Doctoring the Truth

Ep 35-Milk of Amnesia, Michael Jackson's Killer

Jenne Tunnell and Amanda House Season 1 Episode 35

Send us a text

A panicked phone call, a birthday detour, and an orange tree set the stage for a darker question we can’t ignore: what happens when medicine bends to fame? We trace Michael Jackson’s path from Gary’s crowded rooms to global icon, then into the sleepless spiral that ended with propofol in a mansion and a 20-minute delay that medicine cannot forgive. 

Support the show

Don't miss a (heart) beat! Check out our Instagram @doctoringthetruthpodcast and email us your Medical Mishaps at doctoringthetruth@gmail.com. Join us on Facebook at Doctoring the Truth, and TikTok @doctoring the truth. Don't forget to download, rate, and review so we can keep bringing you more exciting content each week!

Stay safe, and stay suspicious...trust, after all, is a delicate thing!

Don't forget to check out these fantastic discounts from our sponsors:

Get 30% off your order with the code STAYSUSPICIOUS at thecuminclub.com

Visit www.shimmerwood.com for an exclusive 30% off with our discount code STAYSUSPICIOUS

20% Off Strong Coffee Company https://strongcoffeecompany.com/discount/STAYSUSPICIOUS

www.handful.com for 30% off with our code STAYSUSPICIOUS


www.standshoes.com for 15% off any product with our code

STAYSUSPICIOUS

.Visit oldglory.com for 15% off your entire order with our code: STAYSUSPICIOUS.

Hurry because this deal expires on October 31st. Visit quantumsquares.com and use promo code STAYSUSPICIOUS for 25% off today!

Visit ...

SPEAKER_00:

Um Anna.

SPEAKER_03:

Ooh.

unknown:

Hi, Jenna.

SPEAKER_00:

Hello. If that came out extra musical, it's because tis the occasion, tis the episode, to be musical. Ooh, how are you doing, Carly?

SPEAKER_02:

Doing good, doing good. Taylor's new albums out, just living my showgirl life.

SPEAKER_00:

Oh, bless.

SPEAKER_02:

Not you.

SPEAKER_00:

Yeah. Well, we're a little late to record tonight because I'm gonna try and make this quick, but oh gosh. My birthday is in a few days. Yeah. That's not the bad thing. But um, so just that's the background. I get this, so I'm on my way home. I have a 45-minute commute, and I'm like, so those of you in Minnesota know where St. Peter is. It's halfway between where I work and where I live. So I'm cruising through St. Peter, and I'm about five minutes out of St. Peter, probably 20 minutes from home, and I get this panicked call from my ex-husband, who had supposedly been taking my daughter to her appointment, her doctor's appointment. And he's like, turn around, turn around, because he's tracking, you know, we track each other. Turn around, we need you, we need your help. And I was like, wait, what? He goes, We need your help, we need your help. We're on the side of the highway. No, no, no, no, no. We need your help. I said, What? Oh my god, what happened? We just need your help. So here I am. I mean, I'm a mom. I'm thinking, oh my god, he's on the side of the highway. I need to make a rapid U-turn on a highway, which is really hard to do. Obviously, my daughter's dead.

SPEAKER_02:

I mean, you're like, there's no information about my daughter yet.

SPEAKER_00:

And because I'm laughing, you know that that's not true. But at the time, I mean, my heart, I could hardly breathe. I was like, he's not obviously telling me what's happening because he wants you to get there safely.

SPEAKER_02:

Turned around.

SPEAKER_00:

You know, she's under a truck or something, like something happened, you know. And I was sweating and crying, and I made a U-turn and I buzzed back there.

SPEAKER_04:

Oh, Jenna!

SPEAKER_00:

You know what it was? They had gone to a nursery, like garden nursery, to buy me a present for my birthday, which is a it was supposed to be a surprise, but it didn't fit in his Audi. So it was an orange tree that didn't fit in his Audi. So they needed to put it in my car. But he wanted to maintain the surprise element, which he genuinely did because I thought my daughter was dead.

SPEAKER_02:

Yeah, I would say a little negative undertones, but certainly surprised.

SPEAKER_00:

I know that's not what he intended, but I was like so distraught that all I could do was hug my daughter and be like, yeah, the tree. Uh-huh. Savannah, you're okay. Thanks for the tree, you guys.

SPEAKER_02:

I'm so happy everything.

SPEAKER_00:

By the way, the tree's amazing. Like, we live in Minnesota, and so I'm gonna have an inside orange tree, like a rich person. I mean, I am so enamored. It smells so good. She's already got she's a she, by the way.

SPEAKER_02:

Obviously, she produces things.

SPEAKER_00:

She's already got little green goblets of right, little green goblets of baby oranges all over her, and she smells so good, and she's huge. So no wonder it didn't fit in his dumb outie.

SPEAKER_02:

But happy early birthday to you.

SPEAKER_00:

Happy birthday to me a few days early. And also, thank you. But I lost about 10 years of my life thinking my daughter was under a truck or something on the side of the road, and all yeah, that was bad. My ex could say to me was, Well, I think you listen to too much true crime. Listen.

SPEAKER_02:

No, I can can uh confirm that's not it.

SPEAKER_00:

Yeah, anyway, so I'm here. I'm here, I'll be a little bit late, and plus an orange tree as part of our family.

SPEAKER_02:

So well, I love that. I love that it had a happy ending with the orange tree, and not I was like, oh my god, what is she about to tell us? Because she texts me, like, hey, I'm getting home a little late. Do you want and I'm like, well, yeah, of course I want to record sooner than later, but like take your time. To which she, of course, thought was me being like cheeky. And I was like, no, seriously, take your time. But I didn't know she had a scare that her daughter might have died on the side of the highway.

SPEAKER_00:

I mean, I might have jumped a little gotten there, but I mean, what would you think if if your ex is not telling you anybody's mind would do the reason why and your daughter's not on the phone and they're on the side of the highway and they need your help? Yeah, no. Speaking of cheeky, I love that you said cheeky because guess what? Our first sponsor is a company called Cheeky, which I initially thought would be an underwear company. But no, they're mouth guards, which makes sense.

SPEAKER_02:

Yeah, yeah.

SPEAKER_00:

So stop your teeth grinding and clenching, even though you think your daughter might be on the side of the road, with a custom night guard from Cheeky at a fraction of the cost of a dentist. It's easy, affordable, and guaranteed. Smile, sleep, and repeat. The details. Oh, here are the details. I wasn't supposed to read that out loud. Here are the details. Our listeners get an exclusive 30% off any product. Cheeky offers affordable custom night guards delivered to your doorstep at a fraction of the cost charged by dentists. Our easy-to-use impression kit captures your bite from the comfort of your home. I'm recovering. Ensuring a dentist quality night guard tailored to your teeth. Cheeky night guards protect teeth from grinding by absorbing the forces of grinding, preventing headaches, straw pain, chip teeth, while promoting healthier gums and a more confident smile. With free shipping and 100% money-back guarantee, Cheeky is the perfect solution for teeth grinding or clenching. Try it risk-free and join thousands who choose Cheeky to solve their grinding and clenching problems. So don't delay. This exclusive deal is limited. Visit getchey.com and use our promo code STAYSUSPicious, S-D-A-Y-S-U-S-P-I-C-I-U-S. Sorry? S-D-A-Y-S-U-S-P-I-C-I-O-U-S for 30% off your order today.

