Breaking News: US Medical System Kinda Sucks. I always have a good laugh (then introduce my forehead to a wall) when someone says, “wE HAvE tHe GrEAteSt mEDicAL sYsTeM iN THe wOrLD!” Oh yeah? How much of this “world” have you seen outside your high school zip code that wasn’t also an all inclusive resort? I have visited and lived abroad, and on a scale of one to ten, our system sucks.

Land in Heathrow and count how many times you’re reminded that if you get sick or injured you can be treated for free at an ER. And they keep reminding you the entire time you’re there. “You can go to hospital. It’s free.” Yes, thank you. But I will try to avoid the necessity. Kind of you to offer.

By contrast, where I live, the message is more, “If you get sick or injured, you can go eff yourself.” I wrote last time about chronic issues I’ve had since April. And two months after being denied care for asking to see a different practitioner than the woman who screamed at me on the phone when I mentioned she sent my prescriptions and MRI order to the wrong places, I’m still waiting for my insurance to decide whether I can receive care or not.

Something similar happened earlier in the year when I was having a dangerous moment. My therapist, who had been sending me Marianne Williamson videos on manifesting instead of making her appointments with me, was shocked! Shocked, I say! When I finally became angry and fed up with her.

Obviously, as I was the one with the acknowledged mental health issues, the fault couldn’t possibly have been with her continued harping on me for advice on how to deal with a cocaine addicted client when I suffered domestic violence by a coke head. Wish I knew, lady.

I also told her, “I’m tired of managing your anxiety, MOM!” (I didn’t know it at the time, but her twenty year old son has one of those obituaries that don’t name a cause of death. Whoops!)  Then she wrote me a discharge letter that said I had anger issues. Damn right I’m angry. Rumi quotes are not a replacement for your attention to and attendance of our sessions.

The “Narcisist’s Prayer” (That didn’t happen. And if it did; it wasn’t that bad. And if it was, that’s not a big deal. And if it is, that’s not my fault. And if it was; I didn’t mean it. And if I did; you deserved it!) seems to be the law around here. So, when I lost hearing and was smelling burning rubber, and a woman whose name was Tammy Mascara (I kid you not) said I wasn’t able to see another practitioner because I might report them to the state, I had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Every single one of your providers feels unable to live up to the expectations of a patient who wants to have their prescriptions go to the right pharmacy and maybe not be screamed at over the phone? Nice.

I’ve lived here three years, and so far I’ve had to: fight the power company for a year to return a fee, report a nurse for having her tele-sessions with me in a room full of screaming kids, threaten to bring the Attorney General’s Office into a car repair issue for a friend and, of course, Danuta the Delulu Therapist. The very first thing I had to do when I moved here was help my friend get some of their closing costs on a house refunded by the broker because they would have had a rough time if I’d helped my friend report them.

But I don’t want to live in a perpetual state of forcing the system to work as it should. It’s just in my nature to make sure things are fair. And self-advocacy does become a way of life when you have health issues. So, when I tired of Tammy Mascara, and reported to my insurance, I took a break from the system. If it wasn’t about helping me to heal in any way I could possibly imagine — or the internet could suggest — I wasn’t doing it.

Some of what I did was pretty basic for what I was dealing with and couldn’t do any harm. Well, maybe two months of the Sudafed they keep behind the counter wasn’t all that harmless. Or the Afrin and Flonase. But the decision to use olive oil with a teensy bit of tea tree oil inside my nose, that was pure me and Dr. Google. It seems to have helped. Or at least I haven’t died from Olive Oil in Nasal Passage Syndrome, yet.

Although, I must say my most genius idea was smudging. Yes. I mean the practice of lighting dried leaves and bathing oneself and space in the smoke. Look, I don’t want to hear it. I thought at least the intention could help. “I release that which no longer serves and open myself to the possibilities of the future.” Sounded good to me.

Let’s just say, my sinuses being the root of the problem, inhaling smoke was definitely ill-conceived on my part. But bear in mind, I had been on antibiotics for two months, lost ten pounds and couldn’t hear out of my right ear. A heady mix of awful and terrifying to be sure!

But with enough rest, soup, tea, steamy baths, eucalyptus and maybe shoving olive oil up my nose, I’ve managed to improve. My energy is improving. The burning rubber smell has mainly faded to a more general aroma of stale cigarettes (more unpleasant than burning rubber, but less intense), or things just smell off or don’t smell at all. My hearing is a bit better. The feeling of fluid in my ear seems to be disappearing. But I do have to listen to white noise of crickets at night to not hear the ringing in my ear. And I’m still doing this Grandpa Simpson, “HEH! WHAT’S THAT!? I’M A BIT DEEF!” thing.

Of course, while I’m fighting to have real doctors even see me, Mr. Brainworm & Found Meats is running the country’s health department into the sewer he swims in with his grandkids. I’ll tell ya, Alan Alda’s Hawkeye Pierce had it right. “Joking about it is the only way of opening my mouth without screaming.” That and I’m trying to take it easy so the olive oil in my nose can work its healing magic. I don’t think my Grandpop crossed an ocean in a time of war for me to rely on his “lemons, garlic and good oil” as the answer to all life’s ills. 

While I’m at it I might as well tap into some of my family’s other ethnic traditions for healing. Amish hex signs, anyone? I’m thinking the Double Distlefink is called for in this case.

“Joking about it is the only way to open my mouth without screaming,” indeed.

How are you holding up, my legendary friend?

Well, that’s all the news that’s fit to print for now. I’m working on some changes to the site. Check back soon for poll results and more exciting updates that hopefully don’t include sticking olive oil up my nose.

Namaste,

J.Lakis

✌🏼❤️‍🩹🫒🫚🧄🍋👂🏼👃🏼🍵🤕🙏🏼

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If you’re considering suicide, self harm or have a mental health crisis: call or text 988 any time to talk or text with someone from the National Suicide Prevention and Crisis Hotline. Help is always available in English or Spanish. LGBTQ+ youth in crisis? Contact:  The Trevor Project.

If you or anyone you know has experienced sexual violence please contact RAIIN, for Domestic Violence in the US contact The Hotline. Both are available 24/7 by phone or chat in English and Spanish.