When Doctors Harm Instead of Heal

My mother-in-law, age 87, is a sunny senior with a heart of gold. Now picture her on a locked mental ward.

How she got there is a tale of a vulnerable and trusting patient who looked up to a charming doctor who was supposed to help her. But who instead hurt her.

For years, despite medication, Mom had blood pressure that bounced dangerously up and down like a yo-yo. Having already lost a husband to hypertension, she had no illusions.

Sooner or later, she figured, the explosions in her head would cause either a massive stroke or a disastrous fall. It was just a matter of time.

Mom’s problem was no secret. Her blackouts were regular events. More than once, she was peeled off the floor of a store or restaurant by paramedics.

Then she would find herself in her local emergency room, draped in intravenous lines and electrodes, only to hear something like: “Well, Alberta, you’re looking fine. So now we’re going to let you go home.”

This went on for a couple of years.

Finally, one day Mom had had enough. Unwilling to play Russian roulette any longer, she set out for a much-touted heart doctor, a smiling man in a white coat seeking patients for his private research study.

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At first, it was April love. The specialist found her charming; she thought him brilliant. He tinkered with her medications like no one else ever had. So, little by little, she let down her guard. She really trusted.

Months later the honeymoon was over. Having completed his research, the visits grew shorter, the doctor distracted. Yes, the blood pressure was better, but now Mom needed simple TLC. Instead, the doctor gave her pills. Specifically, a tranquilizer called Xanax.

This was several years ago, when the addictive power of Xanax was less well-known. But the drug is from the same family as Valium. And doctors have known about Valium junkies for years.

However, whenever Mom raised her concerns, the doctor would tell her not to worry, that some patients took 10 to 20 pills a day with no problem. And he’d refill her prescription.

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Finally she knew she was in deep trouble when she couldn’t go anywhere without Xanax. One day, driving to her daughter’s house minutes away, she became frantic realizing she had forgotten to bring along a supply.

That’s when she did something truly brave. She broke off with the doctor who was both her savior and her Svengali, and she found a geriatrics specialist who cared the way a doctor should.

He told her bluntly that she was hooked. That if she didn’t kick her Xanax habit, she might one day drive into a tree, set her house on fire or just not wake up.

It wasn’t good news. But Mom didn’t run. She knew in her heart he was right.

So now she needed a place to detox safely. There weren’t a lot of detox units seeking patients with blood pressure like Mt. Pinatubo. That’s why, in the end, a monitored psych ward at a university hospital was the only option.

As usual, Mom was a trooper. Weaning day by day, she played cards, made crafts and cheered her new pals, especially when they all had to dodge fellow inmates gone amok.

Until finally, about four weeks later, Mom was free and clean. She’s been clean ever since.

We rage over drug dealers in schoolyards. We try to protect the young and vulnerable. But what about the elderly and vulnerable?

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Mom’s nobody’s fool. But she was taken in. By the famous name, the fancy office, the smooth line. Yes, her doctor helped her hypertension. But in the end he hurt her with his indifference. Addicting her, it seemed to us, was easier than talking to her.

In my experience, such doctors are the exception, not the rule. But they’re out there. Because mere brains do not equal integrity in any profession.

Mom wanted her story told. The way she sees it, if it happened to her, it could happen to anyone.

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Claire Panosian is an internist and infectious diseases specialist in Los Angeles. Questions and comments are welcome at [email protected].