When Everything Hurts and Nothing is Wrong
Excerpt from a physician-explainer on why “normal tests” don’t always mean good health, and the experience of having an “invisible illness” in a system that relies on visible testing.
The test results were normal. All of them. Again.
Jennifer sat with a blank look on her face as her doctor gave her the results of her tests. Shuffling through a stack of labs, imaging reports, specialist consultations, as though the answer might be there amongst all the “within normal limits.” Everything looked fine on paper.
But Jennifer was not fine.
She was 42 years old and could barely make it through a workday without needing to lie down. Her body ached everywhere. A pervasive pain that made everyday tasks feel like impossible feats. Her brain felt like it was wrapped in cotton. She'd forget words mid-sentence, lose her train of thought, lose her keys every time she put them down. She was exhausted but couldn't sleep. When she did sleep, she woke up feeling like she'd been run over by a semi truck.
"So what's wrong with me?" she asked.
Her doctor shuffled the papers again. Everything was normal. Blood counts are normal. Thyroid normal. Inflammatory markers are normal. MRI normal. Nothing to explain her symptoms.
"Have you considered that this might be stress-related?" he offered gently.
Jennifer’s blank stare revealed what was left of her faith in this process. Too tired for emotion, watching another doctor fumble for any words other than “I can't help you.” she had heard this all before. She'd been to six doctors in three years. She'd had every test. She'd tried every suggestion. The message was always the same: We can't find anything wrong, so maybe it's in your head.
But it wasn't in her head. The pain was real. The exhaustion was real. The cognitive fog was real. She wasn't making it up, and she wasn't just stressed. She was miserable. Mentally, but also physically.
She was suffering. And she had no idea why.
What Your Doctors Don't Know
I used to think I knew a lot about health. I mean, I spent every waking minute of seven years trying to stuff an impossible amount of information into my over-worked, sleep-deprived brain.
But here's what they don't tell you, and what you don’t realize when you're memorizing the cranial nerves at 2 AM or learning to read an EKG while functioning on three hours of sleep: you're learning to be a disease-expert, not a health-expert.
We are brilliantly trained to spot disasters. Give me a patient in respiratory failure in the ER, and I know exactly what to do. Show me labs that suggest sepsis, I’m giving orders like muscle memory. A code blue calls overhead, and I’m off running while going through the med doses in my head, ready to bring someone back from the edge. Ask me how to keep you alive for the next six hours? I’ve got you.
But ask me how to help someone feel good at 80, sleep like they did at 20, keep their joints moving and their mind sharp into their 90s? Ask me why someone is exhausted and in pain despite having completely normal labs?
I'll pause. And then I'll probably say something useless like "diet and exercise" or "have you tried reducing stress?" Which isn’t necessarily wrong. It’s just wildly, hopelessly inadequate.
