Brianna Parkins: It was the burning sage that made my partner think I had finally lost it

It was the sage incense that finally did it. After years watching me go through extreme grief, insomnia, burnout, buying a dryrobe and other troubling behaviours hinting at madness, witnessing me walking around the house with a burning stick was my partner’s breaking point.

“This is the most insane thing I have ever seen you do,” he said with the overconfidence of a man who screams instructions every weekend at the television to a football team who can’t hear him.

“Should I call St John of Gods?”

I practised gratitude at that moment, thanking the universe for being alive at a time when men find it much harder to have women declared insane for simply telling them to f**k off.

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Brianna Parkins: I’m sick of being asked why I don’t have kids

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A year or two ago, if I had turned to “removing negative energies” to make myself feel better instead of a highly trained and science-backed doctor, I probably would have agreed with his assessment.

Long Covid was for me the world’s most depressing game of pass the parcel, where every unravelled layer revealed another knock-on health problem

But that was before I’d experienced 18 months of chronic health issues, countless trips to doctors, consultant appointments, months-long waiting lists, the side effects of medication – and no answers. Even with one of the most comprehensive and expensive private healthcare plans, I could not get the medical care I needed despite living in a wealthy, developed country. Chasing appointments, follow-ups, results and pharmacy scripts becomes a full-time job when you are sick in Ireland.

I was used to a system in Australia where you go to see a GP, that person recommends a few consultants, they request an appointment for you, and you get one within a few weeks if you’re public and even it’s non-urgent. The consultant and GP communicate with each other, follow up to see how it’s all going and keep persisting until an answer is found. Your information is stored on a secure database so doctors have access to your complete medical history from every appointment, so there’s no retelling, no questioning and no missed details that might be important in making a diagnosis. It wasn’t perfect, but there was hope and faith that even when there were missteps, you were going to make progress. That somewhere, someone could help.

[ Brianna Parkins: What no one tells you about depression is how boring it is ]

In Ireland we have brilliant medical practitioners invested in their patients’ welfare, but the system to get help is disconnected and overburdened, and leaves the most vulnerable feeling like nobody cares. Parents trying to get assessments for neurodiverse children, patients trying to get help for eating disorders, carers needing extra resources, people living in pain on surgery waiting lists, and people at their lowest who are finally ready to talk to someone but who can’t get an appointment are expected to just hang tough. Unnecessary suffering is not seen as the systemic failure of government or bureaucracy – it’s just a cross to bear in life.

Catastrophic lapses in the healthcare system are met with shoulder shrugs, not because people aren’t outraged, but because they are desensitised to preventable tragedy. A fatal haemorrhage after childbirth; a 16 year old with meningitis who died after a 12-hour wait in emergency; a toddler who died after a misdiagnosis. Official apologies about euphemistic “failings in care” often follow. Statements written in the passive voice so “the patient died due to an oversight”, not that “mismanagement killed them”. It makes it seem no one is at fault. Just a nebulous system without a face and without a solution.

I am grateful that although my health issues have been annoying, they have not been life-threatening.

I am confident I would have gone so far as to join a cult if they had promised to fix what was wrong with me

Long Covid was for me the world’s most depressing game of pass the parcel, where every unravelled layer revealed another knock-on health problem. I had the resting heart rate of a dog who hates fireworks on Halloween, the energy levels of a sickly Victorian child and a stuffed thyroid for a start. Then, and this was unrelated, my vision went blurry without any warning. Eventually, the problem remained only in one eye, and after weeks of doing what the doctor said it showed no improvement. I rang reception to ask should I pop back in to try another treatment. I was told they had done everything they could. “But I can’t see?” I ventured. “Well actually you can see,” was the reply, which suggested I was being a bit dramatic about not being able to read or write – the two functions essential for me to earn an income as a journalist.

[ Brianna Parkins: There should be no moral superiority assigned to different types of addiction ]

Eventually, I saw multiple doctors who offered multiple diagnoses and solutions – until one worked. But during those uncertain months, I tried everything that could have helped – acupuncture, meditation and burning incense to “cleanse and destress”. When you just want to get better but no one can tell you how, you turn to all the things you would have once laughed at in the hope it will fix you. Desperation has no room for critical thinking.

I am confident I would have gone so far as to join a cult if they had promised to fix what was wrong with me, the robes were a flattering linen blend and they accepted a doctor’s note excusing me from all the group sex.

I don’t think there is anything wrong with holistic practices and alternative medicine. Or taking care of yourself. But, remember, you cannot “wellness” your way out of a chronic health system failure.