SPEAKER_02:

That's such a cute name. I love it.

SPEAKER_00:

Isn't it? That's adorable. I just glossed right over the correction section. Do you do you have anything? Because it was your episode, so I doubt there's anything, but is there anything?

SPEAKER_02:

Um, you know what? There was something when I listened to it back, but I can't remember what it is right now. It was something I said where I was like, no way, lady. I can't remember that.

SPEAKER_00:

Must not be that glaring. I'm sure it's not a good thing.

SPEAKER_02:

Nobody texted you about it.

SPEAKER_00:

Maybe they were just that's the litmus test, right? Yeah. Resources will be listed in our show notes, and I don't really have any trigger warnings for this episode. It's gonna be fun, I think. But today we're talking about thriller. Thrilla. You know who I'm talking about. Thriller! Michael Jackson. Oh, but sadly, I mean We should have had that.

SPEAKER_02:

We should have had that keyed up, ready to go, and went Yeah.

SPEAKER_00:

And then can we do that without getting sued? Okay. Well then, like how many seconds can we get away with how your editor can come in and add a little clip later on. Okay, listeners, if we can if we can throw a little a little MJ action your way, we will. The greatest. Greatest. Oh yeah, I do remember it starts out three. Yeah, it starts out creepy. I mean, it just gives me tills every time to this day. So yeah. I don't know being a zombie the zombie head wag. Yeah. I mean, how can a man like this die alone? Surrounded by syringes, IV drips, and a desperate doctor with a stethoscope in one hand and a paycheck in the other. I mean, it's devastating. Let's go back to where it started. So, Gary, Indiana, Gary, Indiana, Gary, Indiana, my home, sweet home. That is a call out to those of you who like musicals. He was born in Gary in the 1960s. A two-bedroom house packed with 10 kids. Can you imagine? 10 kids in two bedrooms? You do the math. I mean, that's 10 kids in one. I mean, it was my house, 10 kids in one room. Because my man and I are sleeping in one room. You guys need to fight for yourselves. But seriously, though, two-bedroom house.

SPEAKER_04:

Yeah.

SPEAKER_00:

You could call it humble beginnings, but that implies comfort. I mean, there was no comfort in that situation. It was survival all the way. The Jackson family wasn't born into fame. They clawed their way to it note by note under the watchful eye and the iron hand of Joseph Jackson, the kind of father who believed belts were better motivators than bedtime stories, if you know what I mean. And out of that chaos rose a voice that didn't sound human. Michael's voice. Angelic, elastic, heartbreaking. At 10 years old, he was already the frontman of the Jackson 5, standing under hot stage lights and matching polyester while record executives nodded approvingly. That voice, that face, that energy, it made money. And once the world smelled profit, childhood was optional. Fame as so many others in his footsteps that were young stars, fame swallowed him whole. By the 1980s, he wasn't just famous, he was fame incarnate. Thriller sold more copies than there were people in some countries. Can you imagine? More copies than people. So, I mean, obviously, not every single person is gonna order copies. Well, how the how is that even possible? It's because it was amazing. He moonwalked across stages, he lit up TV screens, and he changed pop culture forever. The glove, the curls, the high-pitched laugh, everything about him became myths. But myths are heavy to carry. And behind the rhinestones and rehearsals was a man who hadn't slept, really slept in years. Sleep became the one thing that Michael couldn't buy. He tried everything: herbal remedies, prescription pills, meditation, yoga, and chamomile tea, probably flown in from somewhere pretentious, but nothing worked. The mind that could create Billy Jean. Billy Jean, Chima. I just oh my yeah. And choreograph perfection. I mean, he couldn't find the off switch. So insomnia, especially when paired with chronic anxiety and perfectionism, is torture. It scrapes away your sanity one night at a time. So Michael did what rich people do when regular medicine fails. He built his own. By the time he started preparing for This Is It tour in 2009, Michael wasn't just the king of pop, he was a human science experiment. His body was a pharmacy, painkillers, benzodiazepines, antidepressants, a rotating cast of chemical companions. He'd cycled through a long list of doctors willing to prescribe, supply, or look the other way, but he needed someone permanent, someone loyal, someone who'd stay with him through the nights. Enter Dr. Conrad Murray, the kind of doctor who smiled like he'd already signed the NDA. Murray was a cardiologist, trained, educated, technically qualified. He had degrees and credentials and a habit of dressing like a man who wanted to appear more successful than he actually was. He wasn't an evil doctor by trade. He just wasn't built for the circus that came with Michael Jackson. They met in 2006 when Murray treated one of Michael's kids. Jackson liked him, or maybe liked the way he said yes. By 2009, when the this is it rehearsals were in full swing, Michael hired Murray full-time at 150 Tho a month. In 2009.

SPEAKER_03:

Wow.

SPEAKER_00:

So from the start, the setup was insane. Murray wasn't hired by Michael directly. He was paid through AEG Live, the company that was running the tour. So his boss wasn't the patient. It was the people who wanted Michael awake, rehearsing, and performing that he was working for. I mean, imagine being the doctor in that triangle. Do you serve the patient who's falling apart or the corporation that signs your paychecks? And guess which side tends to win, right?

SPEAKER_02:

Although what an ethical dilemma.

SPEAKER_00:

Michael's insomnia turned catastrophic. He told Murray that he hadn't slept more than a few hours in weeks. He begged for something more substantial. What he wanted wasn't ambient or Valium. He wanted propofol, the white milky anesthesia drug used to knock people out for surgery. Surgeons call it milk of amnesia. I mean, that's kind of funny, right? It's kind of funny, but not in this instance. It's powerful, fast, and dangerous if you don't know what you're doing, or if you do know what you're doing, and you just don't give a crap. Nurses train to resuscitate when things go wrong, and etc. Murray, however, figured he could improvise. So he set up a miniature ICU in Michael's mansion. IV drips, syringes, oxygen tanks, but no proper monitoring, no crash cart, no defibrillator. I'm sorry, with all that money and stuff going on, he couldn't order a defibrillator and a crash cart.

SPEAKER_02:

Right? You're already ordering things, just everything you need.

SPEAKER_00:

This is basic emergency kit stuff.

SPEAKER_02:

I mean if you're setting up a miniature ICU, get everything that you would find there.

