AbretusOjos

WHEN DID WE BECOME A SOCIETY THAT CAN LOOK AT A BEDBOUND HUMAN BEING AND FEEL ABSOLUTELY NOTHING? I’ve been reading heartbreaking accounts on my timeline. Husbands. Wives. Sons. Daughters. People who once worked, walked, competed in professional sports, participated in life, now confined to their beds after losing access to pain medication that helped them function. Not lounging in bed. LIVING IN BED! Twenty-three hours a day. Dependent on caregivers for food, bathing, sometimes even a bedpan. And somehow, we’ve reached a point where that level of human suffering can be met with another shrug. To every physician, nurse, policymaker, and healthy person reading this: I challenge you to watch Unrest, the extraordinary 2017 documentary by Jennifer Brea. It documents the devastating reality of myalgic encephalomyelitis (ME), commonly called ME/CFS. Even the term “chronic fatigue syndrome” has been criticized for trivializing a profoundly disabling multisystem illness. This isn’t being tired. This is a disease that steals someone’s ability to tolerate light, sound, conversation, or even sitting upright. The CDC estimates up to ONE IN FOUR people with ME/CFS become homebound or bedbound at some point. And ME isn’t the only illness that can imprison someone in a bedroom. Severe, inadequately treated chronic pain can devastate mobility, independence, and quality of life, too. Now, about opioids. We don’t wake up one morning and decide prescription opioids sound like a fun lifestyle choice. Many of us have endured years of specialists, procedures, physical therapy, medications, failed treatments, and endless documentation before arriving at opioid therapy. We understand the risks. We live with the stigma. We don’t want the medication. We want the FUNCTION that effective pain relief can sometimes give us. The ability to shower. Prepare a meal. Walk the dog. Hug our children. Participate in the world. And yes, opioids aren’t appropriate or effective for everyone. But when an established treatment demonstrably improves someone’s function, removing it without individualized consideration can have devastating consequences. Even the CDC warns against abrupt discontinuation of long-term opioid therapy. So tell me, Dr. Jane Doe: When your patient becomes bedbound, when their entire world shrinks to the dimensions of a mattress, at what point does preserving your professional comfort become more important than investigating their suffering? A BED IS SUPPOSED TO BE A PLACE OF REST. NOT A LIFE SENTENCE! Watch Unrest once. (I’ve watched it 4 times) Sit with the discomfort. Then imagine that the person on the screen is someone you love. Compassion shouldn’t require personal tragedy. And humanity should never be an optional part of healthcare. The YouTube link to Unrest will be in the replies. The short footage accompanying this post is from The Golden Girls, Season 5, Episode 2, “Sick and Tired, Part 2” (1989), featuring Bea Arthur as Dorothy Zbornak confronting the physician who dismissed her illness. Think about that. In 1989, a fictional television character was demanding the same dignity, compassion, and medical accountability that real patients are still fighting for in 2026. Thirty-seven years later, Dorothy’s confrontation remains painfully relevant. For countless patients who have been dismissed, disbelieved, or made to feel invisible, she gave voice to words we wish we’d been able to say ourselves. Different decades. Same dismissals. Same suffering. How many more years must patients beg to be believed before medicine finally listens?

There is a point in chronic pain where seeking medical care stops feeling reassuring. It starts feeling risky. You begin walking into appointments wondering what will be documented. What will be misunderstood. Whether admitting you’re scared will be mistaken for exaggeration. Whether asking for help will make you look difficult. Whether saying your medication works will somehow be used against you. Whether showing distress makes you “unstable.” Whether showing too little distress makes you “fine.” So you start editing yourself. You soften your language. You leave things out. You choose your words carefully. You try to appear sick enough to be believed, but not so sick that you are judged. And that is a terrible position to put a patient in. Healthcare should not require performance. Pain should not require persuasion. And treatment should never hinge on a suffering patient’s ability to convince someone they are worthy of being believed.