A Continuation of the Chronic Pain Series
Once upon a time, trust helped define medicine.
When reassurance from your doctor was a hand on your shoulder, not risk; when telling the truth about pain, medication, and the limits of endurance didn't make you a suspect.
I hate typing this, but those days are gone, and in their place stands a system built on fear, suspicion, and the quiet collapse of compassion.
What you'll be reading isn't isolated cries from the dark; these stories are proof of what happens when bureaucracy replaces any judgment from the bedside and when the war on opioids becomes a war on the sick.
Fear Behind the Mask
Incognito, asking to remain anonymous for reasons far too common:
Isn't that disgusting that we have to live in fear over this? Doctors are suspicious of patients, patients are suspicious of doctors, and pharmacists are suspicious of both. The people who don't understand will throw "pharma shill" and "junkie" at us for speaking about this very real situation. I have been in this fight for about 10 years, and it keeps getting worse. I don't know how long it'll take, but more people need to speak up.
Incognito's story stretches back to a childhood illness and a body that betrayed her early, followed by a system that later betrayed her. Nothing major, just pneumonia at six weeks, rheumatic fever at 10, a herniated disc at 14, and years of sciatica after that. She did, through it all, what Americans have been taught to do: work hard, stay tough, and trust that the promise of medicine was solid.
After years of dismissals, she finally received an adhesive arachnoiditis diagnosis, finding herself in the care of one of the few specialists still willing to treat patients targeted by regulators. Even after being hounded for daring to practice compassion, she said, "God sent me an angel."
The fear she held was vivid.
The addiction industry and the mass tort lawyers, with the help of some NGOs and others, have made torturing us their favorite gig. I was terrified of becoming addicted. I asked my husband to tell me if I showed signs… that never happened.
She did one thing wrong, something that hasn't even been considered—not once—a crime of trust. That trust, once sacred between doctor and patient, was turned against her.
From the Front Lines of Medicine
Then came a critical care nurse, John G., who witnessed the crisis firsthand. John G. remembered when hospitals tied Medicare and Medicaid reimbursements to patient satisfaction surveys, when healing was reduced to a popularity contest for bureaucrats.
Medicare/Medicaid reimbursement for ER visits is/was dependent on patient satisfaction ratings. The higher the rating percentage, the higher the payout. If your facility had an 80% rating, you were paid 80% of reimbursements. One of the criteria for patient satisfaction is the question, "Was your pain adequately addressed during your visit?" The hospital administrations pushed the campaign "Pain is the fifth vital sign." Starting treatment with non-narcotics resulted in too many "poor" reviews. So what used to be patient orders for Tylenol and Motrin became orders for Vicodin and Percocet, and finally Dilaudid and Fentanyl cocktails. Medications like Toradol, which provide not only pain relief but also relax the ureters, making passing a kidney stone easier, were no longer being prescribed. Patients went home with family-sized medicine bottles of potent narcotics. Anxiety disorders were no longer treated with primary mental health therapy; Valium, Ativan, and Xanax became the quick fix.
A campaign sold as compassion became the poison. The government wanted to improve the quality of health care and created millions of addicts. The backswing of the pendulum now deprives patients who have an actual need for these medications of relief.
John watched good nurses turn into glorified compliance officers as pain clinics shuttered, destroying families.
Instead of distinguishing between compassion and indulgence, the system punished both.
Punished for Doing the Right Thing
In Montana, Les W. learned the hard way that honesty is a liability. He shares a simple, but brutal story: a lost pill bottle, a documented car accident, a good-faith call, and the result of a sixty-day punishment.
At the beginning of June, I took my newly repaired car on a 3-day road trip. Day 3, I was in an accident. Had to completely remove everything from the trunk of the car (in a bad spot along a dangerous highway roadside) to show the tow driver that, no, this vehicle did not ship with a spare tire. During all the stress and ruction, the prescription bottle ("always take the bottle when you travel") was somehow lost. It's likely sitting on that same roadside in Idaho. To be a good, compliant patient, I reported the loss first thing the very morning after, when I'd finally gotten back home. I expected some sympathy and a refill, but NOOOOOOO. Lose your pill bottle, no matter that you showed them the AAA towing report to prove the accident happened, no matter what, and there is no replacement for you. Sixty-plus full days of suffering for you, peasant, until we might, maybe, consider renewing your prescription.