SPEAKER_00:

Or even in an emergency room. You're putting your patient out. And we talked about this with some of the plastic surgeons that are doing anesthesia. Yeah, in their basement. They don't have a crash cart or defibrillator, which for our listeners who don't know is, you know, to reset your heart beat, to shock your heart back into beating. Okay. That's basic human life support. But anyway, he wasn't doing this. He was just running an experiment. So his test subject was the most famous man in the world. Night after night, Murray administered a pharmacy cocktail, larazipam, medazolam, diazepam. And when those didn't work, he reached for the propofol. Jackson, finally drifting off into chemically induced sleep, called it my milk. Oh my god, that's so sad. But this wasn't rest, it was sedation, an unconscious state that mimics sleep, but it skips the critical neurological repair that actually comes with rum cycles. So his body rested, but his brain didn't. His brain drowned. By June 2009, rehearsals were intense. The This Is It crew saw flashes of the old Michael, tireless, brilliant, dancing through exhaustion. But behind the scenes, he was skeletal, trembling, sweating. His personal chef later testified she'd find him in the mornings disoriented, whispering, I didn't sleep. It just makes me want to cry. Oh, that's so sad. One of his bodyguards noticed the pattern too. When Murray arrived, Michael seemed calmer. When Murray left, he looked worse. And that's dependency, folks. Then came the night of June 25th. Inside the rented Holmbeam Hills mansion, just after midnight, Murray began his usual routine. First a benzodiazepine and then another. But still, Michael couldn't sleep. Around 1 30 a.m., Murray gave a dose of propivol, 25 milligrams, he later claimed, diluted with lidocaine to ease the burn. Michael finally drifted off. Murray later told investigators he sat at his bedside for a while monitoring, and then, according to his own statements, he left the room for two minutes to use the bathroom, two minutes. And when he returned, Michael wasn't breathing. He panicked, he provided CPR, and he made some phone calls. Not to 911, mind you, but to Michael's I was gonna say, I'm sure, I'm sure 911 wasn't first. He called Michael's personal assistant. It would take another 20 minutes before emergency services were actually contacted. 20 minutes in cardiac arrest is an eternity. It's too late, right? Paramedics arrived at 1226 p.m. They found Jackson pulseless with his pupils dilated. They shocked, ventilated, and pushed epinephrine, but nothing helped. He was transported to UCLA Medical Center where his children waited. The team worked on him for over an hour. At 2.26 p.m., the announcement was made. Michael Jackson, age 50, was dead. And just like that, the king of pop was gone. The final act of a long, exhausting performance. Now let's be clear, people die every day from drug complications. But what made this one different, apart from the obvious, was that this wasn't an addict alone in a hotel. This was a medical professional hired to protect who supplied the poison and failed the basics of life support. When the news broke, the narrative warped instantly. Fans didn't want to believe it. Conspiracy theories bloomed overnight. The Illuminati, fake death, government cover-ups. But behind the noise, the coroner was already cutting through myth and muscle. The autopsy was meticulous and the findings brutal. Michael's body showed no natural disease significant enough to explain death. His heart was healthy, his lungs were fine, there was no evidence of overdose of oral medication. What killed him was propofol, in levels consistent with deep anesthesia, mixed with smaller doses of lorazipam and midazolan, a hospital-grade drug cocktail administered in his bedroom. And because propofol depresses breathing long before it stops the heart, he likely died quietly, slipping into oxygen starvation before anyone even noticed. It was ruled a homicide. Not an accident, not a self-inflicted tragedy tragedy, homicide. And suddenly Dr. Conrad Murray wasn't a personal physician anymore, he was a suspect. And with that, we're going to take a break for our chart. It's a chart no one. Okay. Uh, I like that. Welcome to the chart note segment where we learn about what's happening in medicine and healthcare. All right, this is deeply personal, but recently, a federal judge rejected a constitutional challenge to California's truth in advertising law, confirming that only licensed physicians, MDs, and DOs may use the title doctor in clinical settings. The court held that non-physicians' use of doctor in patient care is inherently misleading, commercial speech, and not protected under the First Amendment. A federal court delivered a decisive victory for patient safety and transparency according to this article, and we'll talk about whether how we feel about that in a minute, rejecting an attempt to overturn California's truth in advertising law. The statute, which is Business and Professions Code 2054, prohibits the use of the title doctor in healthcare settings by anyone other than licensed physicians. The decision followed more than five months of procedural delays while both sides asked the judge to decide the case without a trial. In Palmer versus Bonta, three nurse practitioners with doctor of nursing practice degrees argued that the law violated their First Amendment rights. On September 19th, 2025, U.S. District Judge Jesus, because we ain't calling him Jesus, because we're not happy with him. Always happy with Jesus. So U.S. District Judge Jesus Bernal rejected their claim, finding that the use of doctor by non-physicians in clinical contexts is inherently misleading, commercial speech, and not protected under the Constitution. The court pointed to evidence that patients often assume doctor being a physician, and noted that even the plaintiffs acknowledged this such confusion occurs. Judge Bernal concluded the record indicates that plaintiffs' particular form or method of advertising has, in fact, been deceptive, and thus the speech enjoys no First Amendment protection. CMA and the Miracle, the American Medical Association, filed amicus briefs in the case, stressing, of course they did, that misuse of the physician title can confuse patients. Oh, those poor little stupid patients, can confuse them and erode trust. Significantly in construering the purpose and meaning of 2020 2054, the court relied on case law and arguments raised in CMA's amicus brief concerning the impact of state law precedents. The court also cited survey evidence from AMA's Truth, American Medical Association's Truth and Advertising Campaign, demonstrating patient confusion. Although amicus briefs are uncommon at the trial court level, CMA and AMA's participation appears to have had a positive influence, depending on your opinion. California's nearly 90-year-old statute is designed to prevent patients from being misled into believing a practitioner is a physician when they are not. First of all, 90 years old, we didn't have mid-level providers back then. You know, you were either a physician or you were a nurse.

SPEAKER_02:

Yeah.

SPEAKER_00:

With and so since that time, subsequently, we have clinical the emergence of a clinical doctoral degree. Okay, uh I'll try and button it up and read through this.

SPEAKER_02:

Maybe they should find a new name for themselves.

SPEAKER_00:

Exactamente. I mean, it's not like these nurses of doctor practice are calling themselves physicians, but okay, let's save that for the end. I'm gonna try and calm down a little bit and finish this article. Okay. Okay, misrepresentation of a provider's level of licensing. And it's not. I can't. I can't. Okay. Misrepresentation of a provider's is so-called perception of misrepresentation of a provider's level of licensing, according to this article, can jeopardize patient safety. Leading patients to mistakenly believe that they're being treated by someone with physician-level training and qualifications. In today's complex healthcare system, where it's already difficult for patients to distinguish between physicians and non-physicians, the truth in advertising law plays a vital role in safeguarding trust and promoting informed decision making. I don't know if I can get through this without okay. Another paragraph.

SPEAKER_01:

I mean, the last paragraph's probably not even important. I think our banter is going to be more important. I'm so mad.

