John Friedlich

Chain Letter Health Services

(This is a satire. It is not to be taken seriously and I do not condone this system actually being utilized. The use of any medical treatments without the guidance of a professional medical practitioner can be dangerous. The distribution of prescription drugs by those not licensed to do so is also illegal. It would also put a great many very nice people out of business. That said…)

Want Effective Medical Treatments Quickly and Inexpensively?

No calls to your doctor or office visits required.

Before you become skeptical or think this is another one of those magic bullet promises please read this in entirety.

This is not a commercial promotion. It is not a ploy to get you to purchase the latest sea scum treatment, a new extra strength magnetic defunculator, or a recruitment to have margaritas at a south of the boarder dispensary. It is not an effort to convince you to personally subsidize the impoverished pharmaceutical industry, or a solicitation for the HMO Harry and Louise established when they realized the Republicans knew where the money is.

Its implementation has never been considered for integration into a national health care system. It could offer medical care at significantly reduced cost to consumers while eliminating the insurance industry from its self imposed pivotal role in your life. It would greatly facilitate getting the government and doctors out of the health care business.

This system is not sanctioned by the American Medical Association, the American Hospital Association, the Pharmaceutical Association of America, the American Association of Insurance Underwriters, or the Public Health Department. Need I say more?

Now that you know what it isn’t let me tell you what it did for me and can do for you.

I had grown very frustrated at the lengthy time it took to see physicians and reading all the dog-eared magazines in the waiting rooms. I made endless trips to the pharmacy only to be told that my prescriptions were not ready, and danced with the insurance company way too often. For all that the health care system had to offer, I had spent an inordinate amount of time, energy and money without getting any healthier. Then a letter came introducing me to Chain Health Services (CHS). I too was skeptical, but desperation drove me to giving it a try. That was a month ago. Now I received all my medications and medical supplies delivered to my door at no cost. As an additional benefit I’ve met a lot of wonderful people and gotten a lot of treatment advice. Now I want to share these benefits with others.

Instructions:
1. Go to your medical cabinet and get out 5 prescriptions, medical supplies, or health related pieces of paraphernalia you are no longer use. Send one item to each person on the enclosed list. Also enclose a friendly note and offer related advice. In this way you are offering a medical service. Chain Health Services is a “service,” so you need not worry about Title 18,h sections 1302 NS 1341 of the Postal Lottery Laws that regulate the use of postal services for chain letters.

2. Eliminate the top name on the list (number 1). Move all the names up one and add your name and address to the bottom of the list (number 5).

3. With your name added, send the list and these instructions to 15 people. You are now in the Chain Health Services mail order business.

4. Within a few weeks you will receive all the prescriptions, medical supplies, and health related pieces of paraphernalia you could possible need. Retain a copy of these instructions in case you need any more in the future.

5. Keep a list of all those who send you items. Such a list can be a valuable resource and you can actually sell the names to brokers for extra profits.

Note:
Retain a copy of every letter you send or receive. They will be proof that you are providing a service in case the IRS, Post Office, or other government approach you. Odds are they won’t though since they will be so pleased that you are contributing to this revolutionary approach to health care for all.

Remember:
Chain Health Services can only succeed if you participate. Feel proud that you have been able to do more for advancing health care services than the 103rd and 104th Congress was able to. Please do your part now to become a member of this growing movement. Help return health care to the consumers.

1. Laura Inklesdorf
126 N. Templeton Rd.
Tucson, Az 86024

2. Jeff Brooks
18 Dove Terrace
Seattle, WA 76486

3. Ellen Dickson
42 Hilltop Lane #15
Witchita, KS 61720

4. Donna Finch
84 Riverbottom La.
Richmond, VA 21808

5. Andrew Bates
240 Sandbar Rd.
Duluth, MS 49123

The following testimonials are from satisfied participants in the Chain Health Services system.

Dear Chain Health Services participants,
For many years I had been a very frustrated consumer of traditional health care services. All it did for my was add to my medical problems and drain my bank account. While I have had to driving an 8 year old Yugo the chief executive officer of my HMO drives a brand new Porsche.

