Archive for the ‘ My Health ’ Category

My Bicycle Accident

This wasn’t a bad one. I ended up covered with mud (and I mean covered), but only a few scrapes and bruises, and and some torn clothing.

As I was going down the road a truck approached from the other side. a car passed me on the left, going the same way. It knocked me in the ditch to the right of the road. The truck stopped, but the car did not. My bicycle ended up on the other side of the road, in front of the truck, that had stopped.

At first, was I dazed, and could not remember where I lived – or almost anything else. Gradually, it came back to me, and they called an ambulance. A nice man, who had been very helpful, took my bicycle to a sugar mill, which was close by.

The Ambulance took me to my local medical clinic, where they updated my file – and suggested I get a shower, before anything else.

My landlord Ray, who is a RN, gave me some Aloe Vera gel to put on my scrapes.

Now I have have to rent a taxi to go bring my bicycle back home.

Life doesn’t always work out as we planned.

Condemned to Live

Yes, this has amazed me too. Why me? I ask myself, I’m nobody special. But that doesn’t seem to matter. For some reason I will never know, I am here, and the world will have to put up with me for awhile longer.

To be fair, I must give myself some credit for my still being here. My rage saved me. I was determined to get even with the bastards – even though I had no clear idea of who the bastards were.

And I have to give credit to Social Security, who provided my retirement income, and to Costa Rica for a new home to live in. And for all the odds and ends left in the world that keep me entertained – such as the Internet. Life really isn’t so bad. It’s no bowl of cherries, but it’s not so bad.

I even have my drugs: caffeine and alcohol. Believe me, espresso is a drug – and alcohol is so dangerous it kills people all the time. Sugar used to be one of my drugs, but there are now artificial sweeteners that trick your pleasure centers much the same way – without all the calories.

Food is not so important anymore, my metabolism has slowed down so much it doesn’t need much. And I found out long ago that hunger, for me, is good for my bod.

And I have discovered that I do not have to get even with the bastards. As someone else has said: living a good life is the best revenge.

Are Americans More Prone to A.D.H.D.?

NY Times - A Misdiagnosis, Anywhere

There are five responses to this question, and this is the only one that really stands out.

Peter R. Breggin, a psychiatrist in Ithaca, N.Y., is the author of more than 20 books and the director of the Center for the Study of Empathic Therapy, Education and Living.

This paragraph is typical:

Why are the A.D.H.D. diagnosis and the use of stimulants so prevalent in America? The idea that American children are somehow genetically or even culturally predisposed has no scientific or common sense basis. For several decades, starting in the 1970s, drug-company marketing has focused on selling the diagnosis and the drugs to American parents and teachers. As I first documented in my book “Toxic Psychiatry” in 1971, “Astroturf” organizations like Children and Adults with Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder and National Alliance on Mental Illness masquerade as representing families while taking millions of dollars from drug companies in support of their promotion of psychiatric medication for children. The National Institute of Mental Health, the American Psychiatric Association and even the American Neurological Association have promoted the A.D.H.D. diagnosis and stimulant medication, which leads to considerable business for mental health clinicians.

I used to suffer from depression, and I took Prozac as a result. I started out on 20 mg, and ended up at 50 mg. Psychiatrists and psychologists could not do much to help me, so they kept on raising the dosage. Then it was discovered that Prozac was no better than a placebo. I dropped it cold-turkey with no problems at all. The whole Prozac episode was conveniently swept under the rug – after millions had been made, of course.

Psychiatry, Heal Thyself

NY Review - ‘The Illusions of Psychiatry’: An Exchange

The medical profession has always had a poor record of disciplining itself. This is due, I am sure, to the duplicity of the human race itself – it demands that its doctors be superhuman. Anyone knows many instances of medical incompetency from their personal experience – but this does change our respectful, worshipful attitude towards them.

Now that we have the Internet, it would be easy for patients to evaluate their doctors publicly to give other patients the benefit of their experience. This will never happen, because doctors will not permit it – and, I think, their patients will not permit it either.

The one outstanding exception is doctors who are also writers, not an uncommon combination. They take pleasure in debunking their colleagues – often in venues such as the London Review of Books, and the New York Review. These are not read by the general public, but by more discriminating readers, who are better able to evaluate what they read.

As one of those readers, I would like to add my own evaluations of the Psychiatric profession. These have not been frequent, because I could not afford them. But psychologists in the US often form partnerships with them, and refer patients to them to get their medical prescriptions. Since this only requires 10-15 minutes of the Psychiatrist’s time, this is much cheaper. In Costa Rica, I had to pay for a whole hour for one fluent in English, for which he charged American prices.