Les did everything right, exactly as instructed, yet his reward was agony and humiliation. Although the word "peasant" might seem harsh, Les used it for a reason because that's how the system makes people like him feel: small, guilty, undeserving of relief.
Initially, the Hippocratic Oath promised "... do no harm," but now it's "cover yourself first!"
A Soldier’s Reward
Finally, a 23-year Army veteran and retired law enforcement officer, Jeff, shared his story with the plain, unfiltered pain of a person who once trusted both the system and the uniform he wore.
I have an AC Separation of my L shoulder in 2018 can not get the VA to fix it and they say it is not line of duty but my right shoulder was given a labral abridgement and roto-rooter when I came back from Kuwait. 2 L knee surgeries done by the Army, broken C4-C6, L mastoidectomy because of a cholesteatoma and ear drum rupture and impacted kidney stones I was told was from the water I drank from the 19 different nations I was sent to flooded my system with minerals my kidneys were not able to deal with unless there was an overabundance of water consumed to flush them out.
His prescription list reads something like a pharmacy ledger, including: gabapentin, baclofen, duloxetine, tizanidine, and zolpidem. If you know the names of generic medicines, you'll notice that not a single one provides the relief of a painkiller.
... the VA does not do painkillers at all, and when I go to get shoulder injections, that doc can't or won't give me even a pill for the night following the injection.
The cruelty, as subtle and quiet as a belch, was thorough.
“When I go for shoulder injections, that doc can’t or won’t give me even a pill for the night following the injection. I got 15 Tylenol 3 six months ago. I hardly leave my house because of the pain.”
After faithfully serving his country for over twenty years, that same country treats him as a liability.
The Trust We Lost
There's a common threat among these stories: it's not just pain, but betrayal —not by a single doctor or hospital, but by an entire system that replaces compassion with control.
Although the DEA claims it's protecting Americans from addiction, the only thing it's actually protecting is its bureaucracy through raids, audits, and regulations, which terrify providers into silence.
The results?
Incognito, John, Les, and Jeff are the casualties of a moral war, fought with data and denial.
I have a couple of questions.
When did empathy become evidence of guilt?
When did telling the truth start feeling like a risk?
If American medicine has any moral backbone left, it's being held up by people like these four who keep speaking despite the pain, fear, and silence from those in power.
Final Thoughts
If these stories could serve as evidence in the quiet trial of American medicine, then the witnesses are the patients, doctors, and veterans—people who once believed that trust was still part of the prescription. Unfortunately for all involved, that trust has been shattered.
The DEA didn't just hamstring the doctor-patient bond; it turned things into a hostage exchange, where bureaucrats held compassion at gunpoint, causing doctors to look over their shoulders instead of into their patients' eyes.
Somewhere along the line, the mission of mercy became a paper chase.
What's lost are the people in pain, the ones following the rules; caregivers and veterans who bled for our flag suddenly became the collateral damage of fear.
Not the dealers, profiteers, or the good people: only the ones who did everything right.
If anybody can find evidence of medicine's moral backbone, they'll find it in those who still trust enough to share their stories.
Trust is the first casualty of cruelty, and the only cure that can bring humanity back into the equation.
Got a Story to Tell?
You know the story; if you live with chronic pain, if you've been dismissed, doubted, or punished by the very system initially designed to help you, I want to hear from you!
We don't need a novel or polished sentences; just tell the truth in your own words: what they took from you—your mobility, your livelihood, and your trust.
Share as much or as little as you'd like, staying anonymous if you wish. By now, I hope you know that I'm not a bureaucrat, researcher, or activist; I'm a victim of chronic pain, just like you, but also a writer trying to help you be heard.
Let's leave the sensationalism to the Democrats in Congress. This is about accountability, putting real names, or when necessary, pseudonyms, to the quiet suffering that policymakers pretend doesn't exist.
Follow this link and include MY NAME in the subject line so I will receive it directly. If you'd prefer to remain anonymous, say so; otherwise, I'll simply use your first name and state.
This is important: remember, you're not alone in this. Maybe, just maybe, by sharing your story, you'll remind the people who caused all this pain—behind our pain—that America still has a conscience and is speaking back.
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