The right side of my face has caved in slightly, and my right eye droops, most obviously in the mornings. I asked a plastic surgeon if this caving will continue. “I don’t know,” she said.
My nose and eyes are miserably dry. When I wake in the morning, I feel like I have two hot pokers shoved up my nostrils. This, I have been told, is the feeling of the nerves dying off, as turbinate tissue atrophies. My eyes are glued shot by pus. I feel too exhausted to get up and start relieving the distress. I know the routine will take hours. Welcome to a new day.
When I do get up and look in the mirror, I see a ruined face—swellings and wrinkles, a drooping eye and a disfigured nose. I have just received a diagnosis of osteoarthritis, in my hips. I cannot breathe well enough to get through a technical support phone call to solve a computer glitch. Formerly, I worked in customer service. I spend hours daily ministering to the needs of this iatrogenic (medically-caused) incurable condition. I have spent thousands of dollars on products, many of them worthless.
Every day, I wonder that a doctor can do this much harm, and there can be nothing I can do about it. Not only can I do nothing about it, but I am the villain. Terrible me to say that I am suffering! How dare I suggest that a doctor harmed me!
All of this suffering and loss was caused by a doctor. Other doctors, to whom I have turned for help, have added to my suffering. Still others have done nothing to help. What I have learned about the medical profession is horrifying. A fellow ENS sufferer asked me recently, “How long until this house of cards falls?”