Category Archives: discrimination

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Hormones and rabbit holes

Medicine is confusing right now. Ok, it is always confusing because we try to base it on science and science is always changing. There are always special areas that are currently a mess. Hormones!

I speak to a patient recently who is female, premenopausal, and is getting hormone replacement therapy for hot flushes and not sleeping well from an outside source. The person wants me to order hormone tests. I do order hormone tests but not the ones she has in mind. I test a TSH, thyroid stimulating hormone, to see if she is low or high in thyroid.

She is thinking of me testing estrogen and progesterone and other related hormone levels. The party line from gynecology MDs and DOs is that these are not useful tests because women’s hormone levels are so varible. However, there are lots of naturopaths out there and functional medicine MDs and DOs who will test levels. Why is the patient asking ME to test them? Most of those naturopaths and functional medicine providers do not take insurance and charge cash. Also, insurance may not pay for them anyhow because the party line is that they aren’t useful. Why would the cash providers check levels? One reason is CASH. Another is to prescribe “bioequivalent hormone replacement”. Sounds natural, right? Well, the natural thing was for the hormones to stop at menopause and all of the hormones are either made in a laboratory from plant pre-estrogens or from pregnant mare urine, so bioequivalent seems to imply natural but it really isn’t. Pills do not grow on trees, they are made by humans in laboratories.

However, I question party lines, and off I go down the hormone rabbit hole. The current guidelines are that female hormone replacement, after menopause, should be lowest dose possible and only for a maximum of three years because of the increased risk of breast cancer. This doesn’t address my question: does premenopausal hormone replacement count as part of those three years? I may need to ask gynecology. I don’t think it counts. A woman is postmenopausal when she has had no periods for a year. Or had her ovaries removed. Or if she’s had a hysterectomy and still has her ovaries, a yearly follicle stimulating hormone and lutienizing hormone test. Both tests rise when the ovaries stop making hormones and eggs.

Also, there is another caveat. We know that when men are on opioids, the opioids can suppress their hormones and lower testosterone. Here is a paper: https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/31511863/. Half the men studied in multiple studies had low testosterone when on chronic opioid therapy. 18429 subjects (patients) in 52 studies. That is a lot. Women studied? NONE. What? Yeah, none. Why? Here is part of the answer: about a decade ago I worked with the UW Telepain group and asked the head of the UW Pain clinic a question. “If opioids lower hormones in men, do they in women too?”

His reply, “I don’t know.”

“Have you ever tested a woman?”

“No.”

“Isn’t that sort of sexist?”

“Yes.”

So here I am, rechecking a decade later, and we still don’t know if giving women chronic opioids messes up their hormone levels. It would be more complicated and difficult to check women. We might have to do individual hormone baselines or something in premenopausal ones, say, 2 weeks after menses. Remember that for most of the history of medicine, clinical drug trials were only done in men, because, well, sexism. They said women could get pregnant. Yes, but then we gave the drugs to women who could get pregnant. Also, postmenopausal women can’t get pregnant. The whole thing seems stupid to me.

There is an interesting new finding here: https://neurosciencenews.com/estrogen-t-cells-pain-28548/ . Apparently in women, estrogen and progesterone work on receptors at the base of the spine to reduce pain signals using T cells, part of the immune system. The article says this doesn’t happen in men, but they were studying mice. The male mice didn’t seem to have worse pain after estrogen and progesterone were blocked. The female mice were in more pain. But wait, estrogen and progesterone are produced in men as a by product of making testosterone. Less than women, until menopause. Then the 70 year old man has more estrogen and progesterone than his postmenopausal wife. The article says that they don’t know why the receptors are in women and female mice (um, my intuitive guess would be childbirth and micebirth, right? Men don’t do that and women giving birth to a child after the first one sometimes say, “WHY did I want to do THIS again?” I think those receptors are so that women and mice can get through more than one pregnancy.) Now I need to read the article again because maybe men and male mice don’t have the receptors, even though they do have some estrogen and progesterone. Maybe they just don’t have enough estrogen and progesterone.

Maybe we can’t figure out women’s hormone because men aren’t smart enough, heh, heh. Yes, that is sexist right back at all those historical figures who didn’t study women.

At any rate, that still doesn’t answer my two questions: does premenopausal hormone replacement count towards the three year total beyond which hormone replacement increases the risk of breast cancer? And does chronic opioid treatment lower women’s hormone levels?

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For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: hormone.

I took the photograph of a Port Townsend rabbit in 2011.