SPEAKER_00:

Yeah. So, okay, so this is assuming that there is some inherent safety issue between physicians and non-physicians. So I would I would argue that if you are, if you go to your this includes, by the way, people, this includes dentists, pharmacists, optometrists, audiologists, PhDs. So if, you know, PhD psychologists and stuff. So if you go to someone and they say, hey, I'm Dr. So-and-so, I'm your optometrist, do you understand the difference between? I mean, you're going to get your vision tested. Do you think a physician is going to waste their time doing that? First of all, and if they do, great. But like, is there a difference in being able to test who does most of that appointment be COAs anyway? Right?

SPEAKER_02:

But it's just like, yeah, no. Oh, okay, keep going.

SPEAKER_00:

So if you go to an optometrist, for example, and they introduce themselves as Dr. So-and-so, I'm your optometrist. Where is the misconception? Because no one said I'm your physician. They said they're I'm your optometrist.

SPEAKER_02:

And just like I introduced myself in clinic, hi, I'm Dr. House. I'm your audiologist. Right. And I had patients specifically ask me before, so do you have like an MD or something? Nope. I have a clinical doctorate in audiology.

SPEAKER_00:

And you know what? You're the subject matter expert in your area. So I don't expect a surgeon to understand the recommendations of someone who's well-versed and specialized in hearing health care. Then I expect a person who's well versed in hearing health care to tell a surgeon how to do their surgery. So, and I think this is underestimating. It's devaluing the actual knowledge of consumers these days. They know what they're doing. They know what they're going for. It's like assuming everyone is so so uh I can't even I can't even pinpoint really where what's really upsetting me the most. I think it's the undervaluing of the fact that, first of all, that people who have spent many, many years, and we can show you our school loan bills, in educating themselves in a specialty area to the point where they get a doctorate, why are they not allowed? To then present themselves as experts in that subject matter because somehow patients, the general public, are unsafe because they may think that we're physicians. It doesn't make any sense to me. It's so incongruous and archaic. And as it says, this law in California, I thought California was, you know, forward-thinking, open-minded. I don't know. But this rule is 90 years old before any of these doctoral degrees even existed. So sorry, California, you guys really, really failed here.

SPEAKER_02:

Will not be moving there.

SPEAKER_00:

No.

SPEAKER_02:

It's just I mean, I already would not have been. Well, I can't afford to move there just because of this, but like also this.

SPEAKER_00:

But like it's really disappointing because it it assumes that the general public isn't educated enough to understand what they're what they're going for and whether or not what they're the person they're seeing is qualified to do their job. So if you're going to an optometrist who has a doctoral degree in optometry, I mean in audiology, we're required to have a doctoral degree to be able to call ourselves an audiologist. So why can't we say we're a doctor of audiology? It doesn't make any sense. Why are you denying us what we earned? Like you're mad about it, then go to school and you also can be in debt.

SPEAKER_02:

And how about all of our dentists?

SPEAKER_00:

Oh my god. And the dentists actually got, they must be so pissed. They go to medical school. Yeah, they go to medical school for crying out loud. Yup. Okay. So this is not good in California. You guys need to do better. Okay. I know we said we're gonna get political, but you know what? California, do better. Let's let's reconsider this. And yeah.

SPEAKER_02:

I wouldn't say that's political, but yeah, California is do better.

SPEAKER_00:

Do better. Okay. Okay, now that I'm mad, we're gonna go back to the case. Or unless you have anything else to say. Sorry.

SPEAKER_02:

It's unique that we get more upset with the chart note than no, like my insides are flaming right now. I just Well, it's our livelihood. We worked really hard. And and I think like if someone was mis misrepresenting themselves, then shame on them. But I can say that we never have.

SPEAKER_00:

But there are rules and regulations and violations. I mean, I serve on council with our Department of Health that we look at these violations where people are she serves on every council you guys. Where we look at, you know, complaints to see, yeah, is that valid? Is someone representing themselves in a way that they shouldn't be? And it's pretty rare, I will tell you. Pretty darn rare.

SPEAKER_02:

So I think like if I was a dentist, I'd be even more pissed. And also an optometrist, because they work in the same building, whatever. I mean, like us, like we're just it's one level. You are us, and okay, you can have a PhD, so they would say they are not the same as me and whatever. But optometrists, they're working alongside their ophthalmologists. And then now I have to go to first name because yeah, you know, California has a bug up their butt.

SPEAKER_00:

And also they're not representing themselves as surgeons, although some optometrists can do minor surgeries. Did you know that? Yes. I mean, it's crazy. That's crazy. It's so insulting. It's so insulting.

SPEAKER_02:

And also, I just got okay, this is a total sidebar story. But if you went to elementary school with me, you know the story. And this is something that has carried me with me in my adult life, is when my fourth grade teacher came into the building, into our classroom. I said, Good morning, Clark. And I got in so much trouble for that. I got pulled down the hall and I got a lecture that he is my teacher. He is not my friend. His friends call him Clark. I'm not his friend, I'm his student. I will call him Mr. Folstead. So if you ever hear this, that still fucking haunts me. Thanks a lot. So you just decided to call you teacher Clark. Well, my friend, you know, dared me and I never say no to a dare. Oh, I love that so much. So anyway, Mr. Cheekies, I always would hear him in the back of my mind because I would like introduce myself, like, hi, I'm Dr. House. I'm your audiologist today. And it was usually men, of course, that were like, Oh, hey, Amanda. And I'm like, no, you don't know me. Like, I just told you what my name was. Like, yeah, I just yeah, I feel like that was from Mr. Olstead. I was like, no, I told you what to call me. Yeah, don't call me Amanda.

SPEAKER_00:

It felt like it's disrespectful. It is disrespectful. And I noticed that I mean, I love my dad, lovely dad, but you know, as an audiologist, he was always referred to as Dr. Tanel, and then I would be, you know, Jenna. Yeah.

SPEAKER_02:

We had two men in our department where I last worked, and it was from our leadership team, always Dr. Dr. So-and-so and Dr. So-and-so. But if it came to any of us women, it was first name.

SPEAKER_00:

Yeah.

SPEAKER_02:

It's like people see that, you guys. Start respecting women. Gee dang it. Right. And we we're smart and audiology is a woman-dominated field.

SPEAKER_00:

You know what? Some of us took the 10-year train to get our degrees. Hey oh, the money to prove it. The loans, not the money. Not the money.

SPEAKER_02:

A lot of digits on that loan paper. Oh my gosh.

SPEAKER_00:

Aren't there? Okay. Deep breath. We are worthy. We are worthy.

SPEAKER_02:

I feel like I'm blocked. Yeah. California.

SPEAKER_00:

California. You're gonna do better. You're not gonna infect the rest of this nation. Let's hope.

SPEAKER_02:

Okay. Yeah, I hope it doesn't move east at all. I would hate if you fell in the ocean. Change your law. Thank you.

SPEAKER_00:

I mean, yeah. Okay. So back to this horrific case. Do we seem narcissistic that we're really upset about the I hope not.

SPEAKER_02:

I just think like I hope it comes off more that like we worked really hard and this is stupid. It feels like a step backwards.

