Those of you who have kept up with my personal blog know that we have had other last appointments before. But this one will be IT, because I have decided I cannot ever trust him again (he manipulated me into ECT and my own personal Hell ensued), and he has decided he wants to take on a less complicated caseload. Simple, even ‘less complicated’ doesn’t apply to me in any aspect of my life.
So what’s the big deal, you ask? The big deal is this. I have never changed psychiatrists before. I’m sure most of you reading this have been through many, but I had one before this doctor, whom I disliked and decided not to continue to see, and I had one after I fired this doctor (the story as to why we still see each other is very, ahem, complicated), whom I disliked and decided not to continue to see.
I’ve had loads of consults and seen other psychiatrists during my present treatment, but I’ve never had to break in a new one. It took me half a decade to break this one in, so you can understand my ambivalence. I don’t yet even have a new shrink lined up, because all of the good doctors aren’t taking new patients, and all of the doctors taking new patients aren’t any good. Apparently in the entire western region of the United States. Or at least anywhere I could drive on less than a tank of gas.
This should be fun. I can do a whole series on my experiences with people who want to f*** with my head. And no, I am not in any way cynical about the practice of psychiatry.
Point being, if I were rushing off into a sea of professionals who were not only competent, but understood my unique issues, I wouldn’t be concerned. These unique issues are as follows.
- I have tried all of the drugs psychiatrists use and don’t, in all of their combinations and their highest dosages, and they have failed. The very few that have succeeded have landed me in the emergency room. I have extensive notes detailing all of this, but I’m the patient, so that isn’t worth much.
- My very unusual drug metabolism. My primary refers to me (and has for years) as “a metabolic mystery.” Most doctors will think I’m full of crap when I tell them what I’m on and what I have taken and then see me walking upright, on balance, in stilettos.
- The fact that I have had my trust so profoundly violated in the past. I didn’t trust doctors before that experience, I trust them even less now.
- My knowledge and intelligence and ability to comprehend. Yes, I’m listing this as something that will work against me with a doctor. A very good, very rare doctor will see this as an asset. I have had one, in all of my life. Most doctors, especially psychiatrists, just view this as a threat to their authority.
- Which brings us to my final, major problem. The fact that I spit on the idea that having the letters M.D. after your name automatically makes you special. You have to earn my respect, it doesn’t come with the title.
Of course there’s another problem, but it’s going to be the psychiatrist’s: When I dig my heels in (and I have a pervasive tendency to do so when it comes to any aspect of my health), you’ll make more progress banging your head against a brick wall than you will trying to change my mind.
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