Monday, at 8 a.m. sharp I arrived at the office of a physician who does research in FTD. Selchietracker as always my faithful companion accompanied me. The physician’s office is affiliated with a local medical school. I had been to other clinics in this medical school for various reasons and not been satisfied with the physician’s diagnosis and/or treatment.
I was willing to give this physician a chance. He had been recommended by a person at National Conference for FTD which Selchietracker attended a few months ago.
After we were escorted to his office and we met the doctor, the first thing I realized was that I had met him before. I had worked in the local medical community for several years dealing with many physicians so I assume that I have met him somehow in that capacity.
Unfortunately, because we are in transition and about to move again, Selchietracker could not locate the disc which contained my MRI film at the last-minute when we were walking out the door. He did bring documentation from a doctor who diagnosed me at Johns Hopkins as well as the results of the MRI and other tests as well as her conclusion and findings.
He asked us what we wanted from him, confirmation of diagnosis? Did we seek treatment options-he quickly answered there was no treatment, or he asked, did we need further information?
Selch explained that we would like to identify what strain of FTD I might have and find out further information about research trials, etc.
First the doctor bragged about their extensive collection of autopsy slides for FTD patients. Apparently they have the largest number of autopsy slides for FTD in the country. Well that was okay but not very helpful to me since I am still the walking wounded.
Next, he put me through a battery of neuropsychiatric evaluations. Any of you who have had to do these tests or watch your loved one with FTD complete these tests know that it is no fun to not remember simple words. I especially fear the dreaded count back in 7’s from 100. I can never get past the first few, major mental block. Or the pictures you are required to draw of the connecting shapes and a three dimensional square. My pathetic attempt looked like the work of a three-year old and to add insult to injury, he told me he was labeling my work with my name. Come on, enough of kindergarten.
Then he did the usual neuro exam. I know the drill well. I could probably perform the exam blindfolded without the assistance of the doctor. Of course, nothing wrong there except his breath. I do wish doctors would check their breath before approaching a patient. There is nothing like being poked and prodded and having to hold your nose.
After the exam, we discussed my history of symptoms. He asked a few appropriate questions. Then came the true test. What about my behavior? Selch proudly proclaimed that despite my other symptoms commonly associated with FTD including apathy towards activities of daily living , that I was still a compassionate person who understood the affects of my illness.
Despite the fact that the physician had not reviewed my MRI and did have ample evidence from a doctor from Johns Hopkins who specializes in FTD that I did have FTD, he proclaimed I did not have FTD because my behavior was not appropriate.
Because of my problems and reactions to nightmares, he conceded that I did probably have Lewy bodies.
For a brief description about Lewy bodies see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lewy_body
For more information about Lewy bodies and FTD see: http://ftdtheotherdementia.com/whatisftd.html
Selch explained to the doctor that there is a variant of FTD that has Lewy bodies.
The doctor stubbornly remarked that he had seen thousands of FTD patients (FTD is supposed to be still considered rare and it isn’t as if he is attached to a major FTD clinic, so did he mean thousands of live people or thousands of autopsy slides that he mentioned previously) and every single one of them male and female had a history of acting out and not understanding anything about their illness.
I told him that I could produce six people diagnosed with FTD who are able to attend a weekly chat and discuss their disease process.
He gave no response.
So, he wished us luck and suggested we send him a copy of my MRI. I think we will be heading to greener pastures. We are moving closer to a well-known clinic for FTD patients so I think we will continue down the yellow brick road to meet Oz.
Because, because of the wonderful things a good physician does, like PET scans, etc.
I realize the best way to get a functional MRI,more complex scans or trial treatment is to be enrolled in a study. Am I willing to be a guinea pig? I’ve been poked, prodded, scanned, panned, scoped, doped and have never lost hope since I was a small child.
I still firmly believe that there are many others like me that are out there but they haven’t been diagnosed. Most neurologists don’t know much about FTD. If depression and anxiety are the first features, then the patient is likely to do a lot of couch time. I went to many doctors for many years before a doctor discovered that I had a complex regional pain syndrome, with a domino effect other diagnoses fell into line .
I was diagnosed with FTD because of Selch’s practice of smoothly prodding doctors to order tests needed to evaluate my condition. Also, we have learned when presented with an abnormal lab result or other abnormal finding that cannot quickly be explained away, we will seek multiple consultations until we are satisfied with a diagnosis or have reached a temporary point where we have to stop until other doors open up in the future.
I love when we go to Manhattan to see one of my doctors. While we are on the streets and Selch is rolling my wheelchair down the uneven sidewalks ,I always see someone with a poster that proclaims one thing or another. I also think of those comedians who say, “Here’s Your Sign” and “You might be a redneck if…”. I imagine rolling around holding a poster that says IF YOU HAVE THE FOLLOWING SYMPTOMS YOU MIGHT HAVE FTD SO GET HELP NOW WHILE YOU STILL HAVE A LIFE TO LIVE.
Instead I remain in my “sick” recliner, preaching to the choir. Maybe, someday, somewhere, someone will find me.