Then I tried the alternative route. When I asked my insurance company if they would cover dandelion root suppositories and a magnetic repolarization healing chamber the line went dead. I had to sell my Yugo. I then became a distributor of some all natural products and told lots of people how much they helped me. I think it was really all the walking I was doing until my feet got too soar and I had to stay at home. Finally I became a telephone solicitor, but that was a big improvement because less people hated me and thanks to my insurance company I was accustomed to be hung up on.

Finally a friend introduced me to Chain Health Services. Now I get all the health care products I need for free, but that’s not the best of it. I’ve had to lease a warehouse and I have a lucrative business selling health care products to all the local hospitals. And the chief executive officer of my old HMO gets really miffed when I pass him in my red Ferrari.

Thank you to all those who have taken part in the Chain Health Services system. If anyone considering participating in Chain Health Services wants to speak to me please feel free to call me at the New England Polo Club in Prides Crossing, Massachusetts.

Very sincerely,
Always smiling

To whom it may concern,
For many years I had direct deposit for my payroll check. It didn’t go to the bank at all — it went to my medical insurance company and all those I had purchased medical products and services from. When Mastercard called me to say that my account was past due I told them Blue Cross was supposed to be sending me a reimbursement check and they could call there. The woman laughed and said, “No. They leave everyone on hold the same way we do.” I said, “We can practice what you preach” and left her on hold. I tried 18 more doctors and 74 more treatments before the bank cut me off.

Then one day a letter came about Chain Health Services. I didn’t believe it. I’ve wallpapered my bedroom with all the lottery tickets that never won. A month later some else sent me the same thing. I figured why not; I had several things that had never helped my medical problems. Not long after I sent out my old pills and my letters I was getting every treatment I had ever wondered about. I also started selling my list of names to yacht brokers, vacation clubs, and other lucrative companies. Mastercard now calls me asking if I want a gold card.

Very grateful,
Dan Blake

Dear Friends,
Not long ago I had spent almost an entire afternoon in a waiting room for a 10 minute check up with my doctor, Dr. Dandy. Finally I was brought into an examination room. As the Dr. Dandy whisked in and out some papers fell from his pocket. I picked it up and the first one was about Chain Health Services. The second one was a newsletter about gold futures and the third one was a letter to the hospital about his taking early retirement. I knew he couldn’t be doing that well as a proctologist. When I asked him about it he smiled and said his new career was very much the same, only that it wasn’t patients he was sticking it up the rear end to, but the medical system. He said the income and perks were a lot better and he wouldn’t have to see any more patients.

I decided to scope it out. Sure enough, I found several other very healthy wealthy people who are part of Chain Health Services. I can’t say I have gotten rich from Chain Health Services yet, but I am able to play golf every Tuesday afternoon with Dr. Dandy and tennis on Thursday mornings with him. What’s really nice is that I now get to see him for more than 10 minutes at a time and he never tells me to bend over. Well, not for the same reason.

Thank you Chain Health Services
Jennifer Thompson

Phyllis Griffiths

Brainfog

I sit, staring…
My mind gone blank..
Nothingness is my thoughts
My eyes see but do not..
I see through a camera lens
Remote and removed from me.
I see but do not see…
all is surreal, all is distorted.

The act of thought is difficult,
slow and painful.
Pain throbs inside my skull
as I reach for a word..
an understanding.
Memory is buried,
disjointed, inaccessible.
Language pauses and retreats.

To see is not to comprehend.
Vision distorts as if
by the very act of concentration
energy is diverted,
circuts disrupted.
Blinding flashes explode
in my brain, in my mind.
Pain blinds me.

Sounds confuse me,
startle me.
Vision and thought are interrupted..
disrupted..
A jolt of lightning unleashed,
body fibers erupt in pain.
I must retreat
into silence.

I sit, unmoving…
My body is on slow motion mode.
To force motion hurts…
muscles resist, tremble,
jerk and spasm..
or go limp and useless.
I must think first, then do…
without direction, without focus
the body sits…
sluggish, unresponsive from within.
I operate my body by remote.

Anonymous

On the Importance of Pets

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I have often asked myself WHY I let one beloved creature after another into my life, my home and my heart. We all know going in that the odds favour us outliving them, and each loss is so heartbreaking. Those who have never loved or been loved by an animal (makes you wonder, doesn’t it?) can’t begin to understand the extent of our emotional attachment to these precious beasts. It has been years and years, but still I mourn for my darling Beardog. People say “oh for god’s sake, he was only a DOG.” I beg to differ. He was family. He loved us. He was devoted to my children. He had a personality and a sense of humour.

