Bitter Fish Read online

  Chapter 4: American Doctor

  “The Doctor will see you. He is waiting in his office.”

  The nurse and I should be on a first name basis by now, as this is the fourth visit here in as many weeks. Plus I’ve been to the office down the hall for the MRI, and numerous other tests. She is very attractive. I could care less. Since coming back from Africa my sex drive has gone from on overdrive to nothing. At first I thought it was jet lag, but jet lag and various stomach problems only last so long. It took me a few weeks before I sought medical help.

  This can’t be good I think to myself as I have a seat. Doctor Hale is studying a huge book.

  “Once more for my records, and to make sure I didn’t miss anything, I want you to tell me exactly what happened while you were in Africa.”

  “Not much to tell, I got really sick, vomiting, diarrhea, nausea. I lost 15 pounds while I was there because there never was much food around.”

  “When did you first feel ill?” he asks, as he scribbles notes. I look around his office, degrees on the wall, a skeleton hanging in the corner. I briefly wonder if we shouldn’t toss some of those bones and see what they will tell us.

  “Around noon either the third or fourth of October, not sure of the day. We had all been eating the same stuff, hell we all got sick at different times. I just seemed to get it the worst.”

  “Ok, I’ve got all the antibiotics you were on, there was no drug interaction there.” He studies his notes. “You are sure you didn’t try any local street drugs?”

  “Of course I am sure!”

  “Let’s see, now your brother and sister in law had no lasting effects. You don’t have any of the various river water diseases. You could develop Malaria in the future, but you show no signs of it yet. You have been back nine weeks with no libido to speak of.” He writes some more, “I have good news and bad news, what would you like first?”

  “Good.” I reply.

  “Well, the MRI didn’t find a brain tumor. I didn’t want to scare you but that is what I thought might be wrong. Plus, almost all your blood tests came back normal, and I have found a name for your condition.” He pauses, “The bad news is not so bad, your pituitary gland has slightly failed. The pituitary is often called the master gland, sort of controls everything in your endocrine system and makes all sorts of hormones. Yours is not making one that tells your gonads to work. So basically your Testosterone levels have fallen to nothing.” He writes a little more “I can fix this with a weekly shot. But I am not sure it will fix you. You have idiopathic secondary hypogonadism, it is very rare. I have been reading about a few cases.” He closes the book. “Although the testosterone is replaced, in these cases I have been reading about, the patient does not feel the same, sometimes the patients say they have lost the ability to love, and they don’t care about not feeling those emotions. Do you have any questions?”

  “Where is my pituitary gland?”

  “It’s located at the base of the brain in the frontal cortex.” He taps between his eyes, just above the brow. “Right here.”

  The Witch Doctor! I wonder if I should tell the doctor that part of the story. I don’t want him to think I am crazy, but this is crazy. Getting shots of testosterone, every week? Maybe for the rest of my life? I glance at his degrees on the wall and wonder about it all. Doctors are all logic and science. I don’t think telling him a grubby old man sitting in a mud hut was able to knock my system out of whack would make any sense to him. The Witch Doctor versus modern medicine, I wonder who to go to now for a cure.

  “There is one thing I didn’t mention.” I briefly relate my encounter with the Witch Doctor.

  “It’s just an odd coincidence. “ Dr Hale says with a smile, “I am sure it had nothing to do with this. Sunday morning televangelists curing people with Jesus, late night TV psychics telling the future, it’s all garbage. No, what happened to you is just a chance, but I am sure the Witch Doctor had nothing to do with it.”

  “So this shot will fix me?”

  “Yes and no. You are going to be on maintenance shots for a while and then we will drop you off to see how you do. As I said this is very rare, in some cases patients were able to jump start their endocrine system and get off the shots. This is going to be a wait and see situation”

  “When can I get a shot?” I ask not being able to think of anything else to say.

  “Give this piece of paper to the front desk, I pre-ordered the steroids after your second visit,” he said looking at me carefully. “I will need to see you in the office in a month. I am going to start you off on low doses and build up slowly, this might be a bit of a jolt to your body. Don’t worry, together we will get through this.”

  The nurse at the front desk looks over my slip of paper, calls to another nurse and I am led into an examining room.

  “Drop your pants and lean over the table. This is an inner-muscular shot, so I need to give it to you in your upper thigh.” The nurse tells me this as she pulls back on the syringe. “This stuff is really thick, so it is going to take a while, just relax. What hip do you want it in?”

  I opt for the right and wince as the needle goes in. After a few seconds she pulls the needle out, slaps a band aid on me and sends me on my way. Walking out the door I feel the same as when I walked in except now I have a pain in my right upper thigh. I didn’t think the effects would be immediate but am curious what, if any, side effects I will have. Probably going to lose my hair, the pundits always say your junk shrinks up. Perhaps I should have thought about this a bit before going down this path of treatment, but it is too late now. The steroids are in me and there is no going back now.