SPEAKER_00:

And it's also it's also devaluing or de underestimating patients' knowledge these days. Like they understand the healthcare is vast and there's a lot of choices out there. There's PAs, MPs, this, that, and the other. Okay. Anyway.

SPEAKER_02:

And I trust when I go to the dentist, and if something goes wrong, they will be able to save my life. Like they are a doctor to me.

SPEAKER_00:

I mean, honestly, the fact that they have to go through medical school and they're being told in California they can't use their title.

SPEAKER_02:

BS. I'm sorry, my middle finger's up. Yeah.

SPEAKER_00:

No, it's BS. Oh God.

SPEAKER_02:

We have some people that work in the dental field that listen to this podcast pretty religiously. So actually, can you guys ask your dentists if they have heard about this? And if so, I would love their hot take.

SPEAKER_00:

Like, are they significant as that? The dental community, the dentists, I'm sure they have enough money in their pack that they can really fight this. Like audiologists are just a tiny little subgroup. Up optometrists may are maybe a little bit bigger to fight this. But dentists, I mean, you guys you need to go up against AMA. Let's fight this. Right? Come on, guys.

SPEAKER_02:

Throw a rock and you'll find one.

SPEAKER_00:

Guys and gals, non-binary pals. You need to fight this. All right, for all of us. But you guys have the money. Okay. And you deserve it the most.

SPEAKER_02:

But yeah, but we're just a blick. Can you guys have these things?

SPEAKER_00:

You deserve it the most because you guys actually went to medical school. So three hours later. All right. So when the Los Angeles County Coroner's office released the word homicide, everything changed. Until that moment, you could still believe it was another tragedy. A celebrity whose heart gave up under the weight of exhaustion and chemistry. But homicide turned sympathy into scrutiny, and it means that somebody caused it. And all eyes turned to Conrad Murray. Now, if Murray had been any other doctor, anonymous, suburban, running a cardiology clinic out of a strip mall, he'd have been quietly ruined in peace. But his patient was Michael Jackson, which meant every camera in the world was pointed directly at his face. And the man did not know how to keep quiet. He liked the sound of his own voice. The LAPD questioned him within two days. His answers were, to put it gently, inconsistent. First he claimed he'd only given small doses of sedatives, Adam, Valium, maybe a touch of medazalan. Then he admitted to giving perpofol, but swore it was just a screw, a tiny dose, nothing fatal. Then he claimed he'd left the room for a couple of minutes to use the restroom.

SPEAKER_02:

Does he not realize that there's a person called a coroner in this situation?

SPEAKER_00:

Seriously, dude. A couple of minutes that stretched into 20 when phone records showed he was making calls, sending texts, and even checking his voicemail while Jackson was dying down the hall. You know how people talk about the smoking gun. Well, this was the surgeon's version. A smoking syringe, fingerprints, and a phone log that screamed negligence. Police seized the medical equipment, the IV bags, the leftover propofol bottles. One had a slit near the bottom. An improvised setup that Murray had apparently rigged himself. No proper infusion pump, no monitoring machine. So this means that this there wasn't steady dose or delayed dose or a regulated dose. He just like pushed the meds in there all at once. And that's not how these are done. And there were no monitoring machines, no oxygen saturation meter. It was the medical equivalent of bungee jumping with a freight rope. Murray, his defense? Well, he said Michael did it to himself. Oh, that's right. The good old doctor told investigators that his patient, unconscious under heavy sedation, somehow woke up, reached for a syringe, and injected more propofol, and promptly killed himself. Sure, I guess the tooth fairy did the chart notes. Detectives built their case piece by piece. The timeline didn't add up. The medical records were incomplete, and Murray's behavior after the fact looked less like grief and more like panic. One of the paramedics later testified that when they arrived, Murray was sweating, frantic, claiming he'd only just found Jackson unresponsive, but his pulse oximeter, the little device that tracks oxygen levels, wasn't even turned on. And the 911 call came at least 20 minutes late. And in cardiac arrest, as we said before, that's a death sentence. The coroner's toxicology report sealed the deal. Jackson's blood contained lethal propofol levels, about 2.6 micrograms per milliliter, which is enough to induce surgical anesthesia. The sedatives in his system, larazipam and midazolam, compounded the respiratory depression. Translation? He couldn't breathe long before his heart stopped. The medical examiner noted superficial needle marks on his arms, but no signs of self-injection. The pattern suggested someone else administered the drugs. Murray's fingerprints were on the bottles and Jackson's were not. Still, Murray spun his story. Still, Murray spun his story. He said Michael was addicted to sleep, not to drugs, that he begged for propofol as his milk. That he, Murray, tried to wean him off, giving smaller and smaller doses until that final night when wouldn't you know it? The singer must have sabotaged himself. It was the perfect defense for someone who didn't understand irony. Because if your patient is so unstable that you think he might inject himself with anesthesia, why on earth would you leave the room? The news cycle exploded. You couldn't turn on the TV without seeing his face. Jackson's angelic image next to Murray's grim mugshot. The networks played autopsy speculation like it was sports commentary. The words propofol and benzodiazepine became household vocabulary. Fans gathered outside Neverland Ranch, weeping and singing Man in the Mirror. Candlelight vigils lit up cities from London to Tokyo. Everyone wanted someone to blame, and Murray, smooth, soft spoken, always insisting he was misunderstood, he made the perfect villain. Even better, he seemed to enjoy the attention. He gave interviews, appeared in documentaries, and portrayed himself as the victim of fame. It was surreal. The man whose actions killed Michael Jackson was crying about his life had been ruined. Meanwhile, Jackson's family prepared for battle. They wanted justice, or at least accountability. Catherine Jackson, stoic and devastated, told reporters that she hoped no other family would suffer what hers had. Lotoya hinted at a conspiracy, and Janet said simply, someone should pay. Two years later, in September 2011, People vs. Conrad Murray began in the Los Angeles Superior Court. Judge Michael Pastor presided. The courtroom was packed daily. Press, fans, and even lookalikes. Seriously, Michael Jackson impersonators stood outside holding signs that said justice for Michael. The prosecution, led by David Walgren, painted a portrait of a greedy, reckless doctor who violated every rule in the medical book. They said Murray was motivated by money, too lazy or too proud to say no to his famous patient, and too careless to call 911 when everything went wrong. They called expert witnesses, anesthesiologists, cardiologists, pharmacologists, all of whom agreed on one thing. This was not how propofol is used. One anesthesiologist testified that administering propofol in a home setting without proper monitoring was equivalent to giving surgery on a kitchen table. And then there were the tapes. Prosecutors played a haunting recording found on Murray's iPhone. A slurred, barely coherent voice, unmistakably Michael's, talking about his upcoming concerts. We have to be phenomenal. When people leave this show, when they leave my show, I want them to say I've never seen anything like this in my life. It was chilling. You could hear the exhaustion and the haze. It was the sound of a man dreaming and dying. Murray's defense was a masterclass in deflection. Lead attorney Ed Chernoff told the jury that Jackson was a desperate insomniac who pushed the limits of his own body, that Murray was trying to save him. They argued that the doctor was scapegoated, that the real culprit was Jackson's own addiction. They leaned heavily on this self-injection theory, but every expert who took the stand dismantled it. The dosage, the timing, the evidence, none of it fit. To inject that much perbofol, Jackson would have needed coordination that he wouldn't have had under sedation. The only way it worked was if Murray left a continuous drip going, which is something he denied, but the evidence supported, and this is where the tragedy got personal. Jackson's staff took this stand, his chef, his bodyguards, his personal assistant. They described a man unraveling, thin, jittery, fragile. His chef, Kai Chase, recalled preparing breakfast for the kids when Murray came running down the stairs, shouting, Get help! Get prince. She remembered the look in his eyes, sheer panic. The bodyguard, Alberto Alvarez, described rushing upstairs and seeing Jackson's lifeless body on the bed, an Ivy in his leg and medical gear scattered everywhere. Murray told him to grab the the vials and hide them before calling 911. Hide them. Even in a moment of crisis, the doctor was covering his tracks. And when Alvarez testified, the courtroom went silent. He could feel the collective breath of realization. This wasn't a tragic accident. It was a chaotic, deceptive, and criminally stupid act all at once. Six weeks later, on November 7, 2011, the jury deliberated for just eight and a half hours, and they returned a single unambiguous word, guilty. The crowd outside erupted. Some cheered, others cried, fans danced and sang, beat it. Murray stood motionless, hands clasped as the verdict echoed. Judge Pastor didn't mince words at sentencing. He called Murray's actions a disgrace to the medical profession and said he's not a victim of circumstance, he's the cause of the circumstance. Four years in county jail, which was the maximum. What? Four years. And he served less than two. I am so what? I was so shocked. Did he ever lose his license?