And he trusted us implicitly. Never was that trust more evident than the night we lost him. I had rushed him to the vet at something like 9 p.m. As he lay there on the table, in terrible anguish (we never did find out what was wrong with him), I was torn to shreds by indecision. The vet had told me there was a slim chance we could keep him alive long enough to run the dx’tic tests which might tell us what was wrong and that if he lived long enough, we might be able to treat him. But he was perilously dehydrated and in unspeakable pain. While I debated, Bear looked up at me and as clearly as if he had spoken, I “heard” a single word: PLEASE. I turned to the vet and said “do it.” I put my forehead to Bear’s and he stared into my eyes with absolute love and trust. I could feel the vet moving around beside me. Seconds later, my Beardog heaved a great sigh and was gone. Oh lord how we howled, the kids and I. I’m crying now as I remember that terrible night. And I wonder how I ever managed to bring myself to risk my heart again with another dog.

But what’s the alternative? Deprive ourselves of the joys of their companionship? That would be like avoiding human friendship because we fear we may experience pain sometime in the future. And where else do we find such acceptance, such unconditional love? Where else will we find someone who doesn’t judge us by our looks, our race, our financial status, our social standing…our state of health? They don’t see those things, they see *us*. Not only do they give us love, they give us laughter and a reason to get up in the morning (even if sometimes it’s a mite earlier than we’d like 🙂

It’s no easy thing. We take them into our hearts and hope they will live long, happy lives. We do everything we can to ensure just that. Under the circumstances, it’s the best we can do. I know I have no alternative; I can’t imagine life without my crazy crew. I can’t imagine life without at least a couple of cats and a dog; I’d die of loneliness! Well, all that aside, for every heartbreaking story, there’s a happy one. For every tragedy, there’s a miracle. Through the dark threads of worry and grief are woven bright threads of joy, companionship, love and loyalty. I guess that’s what makes it worthwhile.

Anonymous

Hysterical??

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It has been suggested that we “hysterically” manifest our symptoms (consciously or unconsciously) in order to gain sympathy from friends, family and the medical community, and/or a “free ride” courtesy of the government. Those not “in the know” often believe we enjoy countless perks. Almost all of us have heard, at some time or another, someone say something like “Gee, I’m tired all the time too! I wish I could just lie around all day and not have to worry about going to work or keeping up with the housework.”

I have just emerged, bloodied and somewhat bowed, from a fruitless discussion (one of many) with yet another doc. I have lost count of the discussions I’ve had…with doctors and other non-believers…about how my deepest psyche must have a reason (one I can’t or won’t recognise on a conscious level) for presenting me with these symptoms I persist in believing in. EVEN THOUGH I NOW HAVE EMPIRICAL EVIDENCE that something is rotten in the state of Denmark (the kicker being that this doctor is questioning the validity of tests in general and mine in particular). I can state in emphatic terms til I feel synapses frying themselves to a crisp from the effort, that I am rapidly going broke broke broke, that I don’t get any government handouts, that I have been forced to give up all of life’s little pleasures (and I do mean all of them except, occasionally, reading…and that not of my former standard or volume…and, occasionally, a shopping expedition in which I must do as much damage as possible in as short a time as possible since I have no idea when I’ll be able to leave the house again), that I get no sympathy from anyone, that all my “friends” have disappeared (putting in an appearance only when there’s something they want from me), that I deal daily with emotionally debilitating scorn and disbelief, insults and flavour-of-the-month amateur psychoanalysis, that my children, to whom I am deeply devoted (despite my complaints) are virtually raising thmselves. I get to watch my home, upon which over the years I have lavished tender ministrations to create a comfortable and pleasing environment, virtually falling apart around me because I can’t maintain it and can’t afford to pay someone else to maintain it. I experience the deep disapproval of the staff at my childrens’ school who all too patently think I just don’t want to attend various meetings and functions. (They’d certainly never believe how long and hard I cried the year I couldn’t make it to their Christmas concert). Every time I emerge from under my rock, some happy-pants moron is there to bounce cheerfully up to me and say something like “Hey, you’re out and about! You must be better!” (No, idiot; I just happen to be able to walk today and since I’m suffering from terminal cabin fever, I’m willing to send myself into a spectacular three-week crash just to get the ^%*^ out of the house for a couple of hours.)

