First of all, I went to see a doctor that my insurance company recommended. On the phone, he was rather terse with me and my first instinct was to not go. However, my mother, husband and mother in law all urged me to try him, so I gave it a shot.
Upon arriving at his office, my first thought was, "holy shit, this looks like my kind of people!" He's right down the road from my favorite nightclub, next door to a head shop, and the inside of the office was brightly, if shabbily painted in yellow. He dressed like my dad, all laid back and comfy and there was a lot of brightly colored art around his office. I relaxed a little, but not much.
The questionnaire I was handed was brief enough to give me pause. In fact, it wasn't a questionnaire at all really. It was more asking for billing information.
Our talk was brisk and left me feeling rather cold. I was allowed only to answer questions with a "yes" or "no", no clarifications would be accepted or given. He gave me a memory test that I could have passed at my most disoriented. Then, after about 20 minutes or so, I mentioned that my family had a history of autism spectrum disorders and suspected I was on the spectrum. He very brusquely told me, "you aren't autistic."
He told me he was prescribing Zoloft. While I have heard good things about Zoloft, I was not given ANY alternative. It was "take this and accept that you have to use birth control, because I'm not prescribing any other medication." Also, he told me not to research it. Don't look up the side effects, just take it. I was furious and frightened. I felt like I was back in high school, being forced to listen to a teacher who didn't understand clinical depression and was convinced I was a troublemaker, who could be cured with Oprah tactics and Pollyanna mentalities. He told me he wasn't going to give me individual sessions, gave me a strict list of group therapy rules and told me that, even if the session was canceled, I'd have to pay up $25 a week.
I was in shock. I wanted to scream at him, "how dare you treat me like this?" But, I said nothing. He terrified me. Finally, I said I'd think it over. He asked to be paid. I had a debit card. He was very sharp and insisted that it would be cash or check and that he'd already told me that on the phone. It's possible I'd forgotten, but I don't recall that. I hurried across to an ATM and got the money to pay. Anything to get away. I was crying. I felt humiliated, angry, afraid. It was only the tip of a horrible day, but it would have been enough to turn the best day sour.
My next step took me to Richmond Behavioral Health. They were remarkably polite and comforting, even expression shock at my experience with prior doctors. They referred me to a place that I will call Metropolis Health.
The trouble with Metro Health is that they wear many hats and have to make people jump through hoops to be treated. You show up, get registered, and, if the stars are right and your guardian angels have gotten very lucky, you can be seen and evaluated. But, this is rare. After the first attempt, you have to keep going back, early in the morning, and trying for a slot to be evaluated. If nothing else, the fourth time, they make an appointment and punt you up the line. I consider myself fortunate. My second official try worked.
The lady I worked with was super nice and helpful. She asked a very thorough battery of questions, and clarification was accepted and given. I wanted to hug her. She treated me like a person, one with feelings and anxieties. I wasn't a paycheck to her. I'm so relieved. I have appointments to see her and the psychiatrist there. I'm feeling more calm than I have in months.
More as I get it.