SPEAKER_02:

Yeah. Okay, we'll get there, I'm sure. But what?

SPEAKER_00:

So, and what's even worse is that when he was released in October 2013, he walked free. He was unrepentant. He immediately started giving interviews again. Like it just the attention.

SPEAKER_02:

He's like, I gotta make money again. I lost my license. I will get paid to do interviews. Oh God.

SPEAKER_00:

Here's the thing about the Conrad Murray case. It wasn't really about a doctor, it was about what happens when fame rewires medicine. So celebrity doctors, the ones who orbit the powerful and famous, exist in a world without knowing or understanding the word no. Their job isn't to heal, it's to maintain the illusion of invincibility. So Murray wasn't the first, and he won't be the last, but he's the one that got caught. And Michael Jackson, the most famous man on earth, wasn't just a patient. He was a patient with power, the kind that could make doctors forget who was supposed to be in charge of medical care. The tragedy isn't just that Murray failed it, it's that everyone did. The system, the entourage, the industry, all of them feeding off of his exhaustion, promising him rest while taking his life one pill, one syringe at a time. If you strip away the sequence and the spectacle, it's simple. A doctor killed his patient, not with malice, but with ego, not with poison, but with obedience. And if there's one truth a doctoring the truth has taught us, it's this medicine without boundaries is just another form of addiction. The addiction to control, to fame, the illusion of healing when what you're actually doing is harm. When Michael Jackson took his last breath, the world lost a legend. But what really died that day was a lie that you can buy safety. Because even kings can overdose. When the verdict came down, guilty of involuntary manslaughter, it didn't feel like justice. It just felt like a placeholder. Conrad Murray went to jail, yeah, but Michael Jackson was still dead, and the reasons why went so much deeper than one man's poor judgment and a stethoscope. In the eyes of the law, the story was closed. In the eyes of the world, it was just beginning. Because what happens when the person you grew up idolizing, the man whose voice soundtracked your childhood, whose dance moves broke physics, suddenly becomes a body in an autopsy room? The grief was planetary, and it came with questions that no court could answer. The Jackson family did what families do when tragedy meets the spotlight. They fractured. Catherine Jackson, the matriarch, embodied Grace under unbearable pressure. She spoke gently, rarely, and mostly of forgiveness. She said she trusted in God's plan, even if she couldn't understand it, but you could see in her eyes that quiet grief that comes from watching your child die before you. Joe Jackson, ever the businessman, pivoted towards outrage. He went on talk shows demanding accountability, filing civil suits, and even hinting that Murray was a scapegoat for a larger conspiracy. Maybe he believed it, and maybe easier than admitting that fame had devoured their son. Latoya and Janet became emotional anchors, their interviews threaded with disbelief. He trusted people too much, Janet said. He needed help, not indulgence. The kids, Prince, Paris, and Blanket, were sheltered from the worst of the circus, but not immune. They'd lost their father in front of the world. And in the years that followed, they'd have to grow up watching his death through played endlessly on YouTube and CNN. Imagine that. Imagine being 12 years old, scrolling through your phone and seeing your father's final moments dissected frame by frame by strangers. That's not grief. That's a public autopsy. And then there were the fans. If you were alive in 2009, you remember where you were or where or when you heard. Outside UCLA, hundreds gathered within hours, clutching candles, wearing sequin gloves. In London, the city where Jackson was supposed to start his This Is It tour, people held vigils outside the O2 arena. In Tokyo, fans placed flowers in front of giant posters. And logos in Rio, in Paris, everywhere. People wept like they lost a friend. But mixed with the mourning was anger. Fans wanted accountability. They wanted to believe the system would protect their idol. And when the sentence came, four years served as two, it didn't feel like enough. I mean, a man died because someone decided the rules didn't apply to him and the punishment felt like a parking ticket. The public's outrage eventually morphed into a conspiracy. Maybe Murray was just a pawn. Maybe bigger forces were involved. Perhaps this was another example, the entertainment industry consuming its stars and discarding them when profits declined. But you could dismiss that as fan paranoia, but look at the evidence, not the autopsy, but the pattern. How many times have we seen this story? Whitney Houston, Prince, Amy Winehouse, Anna Nicole Smith, Elvis Presley, different drugs, different doctors, same dynamic. The patient's famous, exhausted, and surrounded by people paid to say yes. When Conrad Murray walked out of jail in 2013, the world hadn't forgotten him, though he seemed to think it had. He was thinner, grayer, and oddly defiant. I loved Michael, he told reporters. I tried to save him. He refused to take responsibility. He still claimed the justice system betrayed him and continued to portray himself as the victim. In 2016, he published a book, This Is It: The Secret Lives of Dr. Conrad Murray and Michael Jackson. It was part memoir, part damage to control, and mostly unreadable. In it, he alternated between professing undying love for his patient and blaming everyone else. AEG, the Mike, the Jackson family, the media, even Michael himself. The irony was so thick it could be cut with a scalpel. The medical boards in Texas, California, and Nevada all revoked his license. He couldn't practice again. The man who'd once treated the king of pop ended up giving phone interviews from his kitchen table, insisting he'd been wronged. He even tried to get his license reinstated in 2022, and the boards left him out of the room, thank goodness.

