The trend, however, is to name illnesses and pain conditions by describing their primary signs or symptoms. There may be sound reasons for this trend, but it can lead to inaccurate labeling of people and to unnecessary suffering by those who've been diagnosed with the disorder or disease.
For example, people with Rheumatoid Arthritis are frequently put into the same category as those with Osteoarthritis—a common condition usually associated with aging in which the joints become painful and stiff. But Rheumatoid Arthritis is a systemic autoimmune disease. Joint pain and stiffness is just one of its many symptoms. The suffering of those with RA is often trivialized because they're lumped together with those who have arthritis. People with RA are told it's no big deal, and often have to put up with insensitive comments, such as "You're too young to have aching joints."
A second example. People with Fibromyalgia (fibro: tissue containing fibers; myalgia: muscle pain) do indeed have muscle pain in their tissues. But anyone can have muscle pain if he or she moves wrong or overdoes it during a work-out. The muscle pain of Fibromyalgia can be so debilitating that some people can't move without excruciating pain. In addition, muscle pain isn't the only symptom of Fibromyalgia; yet, there you have it: fibro (tissue containing fibers) myalgia (muscle pain).
A third example. People with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome do experience fatigue. But when those of us with this diagnosis hear others say, "I'm tired too," we know that we've been labeled in a most inaccurate way and that the seriousness of our illness has been disregarded. We also know that the painful label "malingerer" may not be far behind. I've written about the absurdity of that name in my piece The Stigma of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. I encourage you to read it if you want to understand our frustration with this destructive label.
Lastly, here's the most absurd name for a medical condition I've yet to encounter (readers may be able to top me on this—please leave a comment if you can!): Restless Leg Syndrome. I've suffered from this neurological disorder for over 20 years. Let's see how accurately the label describes the disorder.
When I get an attack of RLS, my legs aren't restless. They are seized by waves of gnawing unpleasant sensations that are so unbearable, I'm forced to move my legs to try and get relief. After each wave, the sensations subside, only to return within another minute or two. This can go on for hours. When an attack comes at night (which is when RLS most often occurs), it is impossible to sleep. The result can be a sleepless night and one very long and unpleasant day ahead.
Sometimes I get these waves of gnawing sensations in my hands. Others get it in their arms. There's nothing exclusively "leg" about Restless Leg Syndrome.
I object to this label in general because it trivializes what can be debilitating suffering. RLS is a neurological disorder. It's not a syndrome. Neither is so-called Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.
This is the first time I've shared with anyone but my husband and my doctor that I suffer from Restless Leg Syndrome. I've never even told my two kids. Why? Because the name is downright embarrassing. The FDA has approved two prescription medications for it—Requip and Mirapex. These are Parkinson's drugs which, when taken in low doses, help prevent an attack of RLS.
You'd think that Federal Drug Administration approval of two medications for a disorder would make it legitimate. Not so. The labels "restless" and "leg" are just too silly. Last year, I heard a late night comedian make cruel fun of it, saying, "And now there's a drug for Restless Leg Syndrome. Come off it. Your legs are restless? Get a life." Ironically, I only heard his comment because I was awake due to, yup, RLS.
So, I've come out of the closet: I have Restless Leg Syndrome. On nights when the Mirapex doesn't work, you'll find me pacing the floors, willing to try just about anything to keep the unbearable sensations from continuing. No matter how cold a night it is, I put ice on my feet and calves; or I wrap my legs so tightly in ace bandages that I have to be careful not to cut off the blood circulation. Sometimes these home remedies help, but usually they don't because they're only effective if I catch an attack right when it starts, and RLS only wakes me up once it's "up and running" so to speak. And that means I'm looking at another night of broken sleep.
As the title of the piece says: Who comes up with these names?!
© 2012 Toni Bernhard
I'm the author of the How to Be Sick: A Buddhist-Inspired Guide for the Chronically Ill and their Caregivers, winner of the 2011 Gold Nautilus Book Award in Self-Help/Psychology. Website: www.howtobesick.com
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