Three and a half weeks ago I crashed my mountain bike riding downhill over a jump in Epping Forest, trying to keep up with my 9 year old who is perfectly comfortable being airbourne. I somersaulted in mid air landing on my back, then bounced onto my head and back onto my back (or something that felt like that). The small backpack I was carrying with tools, snacks and spare tubes, dug into my back on the right side of my chest and I was winded, speechless and in a lot of pain. My ride home was exquisitely painful. I diagnosed myself with 2 fractured ribs at the back of my chest and one at the front on the right side and one at the front on the left – I could feel a small step and some movement where they hurt, and still, sleep is almost impossible, sneezing agony and I cannot find any painkillers that do much (apart from 100mg diclofenac suppositories which give me about 5 hours relative relief)
I went back to work the day after the crash – GP partners have a ‘shadow contract’ which stipulates that we shall continue working up until the point of death and for a minimum of another month after that.
It’s still painful, but I can ride to work (10km) so long as I don’t stand up or change speed too quickly.
I’ve begun to notice small signs of improvement and changes to the nature of the pain. More and more it seems to hurt deep inside – where my liver is. I’ve been telling my (non-medical) wife that my liver feels bruised.
Yesterday a partner came back to work after maternity leave, noticed my discomfort and asked what happened. “How do you know you haven’t got a liver haemorrhage?!” she asked, aghast. I let this sink in while my attention drifted into and around my ache.
Ever since then it’s been impossible to shift the focus of my concern. Now it’s my liver that hurts more than my ribs and the nature has become more of a tense, dull, livery kind of pain and less of a sharp, crunchy ribby kind of pain. I’ve given up alcohol for a month and paracetamol and have started being more cautious with how I move.
Simply being more focused on ‘a bleeding liver’ has changed my pain perception and my pain behaviour. It definitely ‘feels like’ my liver is swollen and engorged with a big blood clot. If I have a scan and can see how much or how little damage there is (as represented by the scan) how will I feel then? If it’s ok, will the pain resolve, will I celebrate with a drink? If not, will I worry more and if it looks bad, will the pain get worse and more ‘livery’?
I don’t know.
The iatrogenic harm (harm done by the things doctors say and do) that comes from a suggestion is significant, but largely overlooked – by doctors at least, except perhaps by GPs who are constantly picking up the pieces after their patients have attended A&E with unexplained symptoms onto which an enthusiastic junior doctor has attached a list of possible diagnoses that their daft old GP couldn’t possible have thought of. Our patients come back to see us saying – “the hospital told me you have to refer me / arrange a scan …” Furthermore the more tests we do, scans/blood tests etc. the more abnormalities will show up that are unrelated to any disease or adverse prognosis, but are a reminder that our bodies are flawed and imperfect. A reminder that may make us actually feel unwell.
By not presenting myself to hospital, but avoiding a scan, I’m avoiding a diagnosis, a label and a cascade of interventions. I’m also evading the potential indignity of poor care and invalidation. I’ve had a lot of A&E and follow up hospital visits in the last year of cycling related trauma and the petty humiliations: being ignored, nobody introducing themselves, being patronised and condescended to, upset me. But also it’s upsetting because I / we are all representatives of the NHS and these petty humiliations are symbolic of a service that is failing. And this is another kind of pain I’m keen to avoid.