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Day denouement

This is the sunset yesterday as I arrive in Pendleton, Oregon to stay the night. The first stage of the journey done. Sol Duc is ok with the car as long as it is not moving. When it moved, she objected, for much of the first hour. She stops when I sing to her, so I worked my way through many of the old folk songs that I learned as a child.

And today, dust and ashes with the news.

We will go on, though. Even as discrimination worsens.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompts: denouement and dust.

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Envy

I am supposed to write about envy
but what I am feeling is grief
I walked five miles yesterday
and it was fun, talking, a group
but then a nap from 2 to 5, three hours
and to bed at seven pm and up at five
so 13 hours sleep in response to exercise

It is time to downsize what I think I can do
I still have my mind, but the energy is halved
I can’t work full time as a physician
and I am not sure I can work half time
Do I try it? The risk that I crash again?
Pneumonia and death? Or do I curl into the grief
and find something else to do.

Even the thought makes me tired.

Not envy of other doctors, oh, maybe a little
but the truth is, my survival to date is something
of a miracle. Babies with mothers with active tuberculosis
usually die very quickly, infected, overshelmed.
My mother kindly coughed blood so the doctors knew
before I was born, from the protection of the womb
to the protection of the family, away from my mother.
She is dead, my father is dead, my sister is dead
so even if I cannot work half time
it’s still miraculous to be here at all.

I hope that each and every one of you
feels the miracle of not being dead and gone
some days. And that you do not envy
your dead.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: envy.

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Ethical stupor

My friend M is twenty years older than me. A friend of my parents since college. When I went to college in Madison, WI, I got to know her and her husband and their two sons. I lived with them my third year of college and it was a ball! I loved the family.

I visited over the years and more often when her husband had lung cancer and died. She wanted me to come out for her younger son’s fiftieth birthday. Her daughter-in-law said, “It’s nice to meet the daughter.” Apparently M considered me a daughter. I was delighted, since both of my parents had died by then.

A year ago M was feeling less well. She started losing weight. A work up was done, finding no cause. She had a rare cancer that had been treated two years prior. But by July, she had lost thirty pounds.

Thirty pounds! As a primary care doctor, RED FLAG! Very high likelihood of dying, if that went on. She was eighty years old.

I flew out in September. We took a road trip, just the two of us, from Michigan back to Wisconsin. We visited multiple old friends of hers. She thanked me afterwards, because one friend had Parkinson’s and died ten days after our visit. We saw her sisters-in-law and we did a circuit around Madison.

Afterwards, she said that was her last time driving on highways.

By December, she had dropped another ten pounds. Then she had difficulty walking. The daughter-in-law called me. She was having trouble getting any medical attention. They had had trouble for a year! Over a week, M went from walking to not being able to support her weight or stand up. I flew up right after New Years.

Something was wrong, clearly. She’d carried her own bags in September. I was the out of state doctor. The daughter-in-law, B, was moving her from bed to chair alone. I couldn’t. I am 5’4″ and M was 5’10” and now my weight. B found a private practitioner.

On my third day there, M had chest pain. We took her to the Emergency Room. The Emergency Room did the usual things. Then the ER doctor came in. “She is not having a heart attack and she doesn’t have pulmonary emboli. So you can take her home.”

“No, something is wrong! She can’t walk! She could walk two weeks ago! We did a road trip in September!”

The ER doctor shrugged. “What do you expect me to do?”

“Figure out what is going on!”

“She is eighty.” he said. As if eighty meant we stop caring.

“No, we won’t take her home. It isn’t safe. We can’t move her. M, do you want to stay?”

“Yes,” said M.

The ER doctor looked annoyed. “All right. I’ll admit her for placement in a nursing home.”

The inpatient doctor was scarcely more interested.

“What do you expect me to do?” he said, knowing he was dealing with an annoying out of town doctor.

“Steroids.” I said, “Maybe it’s a weird form of polymyalgia rheumatica. She deserves a trial of steroids.”

He too shrugged, and started steroids.

The next day she was stronger, and the third day she could stand. It was SOMETHING, but not clearly polymyalgia rheumatica. The hospital was small and did not have a cancer doctor and did not have a neurologist. They were sending her out on steroids. Follow up outpatient.

We looked at a nursing home, but went to a private assisted living instead. The staff were minimally helpful. We took turns sleeping there. Physical therapy and occupational therapy were started. M was a bit better but not the miraculous return to normal that steroids cause in polymyalgia.

