When Doctors Don't Listen

Liz Brown is a woman who has endured the hardship of a doctor not being there when she needed one. She talks about her experience in her article, "When the Doctor is Negligent: How to Make an Effective Complaint Against a Doctor and His Office".

Every one of us has been to the doctor's office at one time or another. Most of us have good experiences while others walk around ill longer than they need to. The reasons: doctors either aren't in their office when they are scheduled to be, or they just don't listen to our complaints.

I have had a similar experience to Liz's situation. The only difference was the doctors I saw were in the office, they just didn't listen to my complaints as they should have.

I'm twenty-five now but for most of my life in Watertown, NY I haven't felt well. I had frequent ear infections when I was a kid and was on anti-biotics a couple of times for sinus infections. I didn't have as much energy as other kids and often would be inside watching PBS, doing crafts or reading; I was an avid reader of R.L. Stine and would read five of his books in a day.

As I grew older, the ear infections seemed to go away, but my sinus problems grew worse and became a constant problem and complaint. I knew changes in the weather affected me, but even on clear, sunny days I wouldn't feel well and would be inside lounging around. I just didn't have the energy to do much more than work on my novel and poetry.

It was then the possibility crossed my mind that I might have allergies. So I began taking over-the-counter sinus medicine. I started out with Dristan Sinus, Advil Cold and Sinus, Tylenol Sinus and then tried taking allergy medicines such as Claritin and Tylenol Allergy Sinus. Everything worked at first, but eventually I couldn't find a decongestant and pain reliever to get rid of my sinus headache along with the pain and pressure I was experiencing. Eventually I started being bothered by bright lights and every noise was too loud. Migraines had worked their ugly way into my life.

As the migraines became more frequent, so did nausea and lightheadedness. My congestion grew so bad that while I was sleeping I would stop breathing and would wake up gasping for air. My anxiety grew at the thought this might happen again only I might not wake up the next time. I was afraid I would die in my own home just like my mother did a few years before when I was seventeen. I was scared, but what scared me most was the fact that even my passion of writing could not stir me from the warm comfort of my bed.

My illness, whatever it was, grew worse and nothing could dull my headaches and sinus pain and I couldn't keep food in my system. Drinking was about all I could do and if I ate anything it had to be crackers or something small and light. Sleeping was horrible as I could breathe through my nose, but breathing through my mouth wasn't so easy either. Too much movement made me feel worse and my eye-sight would go funky every once and a while. There would be times I would so cold and could not get warm. My teeth would chatter even when I was under heavy clothes and blankets, even an electric blanket.

With feeling so ill and losing sleep I was not doing well at all. I felt like I was dying and I didn't want. I had too much left to live for, so I told my dad I had had enough and I needed to go to the Emergency Room. I waited so long to tell him because we didn't have medical insurance and I had no idea of how we would pay for care I might need.

The first visit to the ER resulted in a diagnosis of stress and that I needed to change my life. I was prescribed Raglan for nausea and sent home regardless of how awful I felt. So for the next few weeks I talked with Dad and few other family members about how I could change my life and they thought I should get out of the house more and getting a job would be good for me. I tried this but not matter what I did, nothing changed and still was just as sick as before. My dad tried taking care of me and would give me Tylenol PM to help me sleep. It did, so at least I was getting some sleep, but my health sure wasn't improving.

Next stop was the Urgent Care center where I highly anxious, crying and shivering. My pulse was high and I was running a fever. I told the doctor there about things in my life that I thought were bothering, per the diagnosis at the ER that I needed to change my life. He put me on an anti-depressant and sent me home. Did anything change? No. I was up and down with how I felt. One moment I'd be feeling pretty steady and the next I was feeling nauseous and lightheaded again.

I ended up in the ER the second time around and the doctor there said the same thing. I was depressed and anxious. They sent in a social worker who I talked, but in the back of my mind I thought this whole thing was ridiculous. With the symptoms I was having, sinus pain and pressure, fevers and nausea, they were not indicative of depressions and anxiety. If I had anxiety it was because I knew something was wrong with me, I didn't know what it was and I was scared to find out. I felt like something at my dad's place was bothering me and I couldn't take it anymore, so I admitted myself into the Mental Ward at the hospital. I was put on anti-depressants and a headache medicine that didn't help all that much, as well as and anti-anxiety pill. I was there for about a week before I was brought home again.