I would be ecstatic… I would be eternally grateful… I would give even unto half my (remaining) kingdom… if someone, somewhere, could, with a few sessions of psychoanalysis, lead me back to the life I had 13 years ago. For eleven years I struggled with this frigging disease before it literally turned my world upside down two-and-a-bit years ago. For eleven years I had myself convinced that I could ignore what was happening to me, that I could use force of will to keep going, that I could use “mind over matter” to halt or reverse the slow decline to the almost total helplessness in which I now find myself. I treated myself more cruelly than anyone has since because I honestly believed I could overcome what was happening to me if I just tried hard enough.

Yesterday I reported to the above-mentioned doctor that I’ve had waking temperatures of as low as 94.9. The response, the exact wording of which I of course can’t remember, essentially implied that either I was lying or that my imagination was running amok, because if I had really registered such a low temp, I’d have been in a state of hypothermia. Well DUH! And is this cause for concern? Nope. It’s cause for dismissal of me as being exceptionally creative in my attempts to gain unwarranted medical attention (i.e. in this learned individual’s unsupported opinion, I had attained new heights of hypchondria and/or hysteria).

Right now I am fighting for sufficient evidence to put together a case for disability benefits of some kind (preferably before I lose my home and the welfare comes to take my children away because some zealous soul has reported that I’m “neglecting” them), and quite frankly I don’t care what they want to call it as long as some doctor somewhere recognizes and is willing to put in writing that I’m disabled. Frankly, I’d as soon not receive a formal and documented dx of CFIDS because even with a doctor’s “seal of approval” I would still have to deal with much of the same bilge as I am now, and we all know that a dx of CFIDS does not necessarily a case for disability make.

Oh yeah! I get sooooo much out of persisting, in the face of so much “evidence” to the contrary, in believing that I have a physiological and not psychological disorder!

OK, vent-fest over 🙂

[Ed note: since this writing, the writer has received an official diagnosis of CFIDS and is in the process of applying for disability. If you are applying for disability please do check the SSDI website and do your homework as the rules for ME/CFS have changed since this was written,]

Multiple authors

Brainfog Funnies

Today I went into a store (my social outing for the week) and tried on one new shoe (I didn’t have the energy to take both shoes off/on). I walked a few steps over to the uncarpeted floor to make sure it would feel just as comfortable there, and turned around & saw one shoe on the ground by itself.

My thoughts were as follows… ” Why would someone leave one shoe in the middle of the floor?” Then, “That shoe looks familiar… where have I seen it before?” & “Gee it has an insert just like I sometimes wear.” Then I looked down at my feet & at that point realized: “Oh gosh, that’s *my* other shoe.” ~;-D

Suellen

Great story about YOUR shoe…yea, we NEED funny stuff like that… in fact I think we should start a “brain-drain” short story list!!! I thought about that today when I couldn’t find the pencil I just had in my hand…turns out it was in my dish drainer, where you put the silverware!

Gail Dahlen

I catch myself using the remote control to try to turn down the volume of my son’s vocal cords! When my husband catches me, we laugh like it’s a joke, but I actually expected his volume to decrease, and was thinking we needed new batteries!

Cyndi Russell

Even though CFIDS is a SON OF A **#@@ it does occasionally have it amusing moments. Like the other day I went to spray some bug spray on a single roach who had invaded my apartment.

To my amusement after spraying him I noted the roach’s hair appeared to be now held in place. Because I had sprayed him with hair spray by mistake. So now this roach has natural-looking and easy to manage hair with hold that lasts. As a wise person once said, “isn’t that a hoot.”

Jim

Two years ago when we went on vacation I sent postcards to family and friends with my home address. I came home to a mailbox full of mail for my friends and family waiting for me. LOL!

