Back to School, Therapy, and Dueling Shrinks

I’ve been in therapy many years, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: the best way to determine your sanity is by how well you tolerate your doctors.  I saw the Dallas doctors, and insisted repeatedly and to several people – including the nurses, the nurse practitioner, and finally the psychiatrist – about wanting to have a definite time for treatment to end.  By the way, you get to talk to the psychiatrist on the hospital bed while they are preparing to hook you up to a machine – not distracting at all!  Don’t worry, I was prepared to leap off the table and do karate-like chops had they decided to go ahead and treat me.  I might have ended up in the looney bin, but their looney bin is kinda like a hotel as compared to the one in my hometown where people are stacked like cord wood- I saw pictures.  Also my friend is a lawyer. So you know, I was prepared.

How could it possibly be awkward for you to talk to me this way?

As expected, he got “oh-no-doctor-frowny-face” and rambled on about how studies show something- something.  I said I want to know how many more treatments cause I’m ready to stop.  Again.  So he finally came around with spacing out two more treatments.  One two weeks away, and the next another couple weeks.  Well, he said two to three which to me means TWO.  So I got knocked out, and they did whatever they do while I’m asleep – supposedly the treatment but you know they could be animating me like in that movie Weekend at Bernie’s, I don’t know.  Then we did the long, long drive home but this time I was more sleepy than usual, so I don’t remember as much.

After getting home, life moved on.  My Things started school again – weeeee!  Thing Two is in 8th grade this year – one more year of dreaded junior high – and Thing One is . … . a junior in high school.  Because I am kinda old.  I was helping them fill out paperwork and remembering when I first filled out paperwork for Thing One at the pediatrician’s office.  Under “Mother’s Name” I wrote my mom’s name.  Now she’s 17 years old, and next year she can vote.  Thank God!  She and Thing Two should have been voting in elementary school.  I believe in something called “mental age voting” which means that younger people who use their brains can vote, but older people who don’t use brains can’t.  As I signed, Thing Two told me her teacher said most of us parents could be signing up for almost anything because we don’t look at what we’re signing.  I protest – had that been a PTA form, you can bet I would have avoided it.

That’s a watermark there, but I like to think of it as a black hole.

Later that day, I went to see my local shrink.  He wanted to know about my 10 to 12 treatments.  Funny.  When I told him it was slightly more than that, I got “confused-face”.  Lovely.  I explained how I got better, but then I didn’t, but then I DID,  but then kinda not and so many treatments later here I was.  Then I started to get rather angry.  Just how many treatments was I supposed to have?  This is rather important stuff here when you’re dealing with a human’s brain.  I happen to have one of the few remaining working ones, so I’d rather not change that, thanks.  This is why we have to be in charge of our own health care, cause you can bet they are not going to have a clue.  Their heads are filled with stuff they learned in school, which does not include interacting with people.  People like patients, or their own medical freaking colleagues, for instance.  I guess I should have checked back, but when during all the travel and such?  Got me!

My husband was there to hold me down.

On the plus side, everyone else thinks I am better.  And I am, I guess, now that I have time to sit and think a little.  It’s taking a bit to get back in the grove of things, but thank God for Google, which will look up anything I need.  Like when I couldn’t remember where the italics were for just a second only to find them again on the toolbar above the text box in WordPress.  I’m sure if I had actual Microsoft Word on here (my former computer guy used to get me bootleg Microsoft Word before he went to jail shhhh) I would know where that toolbar is as well.  I also finally figured out how to get into a program where I can talk to a counselor over the computer!  I think!

I should warn her there’s an article that says some patients were flashing doctors.  Because of course they were.

I haven’t made it back to work yet.  After this summer of FUN, not sure I’m ready for that yet.

 

~Alice

 

 

 

3 responses

  1. It is completely beyond me why your shrinks don’t talk to each other. It’s bad for care for them to not talk to each other. Maybe they shouldn’t vote.

    1. They’re immigrants, so if they use their brains they did not vote for Trump so I guess we can let them vote. But honestly – yeah, talking to each other would be nice. They can go back to thinking they are superior after the conversation.

  2. There seems to be some sort of giant epidemic of medical types not speaking to each other, or even reading a patient’s notes some of the time. Makes life rather frustrating.

    Glad that you’re doing much better than you were.

    You mentioned before about having bags of stuff to sort and no clue where to start with them. Has anything changed or have you just thrown them all outside and covered them with petrol (gasoline) and torched them?

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