing treat, and a lot of fun. It reawakened a bit of the passion that I was starting to miss, under bad sleep, stress, and pain. Unfortunately, it took its effect on me, and I spent the night with pain keeping me up, Lunesta be damned. When I did finally wake Friday morning, my right arm, shoulder to wrist, was locked firm against my body, and any attempt to move sent shattering, lightning pain through my body.

I was able to eventually get it under control, with judicious use of hot water and pain medication, and made it to campus barely in time for our presentation, which went as badly as I thought it would. I’ve kept most of my thoughts about the LIM students to myself, as well as project preparation, but I was exceedingly frustrated with the students I had to work with. They had no concept of time, no idea how to manage their presentation, and wouldn’t shorten what they had for anything; when I shortened their slides, they simply put them back in, or talked as though the slides were there anyhow. You simply cannot read 10 slides in 2 minutes, I don’t care how fast you speak. So of course, the end result was that both Peter and I had to shorten, or fully stop, what we were saying.

The audience critique of the presentation felt rough, too. Having Larry there was not easy, and I didn’t like feeling responsible for the misunderstandings of my team members — especially when they were misunderstandings that we’d argued over for nearly two weeks, and they simply would not listen.

Of course, when you’re in pain, everything is blue and cranky, which is definitely where I am right now. I’m sure, in a few days or weeks, when I’m back under proper pain management, I’ll have much fonder memories of the whole thing!