What a Difference A Day Makes

Yesterday I had two appointments, one with my pdoc and the other with my therapist. Great, kill two birds with one stone. I was looking forward to seeing my pdoc. I felt like he had come to my rescue last week when he gave me a script for resperidone and I was eager to tell him how things were going. I was proud of myself for not drinking since the 13th and for being calmer. You know, I should know better. I’ve been going there for over four years and never mind that I’ve been alive for almost 48 years, you’d think I’d know better, men really don’t listen to women. I don’t care if they’ve been schooled in psychiatry or not. Maybe I just haven’t met the perfect doctor yet or found the one that really hears what I’m saying or met the Dalai Lama or whatever the hell I’m trying to say. I always just feel like some kids stuffed toy that’s been dragged along behind in the gutter and then dropped. When will I learn that they’re just people with really nothing to offer but a magic bag of pills, like Felix and his magic bag of tricks?

He asked me how I was doing, the usual routine, and I proceeded to tell him what had been happening the past six weeks and how angry I had been feeling about the recent deaths, especially my friend who died from cancer. I became very angry talking about that.

Yes, my voice became very loud and I became very agitated and my hands balled into fists and perhaps punched my legs or I got animated too much to his liking. I was venting. I really felt like my blood pressure was right up there and my head was going to explode but it was all just talking. I didn’t stand up. I didn’t threaten anyone. I DID get loud,  I DID use swear words.

Well, he gets angry with me and yells at me. He tells me he doesn’t have time to talk about this for two hours ( it was a total of 40 minutes tops) while I RANT and RAVE about this. I am TOO LOUD and all I ever say is NO to any of his suggestions. To clarify, I did say no to going to a bereavement group because I had already had my husband’s hospice social worker come to my house for a while to talk to me after he died. I didn’t benefit from talking about my husband’s death. I am angry about what is causing all of the deaths. If I wanted to talk about death I could speak to anyone on my street seeing as there have been four cancer deaths just in the past two years all within two houses of mine. Not counting regular deaths caused by other causes bringing the number up to six. Also, if I had said no to everything then why am I on Resperidone and the other medications I’m taking. Why am I even at the appointment?

When he yelled at me it immediately triggered “father figure” in my mind and I shut down. The “I could kill you stare” came out and I stopped. I’m 48, don’t talk to me like I’m a 3 yr. old. Everything he said after that went in one ear, swirled around, and left. He suggested I take more Depakote. Sure, I’ll take more Depakote. For the record, if he even looks at them, when I am on higher dosages of Depakote I suffer from worsening of my IBS and get pains in my intestine. I also lose all interest in sex. Now why should that be important to a 48-year-old widow? My sex life is only a fantasy but it’s all I have. So, let’s take my fantasy life and kill that too. Maybe I’ll get a shepherd’s hook and a robe and sit in a chair in my yard and never pluck the hair’s from my chin or upper lip and try to grow a beard. Why will it matter? Let’s kill all semblance of any life that I feel in my body since you took it from my head yesterday doctor!

I don’t think I’ll return there anymore. I feel like this doctor-patient relationship is caustic. If this had been a marriage I would be living in an apartment by now. I am sick of feeling like shit and being walked on. I don’t own any t-shirts that say WELCOME across them the last I looked. I’m sorry, I wanted to have a happy posting, I wanted to feel good again. And I feel like shit. But to be honest with you there are people so much worse than me and I know that. So I’m going to just pick my fat ass up and dust myself off. It’s 95 degrees today and I love the heat, so I’m going to enjoy it, dammit. I have a headache again but now I know it’s from the pills. I think I’ll stick my head in some cold water after I do some cleaning and cooking. Maybe I’ll cook outside and have a BBQ for my family. I can’t eat it but they can. Thanks for reading and I know, somehow things will work out, they always do because I’m still here and aint going nowhere.

Have a good one for yourself and me too.

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2 thoughts on “What a Difference A Day Makes

  1. Dear Dorothy,

    Have you looked round for a female doctor? I don’t really know how it works over there (here, unless you have money to go private, you’re stuck with what you’re given) but I’ve read of a few American people changing doctors when they don’t get along with the one they have. Men are shite at listening, like you said, and this one sounds like he needs to see his own psychiatrist if he’s shouting at his patients, the dickhead.

    Love Dotty xxx

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