All of the psychiatrists I worked with were of some of the nicest people imaginable. They could make cogent evaluations quickly. But looking back on it, I have to say they had poor understanding of psychotropic medicine – exactly what they should know the most about.

The story of Prozac is the perfect case in point. When it was first discovered, it created a sensation, and true believers quickly lined up behind it. Religious indignation was also strong – depression was God’s judgement, and should not be defeated! Its manufacturer made millions – and prompted careful clinical trials to judge its effectiveness (after the fact!)

My psychologist back in Silicon Valley, one of the nicest I had ever known, put me on Prozac, with the cooperation of his psychiatrist partner. It was supposed to work miracles – as he assured me and my long-suffering girlfriend at the time.

The standard dosage was 20 milligram, but they started me at 10 mg – since I didn’t seem to be a severe case. This was upped to 20 mg when the magic failed to happen. When I moved to Costa Rica, I was still on 20 mg per day. I was referred to a psychiatrist who spoke Spanish, English, and German fluently. Again, I was very impressed. He increased my dosage to 40 mg, but did not switch me to another medication, as my psychologist expected.

By now, they were many drugs for depression, some of them with entirely different ways of working. Evidently, he did not believe in them. I was suffering from culture shock at the time, which contributed to my perceived depression. He then upped the dosage to 50 mg, a very high dosage that bothered my doctor at the time.

Then the results of the large-scale clinical trials began to come out – Prozac was no more effective than a placebo! By then, I was becoming accustomed to living in Costa Rica, and decided, on my own, to discontinue Prozac entirely – not without some trepidation! I never missed it. Now that I have had my say, I return to the article in the New York Review.

The original article provoked an official rebuke from the American Psychiatric Association itself! They do not like being criticized. Dr. Angell defended herself admirably, I thought. Her main point is that psychiatrists are in bed with the pharmaceutical industry – a charge that can be leveled against doctors in general.

They say they are helpless to combat the pharmaceutical industry, with all its advertising and its helpful representatives,  who are willing to give out free samples. I am not impressed – the medical profession cannot combat the pharmaceutical industry? What kind of profession is this?

I was once a member of another profession: the engineering profession, which at time (perhaps a hundred years ago) had some independence. Not any more – they are only employees of a corporation, which they dare not criticize. The same is true, by and large, of the legal profession – they are also working for the man.

The Epidemic of Mental Illness: Why?

New York Review

This is the first of a two-part review of three books on the subject.

It seems that Americans are in the midst of a raging epidemic of mental illness, at least as judged by the increase in the numbers treated for it. The tally of those who are so disabled by mental disorders that they qualify for Supplemental Security Income (SSI) or Social Security Disability Insurance (SSDI) increased nearly two and a half times between 1987 and 2007—from one in 184 Americans to one in seventy-six. For children, the rise is even more startling—a thirty-five-fold increase in the same two decades. Mental illness is now the leading cause of disability in children, well ahead of physical disabilities like cerebral palsy or Down syndrome, for which the federal programs were created.

Strangely enough, a friend of mine here in Orosi is going to be working for a psychiatrist from the States who will be bringing groups of Americans down with a variety of psychosomatic disorders – some of which will also be hospitalized at times. My friend is just supposed to keep an eye on them, make sure they don’t hurt themselves, take them for walks – or perhaps even play cards with them. She is ecstatic: the perfect job right in her back yard (they will be staying in a resort close to Orosi).

But to get back to the NY Review article – much of which is about the effects of all the new medicines now being heavily used for emotional disorders. The pharmaceutical industry is making a fortune with them – but their effects are dubious, or even harmful.

I have been this route myself – with Prozac. After all the sound and fury about it – and with me being on ever-increasing doses – it was discovered to be no better than a placebo. I dropped it with no serious withdrawal problems.

I was diagnosed with depression – but what I was really suffering from was Silicon Valley (a madhouse if there ever was one) – and then the culture shock of living in Latin America.

I also had experience here with Beth’s emotional problems. At one point, she cracked up completely and ended up on the psych ward at the county hospital. They shot her full of drugs and she recovered – or seemed to. We were told schizophrenia was just an chemical unbalance in the brain – and a cure for it was just around the corner. In reality, nothing changed – her condition worsened, and she ended up killing herself.

I ended up having a dim view of that part of the medical profession.

To me, what is wrong is simple: America has become so crazy it is driving Americans crazy.

Dying by Degrees

This is the way to go, people will tell you: not from a sudden trauma, but gradually, over a long period of time. Don’t believe them, there is no good way to die – and I ought to know.

