Adhesions sufferers often get the monkey advice from doctors. No matter how many times they show up at the doctor's office complaining of pain and hoping for relief, they often leave feeling like the monkey who was jumping on the bed. It doesn't matter if the monkey fell off and bumped his head, the doctor delivers a rather lame answer to the monkey's suffering each and every time the monkey needs medical assistance: NO MORE MONKEYS JUMPING ON THE BED!
"Well, duh," the monkey says, as he rubs his smarting head.
Most adhesions sufferers have received the monkey advice more times than they care to remember, which goes something like this:
"Your tests results were normal."
"Are you depressed?"
"What's going on at home?"
"Are you being abused?"
Skeptical eyes precede each statement, of course; another monkey trait the sufferer knows all too well.
The adhesions sufferer, who had difficulty just making it to the doctor's appointment, must now pay for monkey advice.
As she (he) makes her way back to her car, tears well up in her eyes. The ride back home is often one of complete numbness. There's just something about monkey advice that is so very demeaning to the person whose body is being destroyed by illness and pain.
When my daughter became deathly ill at age thirteen, it seemed we would lose her. Many times her bouts of pain were so severe she was left screaming; her body drenched in perspiration. Even though her pain was obvious, her body deteriorating, we received a lot of monkey advice before a doctor finally chose to diagnose her with Crohn's disease. (A diagnosis that was later proved to be incorrect).
Prior to the diagnosis, however, my husband and I, along with our daughter, suffered further emotional trauma when our daughter was taken aside by a monkey doctor and asked if she was being abused at home. This questioning, perhaps well intended, was not only devastating to my husband and me when we later learned of it, it was also emotionally trying to our child who at such a tender young age knew she was not going to receive help from the doctor who stood before her.
Today, our daughter is well. The journey to wellness however, was fraught with a jungle full of monkeys who chattered meaningless and useless monkey advice, while leaving our daughter to suffer in horrid pain and all the while emptying our pockets in the process.
Yes, there are good (excellent) doctors out there, as it was a doctor (surgeon) who finally brought our child from her living hell. We owe a debt of gratitude to this brilliant surgeon. Our entire family became well when our loved one was finally well.
My passion to promote adhesions awareness is renewed each day when I see the joyful life my daughter now lives. My hope is that no other little girl or family spend countless years trying to machete their way through the jungle of medical monkeys and lame advice while a loved one is left to suffer in pain.
Note: Monkey Advice is an ezine article.