I flew home. The private physician saw her. M was set up to see the U of Michigan. B kept asking if it was lymphoma, because that can be a side effect of the treatment for M’s cancer. M’s cancer doctor said no. M got covid and the appointments were delayed two weeks.

In February she went to the U of Michigan. The neurologists came through and said, nope, not polymyalgia rheumatica, and not neurological. The cancer doctor came through. The GI doctors did an upper endoscopy and biopsied. Cancer. Lymphoma.

M said no to treatment. She was discharged to hospice. She died within 24 hours of reaching the hospice.

The cancer doctor sent an apology to B, who was right all along. This was a particular lymphoma that responds to steroids for a while. M had said that if it was another cancer, she would refuse treatment.

So what the hell is going on here? This: https://www.technologyreview.com/2019/08/21/238642/a-doctor-and-medical-ethicist-argues-life-after-75-is-not-worth-living/

“These people who live a vigorous life to 70, 80, 90 years of ageβ€”when I look at what those people β€œdo,” almost all of it is what I classify as play. It’s not meaningful work. They’re riding motorcycles; they’re hiking. Which can all have valueβ€”don’t get me wrong. But if it’s the main thing in your life? Ummm, that’s not probably a meaningful life.”

Ok, so now some doctors don’t care once you reach 75. That’s it. They define everything as “useful and productive” and if you are not doing meaningful work, well, you’d might as well die. I hope that doctor does die. Slowly. And that everyone around him refuses to do any tests to see what is happening. And who the hell defines what is meaningful work? That can be helping raise grandchildren, like, hello!

I have another friend who is going through the same thing. She is failing and the medical community in my town is shrugging their shoulders. She should have a head MRI, says the cancer doctor. So that was a month ago and it still isn’t scheduled.

Some of this is pandemic fatigue and backlash. People refusing to get vaccinated, people refusing to believe that Covid-19 exists, doctors and nurses dying of Covid-19, people refusing masks. If everyone is exhausted, what do you let go?

Apparently people over 75. But NOT everyone over 75. If you are wealthy, you will get care. Our Senators and House of Representatives certainly get care after 75. It is the isolated, the rural, the poor, the ones who don’t have an advocate, who will be sent home to die.

I took my friend here to her primary. “What do you want me to do?” he says.

“Here is the Home Health paperwork and she needs disability tags.” My friend is falling, five times that week.

“Ok,” says the primary. “I will set those up.”

When Home Health arrived, she had fallen. She had been down for 15 minutes and unable to get up. Home Health called the fire department. The fire department helped and also came back to put no slip pads on the steps. If she can buy the wood, they will build a ramp for her.

And I will go with her to the cancer doctor and I will rattle cages. She lives alone, she has no children, she has a brother in Alaska. But she also has an advocate. One who knows the medical system and who is not in an ethical stupor.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: stupor.

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Cauldron

2 Ways to Manage the Emotional Cauldron of Anger
Freud’s Theory of the Unconscious Mind

So, the iceberg graphic is wrong, wrong, wrong. Am I right? Icebergs are about 90% below the surface, which is NOT what the picture shows. Regarding the first article, preset timeouts? I think when two people are losing it, that may go by the wayside. My strategy is, “I have to use the bathroom.” It might take a while if I am really upset and want to rip the sink off the wall. But, it lets me cool down, cool off and not say terrible things. Let them stay inside my head until I am calmer and realize how stupid and nasty I wanted to be.

But let’s think about cauldrons, yes? A stew of emotions? Our culture still has little respect for emotions. Just think if we were all nice on the surface all the time and never showed any other emotion. Bunch of AI robots, I think.

Cauldron

It’s not so surprising to look up the emotional cauldron
and have it be about anger. Anger in couples, but the cauldron itself
brings up witches and therefore women. Women in black
women with cauldrons, women boiling angry.

I vacillate between thinking that black men are treated the worst and then, no,
women are treated the worst. Assumptions, useless, toys, pretty, be nice,
true that women don’t get shot as much, but our country found a black man acceptable
in the white house, but not a woman, black or white.

Anger is not nice, I am told. But anger is appropriate at injustice, when people
are discriminated against, treated badly, pushed from homes, jailed, hung and shot.
Much of our country reveres guns to protect homes, a man’s home is his castle,
and what is left for women? Not the workplace, the public, the home.

How dare they take the cauldron as a symbol of anger stewing?
The truth is that men fear women’s anger and rightly. They fear the people
who are enslaved, discriminated against, shot and dismissed, rising up.
Rising angry, anger not in a cauldron, but hot as lava and righteous.