SPEAKER_02:

Yeah.

SPEAKER_00:

In the wake of Jackson's death, the phrase celebrity doctor started to sound more like an insult than a compliment. There was a reckoning, at least on paper. Hospitals and boards re-examined policies about home administered sedatives. Anesthesiologists spoke out, reminding the public that propofol is not and never will be a sleep aid. However, Hollywood medicine, including concierge care, cash-only consultations, and round-the-clock private physicians, didn't go away. They just got smarter and more discreet. You can't regulate the ego out of medicine, and that's what the case is about. Not about drugs, not sleep, ego. Murray's ego convinced him he could control a hospital-grade drug from a nightstand. Jackson's ego convinced him he could push his body beyond human limits. And the industry's ego convinced everyone that nothing bad could happen to someone that famous. And all three were wrong. Medical schools began teaching the cases the cautionary tale. Some professors called it the Jackson effect, when physicians allowed power dynamics and celebrity to override clinical judgment. One ethics professor, CLA, put it perfectly. Doctors can't serve two masters, the patient's well-being and the patient's fame. One will always eat the other alive. Talk about conflict of interest. Propofol's packaging now includes even more explicit warnings about off-label use. Hospitals tightened protocols, and some anesthesiologists became minor celebrities themselves for refusing celebrity requests, which I find funny. But ethics like fame fades fast. By the time another high-profile overdose hit the headlines, this time Prince, killed by counterfeit fentanyl, the world barely blinked. We learned nothing except how to be more desensitized. Michael Jackson's death wasn't just physical, it was psychological. It was a logical endpoint of decades of fear, insecurity, and insomnia. Insomnia isn't just not sleeping, it's the erosion of peace. It's lying awake at four in the morning, your brain replaying every note you missed, every headline you hated, every face that wanted something from you that you didn't think you delivered. He was a man who built Neverland, a private amusement park, because he wanted to live in a world where it was always gaytime and no one ever left. But even in Neverland, you have to close your eyes eventually, and when you've been awake for too long, sleep starts to feel like mercy. So he asked for mercy and Murray gave him murder. Over the years, Jackson's legacy has become a battleground between those who see him as a genius lost too soon and those who struggle to reconcile the music with the man. The allegations, the controversies, the plastic surgeries, they all blur into a complicated portrait of brilliance and brokenness. But the thing that unites everyone, fans, skeptics, family, even casual listeners, is a sheer waste of it all. He didn't have to die. If someone, anyone, had said no, if a doctor had walked away, if a producer had said cancel the tour, get him help. But in the world of fame, no is the only word nobody wants to hear. Walk into any karaoke bar, you'll still hear Billy Jean. Walk into any dance competition, you'll see a moon walk. Michael Jackson didn't disappear, he just changed form. His art is immortal and his story is not. Conrad Murray is now a footnote, a name that appears in the margins of medical malpractice textbooks, but the lesson he leaves behind should be burned into every clinic wall. You can't anesthetize pain. You can only postpone it. Michael Jackson once said, lies run sprints, but truth runs marathons. And the truth here ran a long ugly marathon through autopsy tables, courtroom transcripts, press conferences, and fan tears. The lie was simple that propofol could bring him peace and fame could keep him safe, that a doctor could be a caretaker and enabler and somehow call it medicine. The truth, it was never about asleep, it was about escape. He spent his whole life performing, trying to be the thing that everyone wanted him to be: the child star, the sex symbol, the saint, the freak, the genius. He just wanted to close his eyes. And Conrad Murray gave him that permanently. In the end, the story of Michael Jackson and Dr. Conrad Murray isn't about villainy or innocence. It's about the fragile border between healing and harm. And what happens when that line blurs under the spotlight.

SPEAKER_04:

And that's a wrap.

SPEAKER_02:

Wowzers. Very well done. Thank you for bringing us that. That's sad. Because it feels like someone you know and then you're hearing about the case.

SPEAKER_00:

I know. I mean, he was my childhood. He was my child teenhood, you know. Yeah. Absolutely devastating to learn that he died. But like the more you learn about it, the more it was like, what quality of life did he have to provide this gift to the world? And yet, what did the world give him? You know.

SPEAKER_02:

But then the simple facts also of what you mentioned of if people just said, no, take a break, don't go on tour. Let's get you the help you need, then he'd probably still be here.

SPEAKER_00:

Yeah.

SPEAKER_02:

There was another thing I really liked that you said comparing. Sentence to a parking ticket.

SPEAKER_01:

Yeah.

SPEAKER_02:

Yeah. And also about how there was the other deaths, Anna Nicole Smith, Prince, etc., etc. And how it's not like as shocking anymore because we become desensitized to it. And I feel like with so many things in culture now, we just become so desensitized to it because we have so much access at our fingertips now.

SPEAKER_00:

Yeah.

SPEAKER_02:

And I also very much dislike that.

SPEAKER_00:

Yeah, that's true.

SPEAKER_02:

But it's true.

SPEAKER_00:

Yeah. And and it's so easy to go, oh, well, they were addicted or whatever. I mean, I think I remember feeling like because I was young, I was like, oh, another Elvis, you know, like another person who just overdid it. But he was out. He he tried he he, I mean, regardless of yes, he was addicted, but he trusted this medical professional to take care of him, to help him sleep and make sure he was safe, right? He wasn't like just gonna go out and shoot up because I don't know any other way. And not that I'm judging that either, but like he trusted him.

SPEAKER_02:

I do believe his intention was to try and get a good rest. Yeah. And not, yeah. Yeah.

SPEAKER_00:

So there's a lot of fingers to point here. Very depressing, but also, yeah, that conflict of interest. Like you can't have a person like a m celebrity's like manager paying you for his I don't even know because I'm not in show biz. But like basically his management company, the the company wants him to go out and perform. Right. Pay for the doctor. Yeah. I mean, and they're like, make sure he's on point, make sure he's well arrested, make sure whatever. I mean, my god, that's the epitome of conflict of interest. Right? Oh, it's just so sad anyway you look at it anyway.

SPEAKER_02:

But either way, you shouldn't have left the room.

SPEAKER_00:

Ah honestly. And it let's face it, it wasn't two minutes. Because I mean, his phone records and everything showed. You just left him otherwise for a while. Yeah.

unknown:

Yeah.

SPEAKER_02:

Just like the anesthesiologist that you told us about last time that had to go to the bathroom quick.

SPEAKER_00:

Yeah.

SPEAKER_02:

Just a quick I mean, I don't think he was doing that.

SPEAKER_00:

Yeah. The one who was bonking the nurse. Oh, yeah, in the other room. Yeah.

unknown:

Yeah.

SPEAKER_00:

That was eight minutes. I mean Yeah. Oh boy. Okay. Yeah. Thanks.