Kathy Peters

I haven’t had a real classic one lately to start off with — so I’ll dig up an old one: going up to lie down with the newspaper in one hand and a full cup of coffee in the other, and figuring out too late that the hand you use to turn the doorknob has to be the one with the newspaper, not the one with the cup of coffee …

Didn’t hurt — just made one hell of a mess. That’s also what happens when you pour the coffee before remembering to put a cup on the saucer first …

What HURT was when I was demonstrating for my daughter how to make great corn bread (a couple of weeks ago), which means you have to heat an iron skillet (or in this case my favorite porcelain-covered iron skillet) in a 400 degree oven, put the skillet on the stove, put a little bacon grease on it, pour the batter in (it sizzles), and then put it back in the stove. Got the first part okay — used two hands and two oven mitts. But when I went to put the bacon grease on it, I grabbed the handle with my left hand.

Now, you have to understand that not ONLY do I have slow reactions from CFIDS, but ALSO my left hand doesn’t have all the sensation it should because of an accident years ago. So I was going about my business when I realized my daughter was screaming at me incoherently, and I looked down and realized I was holding a 400 degree handle, and I dropped the skillet (fortunately didn’t hurt it). Then I realized this was going to hurt, so I shoved my hand in cold water. (And left it in ice cold water for the rest of the evening.)

Dang thing never hurt after the first day, but it’s still peeling … I look at it from time to time and say to myself, Huh. That looks strange. Wonder why …

Mary Schweitzer

I have trouble remembering the calendar year. This can get mighty sticky when trying to write checks.

Not quite as funny to me, I can’t prepare the simplest meal in my kitchen without either cutting myself on a kitchen knife or burning my hands. I could function with greater safety at the age of five than now. I forget to use potholders or have them in my hand and “miss” the spot. I tried slicing a slippery wet Vidalia onion yesterday, and, yes, sliced my finger instead. Those onions are supposed to be white! Last week, I decided to shave my legs again, after some hiatus, with a safety razor, of course, and I actually cut into a vein. I almost painted my bathroom red to match the mess I made, but ended up cleaning it instead.

What I need is a padded cell sans knives, heating elements, or razors, but, of course, WITH tv, music, books, and a great view. Do they have those?

Elaine Katz

I too write checks incorrectly as to year. And I too have developed motor skill problems via this DD…. I have dropped boiling water on myself too many times while being stubborn & trying to help cook. I have also burned myself (forgetting what a pot holder was) and cut myself way too many times while trying to help prepare food (and have scars to show for it). I buy knives & utensils with rubber handles whenever I see them (Farberware has some), it helps a bit (we even have one pot with it – which is too heavy for me to lift anyway).

Then there is my egg story….. One day I was determined to make a favorite sandwich of mine all by myself (it is very hard for me to ask for help, it feels like I am a burden). The sandwich entails a fried egg, and there were no eggs left, but – duh uh, I only found that out after the other preparations were underway for the sandwich. So my Fiancee took me to the supermarket & we bought a few additional items. He doesn’t want me to carry anything (for obvious reasons) so when we got home, he grabbed all the packages quickly, so I would not try to help & he accidentally dropped the eggs in the driveway…. Well I was sympathetic, as that is typical of something that would now happen to me, and we just went back to the store to purchase another dozen eggs. Then upon arriving home, I tried to finish my sandwich & take an egg out of the refrigerator. Well, plop it went onto the kitchen floor which he had just washed….. Gee was I glad I was sympathetic to him earlier… and we both laughed at the predicament & he helped to clean it up. OY…. a sense of humor is imperative!

In that ‘vein’ I hope you don’t take to shaving your arms, as the emergency room personnel may think you ‘slipped’ on purpose! !;-D Besides, red is not ‘in’ for bathrooms….

Suellen

My personal favorite with checks is when I have to pay my hubby’s business bills on his account…well…I’m supposed to fill out everything and then he signs it. (yeah, right) I’m busily figuring out who gets how much..make the lists…then fill out the check and SIGN it. oooops…so, I tell my self “that was REALLY stupid”, void the check, go to the next one and do the same thing again! I have to actually put a sticky note on the signature part that says, “DO NOT SIGN”. THEN I remember not to sign 🙂

Oh and then there was the time I put the checks in the wrong envelopes….that was NOT fun 🙂 But….when I called to try to straighten it out…I said it was the “new” accountant 🙂 Think anyone believed me?

Muerial Sorenson

The way I usually mess checks up is I put the wrong things in the wrong places — like my signature where the amount is supposed to go, for example.

