Estimated reading time at 200 wpm: 4 minutes
Well, the things and people I come across, and have to deal with – I tell you. This anecdote follows on from the side-splitting: The Great Cabbage Conspiracy: Why water is useless!
Whether or not you agree our Fat Disclaimer applies
Let’s get into this one.
“Right,” I began, trying to sound helpful, “what exactly is wrong with your knee, then? Is it, you know, sprained? Arthritic?“
Alice my colleague, sighed dramatically, stirring her fresh-brewed coffee as if it held the secrets of the universe. “It’s my eight effusions, isn’t it? The doctor saw them on the ultrasound. “, she barked at me.
“Eight? In one knee?” I blinked, picturing a tiny octuplet of fluid pockets staging a sit-in. “Are you sure? I thought an effusion was, well, an effusion. Like, one lot of fluid.“
Alice scoffed. “Oh, you and your medical definitions. The doctor counted them. Eight. Clear as day. I was shown them.” She took a triumphant gulp of her lukewarm coffee.
I chewed on this. “So, did the doctor say why you have these eight effusions? Like, what’s causing them?“
“Causing them?” Alice looked at me as if I’d asked what colour sound was. “They’re just… there. It’s my medical condition. Eight effusions.“
The kettle finally spluttered to life, mercifully interrupting the circular logic. “Right, well, as long as you know what’s going on,” I muttered, pouring my tea – restraining myself from crossing a ‘medical boundary’ with a person who is not my patient. Alice is not my patient. Medical rules from my regulator forbid me from giving advice outside of a therapeutic contract. I don’t give a monkeys if 1000 other doctors are nicer than me!
A few days later, Alice limped into the office, looking a bit greener than usual. “The pins and needles are back,” she announced, rubbing her temple. “And my whole right side feels… weaker.“
My tea went cold, “Right side? Pins and needles in your head? But that sounds a bit… serious. You should probably see a neurologist.“
She snorted, a derisive little puff of air. “A neurologist? Don’t be daft. I’ll see a vet. They’re good with mysterious ailments.“
I nearly choked on my biscuit. “A vet? Alice, you’re not a… a Labrador with a limp. These are human symptoms.“
“Oh, you’re always so dramatic,” she waved a dismissive hand. “No, no, I’ve got it all sorted. I’m going to see a nutritionist.”
My jaw dropped. “A nutritionist? For unilateral weakness and head-tingling? Are they going to recommend a special smoothie for your brain cells?”
“Exactly!” she beamed, utterly missing my sarcasm. “Get me all healthy inside, sort out my eight effusions, probably get rid of this pesky weakness.“
The next morning, I braced myself for another update at the office. Alice arrived, practically radiating smugness. “It’s all becoming so clear now,” she declared. “I’m going vegan. That’s it. That’ll sort out my eight effusions and the dodgy right side. It’s the only logical explanation, isn’t it? Plants will fix it.“
I just stared. Somewhere, a doctor will not be wondering what happened a patient s/he never saw, who had a concerning set of neurological symptoms. As for Alice (in Wonderland), she was off to find a plant-based cure for… well, for a diagnosis she didn’t have, and a cause she refused to find out about.
I suppose, in the grand scheme of things, a vegan diet was probably healthier than a steady diet of denial, but it certainly wasn’t going to tell her why her right side felt like a wet noodle. And the eight effusions? They were clearly just having a little garden party in her knee, utterly unfazed by dietary choices. Poor Alice.
Supplemental/Optional: Understanding Health Experiences: Beyond Symptom Description to Meaningful Explanation – Investigative Psychiatry