SPEAKER_02:

Okay. I see we have another new sponsor. Yeah, tell us about it. And uh I'll tell you about it to give you a little uh vocal folds, a little break there. So sponsor number two today is Quantum Squares. And if I screw up reading this, it's because I've never read this before. So this is a hot first take together, okay? So Quantum Squares is redefining energy snacks with scientifically formulated energy bars to provide long-lasting, stable energy without crashes. Ooh. Developed by scientists, each bar combines whole food ingredients with 100 milligrams of organic caffeine, equivalent to an eight-ounce coffee, ensuring a smooth energy boost. These bars deliver balanced nutrition featuring 10 grams of plant pro plant-based protein, healthy fats, and complex carbohydrates, making them an ideal choice for active individuals. Quantum Squares are certified gluten-free, ooh, non-GMO, plant-based, kosher, vegan, dairy-free, and soy-free, with no artificial additives or sugar alcohols. Holy smokes, literally everyone can have these. Endorsed by athletes and fitness enthusiasts, Quantum Squares offers delicious flavors like peanut butter, dark chart, dark chocolate, and dark chocolate pink Himalayan salt, which is definitely the one I would get. With over 2,500 five-star reviews, customers rave about their tastes and effectiveness in combating afternoon slumps and providing clean, consistent energy. Quantum Squares commitment to quality and transparency. Ensure that each bar is delicious and a healthier, smarter alternative to conventional energy snacks. Hurry because ooh, this deal, oh, this deal expires on October 31st, guys. Ah! Visit quantumsquares.com and use promo code STAYSUSPIS for 25% off today. Today it's already the 6th. You're not gonna hear this till the 8th, so you better get to quantumsquares.com. Stay suspicious for 25% off.

SPEAKER_00:

Thank you for that. I'm just gonna jump right into this medical mishap because you're gonna love this. This will bring us up a little notch. This email comes to us from Anonymous, who writes, Dear Jenna and Amanda, I'm so excited if you read this on the pod. I'm writing it anonymously, as this is a story you don't want your name attached to. Oh, goodie. Oh boy. This is gonna be a good one. But before I get into it, I want to tell you how much I love your pod. Go on. My sister got thank you.

SPEAKER_02:

Thank you for listening to our call, a squeaky wheel. Please love us out loud.

SPEAKER_00:

My sister got me into it a few months ago. I've been binge listening on my commute to and from work. You two are doing important work, shining light on issues in healthcare with humor and compassion for the victims. Thank you for making me stay suspicious.

SPEAKER_02:

You're welcome. You're welcome. Thank you for listening to us.

SPEAKER_00:

Okay, now for the mishap. Anyone who's had the privilege of giving birth, and incidentally, many women who haven't but still experience this knows the cringing embarrassment of peeing yourself after sneezing or laughing too hard. I love this already. I was in hard denial about this issue, but something happened where I had to face the cold hard truth. Picture this. My husband and I bought a large trampoline for the backyard. My five-year-old daughter and I were engaged in an inaugural bounce. We were busting up laughing as she would attempt to lie down on the trampoline mat and I would jump, making her body airborne for a few moments. After one such jump slash bounce, I looked down at her only to see her eyes widen in horror. I realized that I had peed. I was in my swimsuit. So I wasn't immediately in parrot. I mean, yeah, maybe you'd just gotten out of the pool and you were like, is that me or is that the swimming pool? Anyway, a large puddle was working its way down to the indent where she lay. I knew then that I needed help. If only to protect my children. So I went to the urologist for a consult. MG, this guy was capital H. I was sweaty and nervous in his presence. Why did he have to be so hot? Anyway, Dr. Haughty said the first step was for me to try the non-invasive method of treatment, the cagle exercises. Now, Alicats, your girl was well versed in the cagle universe. I am a healthcare provider. He used to have to see patients in the incontinence room while our clinic was under construction. So that sounds like a punishment. On the wall in said room was a huge poster with the sage advice printed on it. Squeeze before you sneeze in pulled letters. Oh my gosh. That is such good advice. I've been squeezing before sneezing for years. On to the exam. Dr. Hottie got down to business for the physical exam and asked me to prove my prowess. Allie Cats, I geggled the crap out of that exam. I passed with flying colors. Later he said to me, Often women tell me they've been doing the exercises, but I can tell they haven't. You have the strongest geggles I've felt in my career. I can't. I need to keggle right now because I'm laughing so hard. Sorry. I was both proud and mortified. On to surgery. I got a mesh hammock thing implanted to support my bladder so I wouldn't wee every time I thought something was funny. Prior to surgery, I told Dr. Huddy, this better work. As be prepared, I plan to go to your office for my post op appointment and jump up and down on your carpet. Bold. Thankfully for him and for housekeeping, the surgery was a success, and I was back to jumping up and down with gleeful abandonment. My daughter might need therapy, but I'm cured. I mean, I'm also thinking maybe your urologist might need some therapy.

SPEAKER_02:

Jeez, these are the strongest gaggles I've ever felt. That's so uncomfy.

SPEAKER_00:

Meanwhile, she's proud. As she should be. Stay safe and stay suspicious of body fluids wending their way to you when a middle-aged mom jumps up and down next to you on your trampoline. Love anonymous. Oh gosh. Love that for us. But listen, what can our listeners expect to hear next week, Amanda?

SPEAKER_02:

Is it gonna be That's a really good question?

SPEAKER_00:

Is it gonna be a some prize, as my kids used to say when they were little?

SPEAKER_02:

It's gonna be a sum prize. Yay! It'll be some some some sort of prize. So yeah, it'll be a sum prize. I don't know why this says 25% buckle up.

SPEAKER_00:

Oh, I don't where's the 25%? It's a doozy. 25% of you need to buckle up is apparently the script.

SPEAKER_02:

So anyway, just reading the script, guys. So don't miss a beat. Subscribe or prepare.

SPEAKER_00:

75% of you can be bored, but 25% of you need to buckle up and prepare.

SPEAKER_02:

That's probably accurate. The last couple of times I haven't been able to read correctly. So okay. Don't miss a beat. Subscribe or follow Doctoring the Truth wherever you enjoy your podcast for stories that shock, intrigue, and educate. Trust, after all, is a delicate thing. You can text us directly on our website at doctoringthe truth at buzzpotbuzzprout.com. Email us your own story ideas, medical mishaps, and comments at Doctoringthe Truth at Gmail. And be sure to follow us on Instagram at Doctoring the Truth Podcast and Facebook at Doctoring the Truth. We are also on TikTok at Doctor the Truth and at oddpod. Don't forget to download rate and review so we can be sure to bring you more content next week. And remember to love us out loud. Send us a comment. Please stay safe. We only have a few comments. Give us comments.

unknown:

Okay.

SPEAKER_00:

Spacious. Mike.

Podcasts we love

Check out these other fine podcasts recommended by us, not an algorithm.

True Crime Campfire Artwork

True Crime Campfire

True Crime Campfire
Sinisterhood Artwork

Sinisterhood

Audioboom Studios
Morbid Artwork

Morbid

Ash Kelley & Alaina Urquhart