About a month later, the day after Christmas of 2004, I was back in the ER feeling like crap and crying that I wanted my mother. I did, but because she could always make me feel better. My sister thought I hadn't dealt with my mother's death, but I had though I doubted I could ever convince her of that. I cried and screamed at the doctors I wasn't depressed and I wasn't anxious about anything my life. My life was good outside of how I felt, but regardless I ended up in the Mental Ward again. I refused to leave the Mental Ward until they could get me into the Transitional Living program, which is for people with mental health issues, knowing I would be better off there.

I stayed in the Mental Ward and endured talks with my "doctor" though he seemed to twist everything I said and only infuriate me more. He again, with the other doctors, wasn't listening to me and I was so angry. What was going on here? How was I ever going to find out what was really wrong with me? I stayed there until about January 7, 2005 when I was taken in by Transitional Living. I had my own apartment, though the TLS (Transitional Living Services) people dropped in to check up on me and make sure I was taking my medicines.

I felt better being away from my dad's place and often wondered what it was that was bothering me so. I started seeing a regular doctor as well as doctor at a health center that monitored my medicines and a therapist who, after a few tests, told me I wasn't depressed. I already knew that. I know things in my life were really good. I just wasn't feeling well and no over-the-counter medicines were helping me feel better. Something was wrong and I couldn't fix it.

I was then sent to two other therapists. One ended up leaving and the last one was a really nice woman who I enjoyed talking to. I told her what I thought was bothering me, still just going through the motions of the whole thing until I could get a doctor who would listen to my complaints.

I then told my regular doctor, after several visits, that I thought I should be off the anti-depressants as well as the anti-anxiety medicine. He asked me if I felt good and I told him I didn't feel depressed or anxious. I hadn't since this whole thing began, with the exception of anxiety coming form being ill, which is common. He said okay and I told him that I trouble breathing and finally he checked my throat and saw it was red, checked my nasal passages and saw they were swollen, and listened to my lungs and found I was wheezing. Depressed? Anxious? I don't think so!

My doctor put me on Allegra, an inhaler as well as Nasonex for allergies. He also thought I was coming down with bronchitis and put me on an anti-biotic. Everything seemed to help but there would still be days I would feel sick.

In August 2005 I moved to Vermont and saw a doctor who was originally from Watertown, and she confirmed that I my body was on overdrive trying to fight allergies and I had asthma because of the allergies. She hit me hard with allergy and asthma medicines as well as a nose spray. My condition improved to where I could function more normally, but I still was having severe reactions. Many times I was unsure if I should call my boyfriend and say, "Hey, I need to go to the ER." I never did, knowing I could tough it out.

I talked to my doctor about the apartment my boyfriend and I were living in and how it had a terrible mold problem. I told my doctor that I had already had a problem with dust and she said I would have a problem with mold too. She told us to move and a few months later we did. My doctor said that once we were in a clean place she could take me off my medicines and then I could get tested for allergies.

I live in a cleaner dryer place now, and no longer need my asthma medications, yet my sinus problems still linger along with coughing and sometimes I would have stomach pain. My first allergy test revealed that I was allergic to ragweed, corn pollen, willow tree pollen, two kinds of mold, dust and milk. Ah, no wonder I was having problems! At my dad's place in Watertown it was always dusty and smelled musty at times. Even in the winter time I had to go outside and sit in the cold just to breathe.

In my first apartment in Arlington, Vermont, there was a huge mold issue and it was making me sicker yet. Then to top it all off I had been consuming milk and milk products all of my life without ever knowing I was allergic to it. Stomach pain…I know what that was from now. My allergist even suggested I go organic as some preservatives and dyes in food can cause allergic reactions or make them worse.

My second allergy test is coming up soon and this next time I will find out what other foods I am allergic to as well as if I'm allergic to pets.

Phew! After all of that hassle with trying to find the right doctor, years later, I finally know what is wrong with me and it's not my mental state. I have severe allergies and found out it is on both sides of my family and so I have a genetic predisposition for it. If only I had known years before…

Finding the right doctor is so important and vital to your health. If your doctor isn't doing his/her job, don't just walk away. Like Liz Brown suggests, tell someone about it like a supervising physician, your insurance company which may allow you to rate your doctor, or lodge a complaint with your state's medical board. Take any steps necessary to make sure you get the proper care. The right care from the right doctor could just save your life.