A sermon about fear and abuse and the minister says, this is where anger can be understood
and is right. Anger at the abuse and at the fear, letting people break free.
Energizing a person to leave abuse, to leave an intolerable situation
and no reconciliation without the abuser taking responsibility.

What the cauldron really holds is greed, the people who think they deserve
more than others, more money, more women, more adulation, more more more.
Greed, gossip, lust, and all the other sins. Anger at mistreatment is not wrong
though it may not be safe to show it. Let it be conscious even if not expressed

and fight on.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: emotional cauldron.

The photograph is my mother, Helen Burling Ottaway, in 1945. She was seven. I have photographs of my daughter and me with the same expression. Not anger, thought. I cannot credit the photograph because I don’t know who took it.

And to lighten the mood, both sexes are profiled.

Not all anger is right, though, and it’s often because of different interpretations, different frames of reference or misunderstanding.

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Lungs, again

I saw the pulmonologist from Swedish Hospital last week and am still thinking about the visit.

My lung function on the pulmonary function tests did not change much from December. He gives me an inhaler, with a steroid and a long acting bronchodilator, two puffs twice a day. I use it for one day in December and promptly get Covid-19 mildly. I then ignored the inhaler until I talk to him in March. He says, “Use it for two months and we will see if your lungs improve.” I try it in March and get a cold, not Covid, within a day. I try it again in April and get a cold within two days. I then ignore the inhaler.

But at the end of March I start feeling a lot better and my fast twitch muscles start working again. I would get very tired and stiff when I use them. They are “back” but are very weak. I wanted to know if my lung testing improved too, but it didn’t. So what is going on here? I feel better but the lung studies are not better.

The pulmonologist says, “Well, the infections are probably coincidence.” Yeah, um, well, three for three. “But, if it’s not asthma, it could be bronchiectasis.” He asks when I did the methacholine test, negative, gold standard for asthma. I did it in 2014. Negative along with allergy testing.

I don’t know much about bronchiectasis. Mostly that it’s not asthma and not chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. It may be the garbage can that holds obstructive disorders that don’t fit either of those categories.

“Bronchiectasis means what?” I say. He says, “Usually there is a lot of coughing and mucous.” Nope. Well, I cough a lot with pneumonia and with colds if I don’t rest, but rarely cough anything up. “The test is a chest CT but we can’t do anything about it if you have it, so I don’t know if you want to do a CT.”

“If there’s nothing to do, then I don’t want one.” Because repeated CT scans increase cancer risk, way more so then an x-ray. I ask about work. “I still get really fatigued, and my muscles are recovering. If I am stronger at the end of the summer, I would think about work, but how would I protect my lungs?”

“Mask.” he says. “An N95 all the time would maybe help. We don’t really know.”

Ugh. We agree that I will see him in October. If my fatigue level stays where it is now, returning to work even half days is going to be too high risk, I think. I am liable to get pneumonia AGAIN and this time I might get stuck on oxygen. Or die, which I’d rather not right now.

I am reading about bronchiectasis. The Mayo Clinic doesn’t have an entry for it, though it has clinical trials and a special clinic. That would support it being a garbage can diagnosis. I am reading on Wikipedia, here, not my usual medical resource. Brochiectasis can particularly be caused by tuberculosis, mycobacterial illness. They distinguish cystic fibrosis bronchiectasis from non-cystic fibrosis bronchiectasis and other infections can cause it. Influenza, streptococcus, um, yeah, the infections I’ve had. I do not have cystic fibrosis or the alpha-1-antitrypsis disorder. And there is another disorder listed, a genetic one where the cilia don’t work right. Primary ciliary diskinesia. I don’t have that either, but my working diagnosis is PANS, with antibodies that screw up my cilia and fast twitch muscles. And that would put my lungs at risk for pneumonia.

So, says a friend, what do you need to take?

Nothing, I say. It means I have to keep stress down, be in a parasympathetic state instead of fight or flight sympathetic state, and stay the heck away from sick people. Oh, and mask on airplanes and probably avoid huge crowd things. Jazz Fest, big music festivals, riots, wars, etc. Exercise, eat right, don’t drink too much alcohol, don’t smoke anything, don’t do stupid things. Try not to get tuberculosis.