Being run over by a truck has its advantages: no complicated explanations are necessary, and the whole thing is over quickly. Everybody assumes it was not your fault – even if it was.

When you get progressively feebler, mentally and physically – people can’t help feeling you are not trying hard enough. Maybe you haven’t been eating enough Wheaties. Maybe old age is some kind of disease the really clever could avoid – or at least put off for awhile longer, with no serious consequences.

You even begin to feel that way about yourself: “What can’t I be as sharp as I used to be?” Loving your decrepit self gets harder and harder – not that it was ever that easy.

Fasting is no Longer a Religious Practice

Fasting was an important practice in early and medieval Christianity, but it has fallen out of fashion. In our instant-gratification, get-rich-quick culture we cannot deny ourselves anything, especially food.

Like anything else, fasting can be misunderstood – as those suffering from Anorexia nervosa have, but its basic purpose is simple: by denying ourselves this gratification, we can concentrate our mental energy elsewhere – hopefully, someplace better.

The medical benefits of a low-calorie diet are well-known, but almost never followed – because this also requires a mental discipline few possess – here again, one of the benefits of a fasting practice.

In researching this I noted that the Mormons still have this practice – as does Islam.

Fungus in the Blood

Latin American is home to some virulent species of fungus – and some of them like people. I have been fighting a fungus infection of the large toenails for nearly a year. I even have a therapist, Wendy, who specializes in this. I enjoy having her work on my feet (I love being pampered in any way), but progress has been slow – even though she constantly assures me that “everything is getting better”.

This week I had an appointment with my doctor, and I showed him my toenails. At one time he had me on the latest fungus medicine, taking a pill a day for three months, each of which cost $2. I have spent hundreds of dollars on the things. He agreed that my regime of carefully applying a liquid every other day, accompanied with a careful work-over of the surface of the nail, was the right thing to do. But fungus was still coming from underneath.

I was surprised, “What do you mean?” I asked. He explained that most Ticos have fungus infections residing in their blood, and this can result in fungal infections in all  kinds of places, such as the ear or the tongue – or even the stomach. He prescribed a pill for me to take once a week.

This reminded me that a friend of our family, who was a missionary living in the high desert of Mexico (Bob Fishburn) had died of a fungal infection of the lungs. The doctors could do nothing to save him. This was an entirely different climate from damp, warm, Costa Rica – but fungus were active there too.

Tropical diseases are a specially all of their own – and often they aren’t much help.

No Kayaking for this Old Dog

I just got back from a trip to Turrialba, a town on the east edge of the central mesa, down which a number of rivers cascade on their way to the Caribbean. I wanted to learn kayaking and go on trips down some of them. Everybody was doing rafting, but I wanted to be different.

You know the saying “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” Painful as it is for me to admit, it is sometimes true. I grew up on the Mississippi River, and spent a lot of time there in our little rowboat. I considered myself a river rat. Beth and I had a Klepper folding kayak, and once did a trip down the Sacramento River. But white water rafting is something else – as I found out in a hurry.

These white water kayaks are little things, not much bigger than you are, and you don’t sit in them, you wear them. They are naturally unstable, this is what makes them so maneuverable, but this also means you can easily end up going down a river upside down.

I signed up for two hours of classes, but for logistical reasons they decided to through in a half-day raft trip too, for the same price: $75, all on the Pejibaye River. By the end of the day I was dead.

Rafting is a lot of FUN, I found that out, and that is why it is so popular. It doesn’t take much skill, only 10 minutes of safety instruction – and then you are getting soaking wet, and loving every minute of it.

Kayaking, by contrast is more expensive. Everyone has to have his own kayak. But six people can easily be accommodated on one raft. I spent $100 on a one day trip, including a hotel room for two days. This was relatively inexpensive, but far more than my budget can afford.

Bicycle Accident

Me and my bicycle almost disappeared down a drainage culvert today.

There is a one-way suspension bridge for vehicles just south of Orosi. This is a little tricky to navigate for an old-timer on a bicycle like me. A small bus was patiently waiting for me to cross on the other side, and that made me nervous. As I swung around the bus to the right, I didn’t notice a large hole disguised by weeds directly on the side of the road. This was the opening to a drainage culvert going under the road to the river.

Plop! Down we went, head first. The top of my head hit the the edge of the concrete and that stopped our fall. Two men jumped out of their cars and pulled both of us (me and my bike) out of the hole. They carefully walked me to the restaurant nearby, made me sit down, and got me a glass of water.

Fortunately, I was wearing a bicycle helmet, and only got a mild headache out of the episode – but it cut short the much longer ride I was planning today.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 386 other followers