Mary Schweitzer

Off our kitchen, perched atop a front-loading dryer, sits this wonderful hot plate in the form of a large thick pyrex glass tray, a great gift from my parents years ago. It sits there still, but no longer plugged in for easy access. As with your stove, folks kept laying thing down on it, and then somehow that little knobby would get turned a few degrees, and voila! Baked catalogs, braised plastics, toasty folded laundry, hot tv program schedules, and the like.

Back to cooking. Opening cans, say, of soup, is one of my specialties. When I’m eating alone, there is soup left in the pot after I’ve helped myself. So I usually figure I’ll set the burner to “warm” just in case I want seconds. Eight hours later it gets discovered, usually by my husband. Makes a great coating for the inside of stainless (oxymoron) steel pots.

The spouse usually brings it to my attention with a gingerly, “Now don’t get mad, but I need to tell you something” approach. Of course I only get mad at me. But I really watch for those absent-minded things that normies sometimes do, and BOY, when he does one, I gleefully give him, the “I need to tell you something” approach. In the past, I’d let those things go (like catching him leaving the house with a stove burner still on). Not any MO-ORE! I call it “brain fog’s revenge.”

Elaine Katz

I LOVE it!! I do that stuff all the time. Like putting my sweater on in the car after fastening my seat belt….getting to my destination and not being able to figure out why I can’t get out of the car…(couldn’t see seat belt with sweater covering it…never mind that I could FEEL it holding me in…)

The other day opened little packets of cat food and instead of dumping the food in the storage tin and the wrapping in the trash can…I put the wrappers in the storage tin and threw away the cat food….good thing we can laugh about these things.

I wanted my husband to bring me a pain pill (Motrin) and said “Honey, I need a valentine.” (Maybe I’ll get one this year…) In church someone asked me where my daughter was. I told them she was in the check-out lane… isn’t that what the FOYER is called???

Debi Savage

So, here’s one of mine. My husband gets this new (manly-man) truck and decides to take my car one day, leaving that damn truck with me. Well, I had to go somewhere really important (can’t remember where, but if I drove that truck.. it had to be important.) Now, I get in that truck, start her up and the windshield wipers are going….back and forth. It’s a beautiful, sunny day, so ok, I’ll just turn them off… Well, I couldn’t figure how to do that particular task. I pushed, pulled, cursed, every possible thing I saw, but nothing made them stop. To make a long story short, I had to drive everywhere I went that day with, you guessed it, the wipers just going…back and forth and on high speed, I might add. So, I decided that if I squirted the windshield washer thingy, a lot, maybe everyone at the red lights wouldn’t notice and think me totally wacko. Needless to say, as soon as I pulled up in the driveway, and tried one more time, THEN I discovered the secret. I still, to this day, hate that damn truck.

Sandra Ponce

My daughter had just been accepted and attended her first day at a new private school. I was driving her home, lecturing her about the importance of paying attention, not zoning out as she was prone to do. I advised her to sit in the front row to help her remember to pay attention to the teacher. In the midst of my lecture, I pulled in to the bank to get some cash at the machine and told her to wait in the car, I would just be a minute.

After getting the money, I was studying my receipt as I walked back to the car. I opened the door, got in, put the key in the ignition and it would not fit. I heard a gasp and looked over at the passenger seat. There was seated an enormous Hispanic woman with her hand over her mouth and her other hand crossing herself and she was muttering in Spanish and looking absolutely terrified! Needless to say, I was in the wrong car! It wasn’t even the same make as mine.

I scrambled out, apologizing, mentioning my new glasses, etc. When I got to my car, my daughter was rolling with laughter, pointing at me and laughing so hard she couldn’t speak. When she finally got herself under control, she asked me to please continue my lecture on paying attention, especially the part about sitting in the right seat ….but then she started laughing all over again! I know she will never let me forget it.

Farraday McGuthrie

Who said Brain Fog can’t be a wee bit funny – just gotta laugh sometimes, or it is too easy to 🙁

Suellen

Most of this exchange took place on the SASYFRAS email support list.

Real stories from real people with a mysterious illness which is only beginning to be understood. Myalgic Encephalomyelitis, more commonly called Chronic Fatigue Syndrome or ME/CFS