And still, I am doing well. The treatment for really bad bronchiectasis is lung transplant. I am still quite mild after four pneumonias and the kid illnesses and mononucleosis and colds and so forth. I do not cough all the time and am off oxygen. It’s looking less likely that I could return to work in person, though I don’t know about internet. It really depends on my energy level, what that does. Darn it. Uncertainty, isn’t it hella annoying? Oh, well, I am pretty used to it by now.

And that’s the lung news.

I can always hide in my tree house. But the food and water supply there is not so good.

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Daily Evil: A is for Anger

Welcome to April Blogging from A to Z.

A friend of mine died in February. She has known me since I was born, because she was in college with my parents. In fact, my father got arrested for having her graduation party, though it was thrown out of court. Knoxville, Tennessee, in 1963, and the problem with the party was that it was mixed race. Luckily there were no drugs and no minors drinking. I was the youngest minor, age 2. My mother was left with me, terrified that she could be lynched.

Anyhow, this friend is an artist, like and unlike my mother. I spoke to her daughter-in-law a few days ago and she says she is in the anger stage of grief. Yes, I know what she means. And new grief brings up all the old grief. How annoying. March 29 was the day my little sister died of cancer, so that all comes up too.

I keep reading that we should be positive. I hate it and I disagree. Sometimes we can grieve and go through stages of grief. Anger can be an indication that we are in a bad relationship or that we are being mistreated. Sometimes it is connected to old past anger, though, that needs to be cleared out. Have I succeeded with that? I don’t know.

Is anger evil? I do not believe any feelings are evil. Acting on them may be evil, but it’s complicated. Feelings are information, part of our senses. This doesn’t mean that we always interpret things correctly, so sometimes we need to check. “When you said this, I interpreted it this way. Is that what you meant?” I usually have to wait a week if I am upset about something, so I can have the feelings calm. I get better and better about not acting on anger. I do not mind feeling it.

A is for Adam and Eve as well. This is one of Helen Burling Ottaway’s etchings, titled “First Valentine”.

For the process of making an etching, read here. This is from 1982, number 29 out of 35, a limited edition each run and signed by the artist.

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You will be labeled

If you get sick
with something the doctors don’t understand
you will be labeled
unstable
mental
bipolar
crazy.

They will try to drug you.

How do you tell
when they are right
and you are crazy
brain on fire
and when you aren’t?

Don’t ask me.
I’m a Family Practice doc
and I’m rural
and I’m a girl.

I’m the one they make fun of
in the medical schools.
“The rural doctor
transferred this patient.”

Yes we did.
Because we knew it was something
different
that needed more
than we had
in our small town
in our small hospital.

Once a neurosurgeon says,
“You are transferring the patient
because it’s Friday
and you don’t want to work
on the weekend.”
“She needs an MRI,” I say
“and we don’t have one.”
and transfer her anyway.
I call two days later.
After the MRI, she is in
the operating room
for a tumor in her spine.
He doesn’t call me back
but I hope he remembers.
I certainly do, after years
and years.

If you get sick
with something the doctors don’t understand
you will be labeled
unstable
mental
bipolar
crazy.

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Theme for April: Daily Evil

I have been thinking in a desultory manner or perhaps not really thinking about the A to Z April Challenge. I want to have a whole month of my mother’s fabulous art, but what is my theme? Mothers? No. Women artists? No. Discrimination against women artists? Sigh, no. Oh! I read an article yesterday about how the negative and nasty headlines get the major clicks. Today I read another very nice kind blog post about putting something nice into the world. So that gives me my theme! My mother’s art and daily evil impulses.

Impulses, not actions. Don’t we all feel those nasty impulses? Now I am interested in my own theme: how does that tie into my mother’s art? You don’t know? I don’t know either, but I know that many of us have complex feelings about our mothers. You might too. What does her art reveal or what does it trigger in me? And you get to enjoy her art, while you react with prim or gleeful horror at the Daily Evil Art Impulse.

Happy April!

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The first photograph is of one of Helen Burling Ottaway’s watercolors. It is signed, matted and shrink wrapped. Date: 1996. She died of cancer in 2000. I do not know the title, but this is Lake Matinenda, in Ontario, Canada. My maternal family has land there and I have gone there since age 5 months.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: placid. Heh.

Ooooo and later:

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Race

Embiggen my heart, Beloved
Embiggen all the hearts in all the people
so when they see race on a form,
they write “human” and mean it.
The distinctions fall away.
We are not afraid any more
that another human is other
and will take something away from us.
We each slide over on the crowded bus
and say, “Here. There is room for you, here.”

____________________

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: embiggen.