OK, so the National Zoo has a Blackfooted Ferret webcam set up on one of their ferrets that became a new mama. She's very pretty. She sleeps mostly. The baby is awake slightly more often, and I've come to the conclusion that the only thing cuter than a kitten is a baby ferret.
Typical ten minutes of ferret life:
Mom: Zzzzzz.
(Baby finds a boob.)
(Mom rolls over.)
(Baby runs a circle around Mom, finds another boob.)
Mom: Zzzzzzz.
And so on.
-----
So, yeah, it's been a while since I've posted. I'm not sure why, other than the usual BS: Kids home from school, City of Heroes, tired as hell.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Is this better or worse?
I go through the list that my auntie sent to me. There are two listings for professionals located in Seymour. So, I look them up.
One of them is in bed with my former former practice (the ones who couldn't get to me until 6 months after the fact), and the other one's associated with the practice that just dismissed me.
People, I know when I'm licked.
I called the former formers to make an appointment.
"We need to have you come in to see a therapist so we can reopen your case."
This to me sounds like they think of me as some goddamn criminal or abused child that needs a social worker. Still, they tell me they can get me in to see a psychiatrist within three weeks after seeing the therapist which is an improvement over six months. I'm transferred to someone who takes my insurance information. And then back.
"Okay, the only doctor we have for [insurance company from hell] is [doctor]. We can get you in as early as May 29th."
Oh my lord. "Is that the psychiatrist?" I ask.
She's impatient. "No, I told you, you have to see a therapist first. [doctor] is the therapist."
Fine, whatever. I get the appointment on the 29th, and then I call my regular doctor's office.
"Hey, I think my medication might be messing with me, what with the mood swings and paranoia."
"[My regular doctor] is out until next week, but I can set you up with [physician's assistant who's a good listener and can run to the doc if I need a prescription]. I have an 11. No, wait. You could come in at 10:30."
"I need a shower first. Anything later?"
"Is 1 okay?"
Dr. K is uncomfortable with prescribing my meds and wonders why I don't go through an approved psychiatrist. I hate to tell him he and his office staff have spoiled me. They have 6 doctors that don't have the one-hour block constraints and they can take me the same day, whether I need stitches and a tetanus shot or a wee bit of therapy to get me through the week in one piece.
Edit: I think they probably have the notation "Suicidal" in my file. And that doesn't hurt either.
One of them is in bed with my former former practice (the ones who couldn't get to me until 6 months after the fact), and the other one's associated with the practice that just dismissed me.
People, I know when I'm licked.
I called the former formers to make an appointment.
"We need to have you come in to see a therapist so we can reopen your case."
This to me sounds like they think of me as some goddamn criminal or abused child that needs a social worker. Still, they tell me they can get me in to see a psychiatrist within three weeks after seeing the therapist which is an improvement over six months. I'm transferred to someone who takes my insurance information. And then back.
"Okay, the only doctor we have for [insurance company from hell] is [doctor]. We can get you in as early as May 29th."
Oh my lord. "Is that the psychiatrist?" I ask.
She's impatient. "No, I told you, you have to see a therapist first. [doctor] is the therapist."
Fine, whatever. I get the appointment on the 29th, and then I call my regular doctor's office.
"Hey, I think my medication might be messing with me, what with the mood swings and paranoia."
"[My regular doctor] is out until next week, but I can set you up with [physician's assistant who's a good listener and can run to the doc if I need a prescription]. I have an 11. No, wait. You could come in at 10:30."
"I need a shower first. Anything later?"
"Is 1 okay?"
Dr. K is uncomfortable with prescribing my meds and wonders why I don't go through an approved psychiatrist. I hate to tell him he and his office staff have spoiled me. They have 6 doctors that don't have the one-hour block constraints and they can take me the same day, whether I need stitches and a tetanus shot or a wee bit of therapy to get me through the week in one piece.
Edit: I think they probably have the notation "Suicidal" in my file. And that doesn't hurt either.
So not working out.
Friday afternoon: Cry. A lot. Why? Who knows.
Friday night-Sunday:Meh.
Sunday night-Monday morning: Insomnia. Wake Drew up at six to tell him that I'm sorry he married me because now he's stuck with me until I commit suicide. He does the appropriate amount of comforting/distraction. If I had a gun, I'd be dead. Cry for four hours. Why? Who knows.
Monday-Tuesday morning: Fine. Whatever.
Tuesday-Wednesday: Just really fucking angry, OK? I didn't ask to have you goddamn kids, so just leave me alone.
Wednesday night: Panic attacks at the mere thought of someone coming by, even someone I know and trust. Peel myself off the ceiling when one person calls to see who I'm voting for and then a second time when someone calls to let me know that my registration did indeed go through. Cry for three hours. Why? Who knows. Panic attacks continuous. The urge to run away is only mitigated by agoraphobia. I can't fucking breathe. Back muscles tighter than hell, throat half closed. I just know that there's someone watching my house, and I'm trapped inside. If I leave, even for a minute, something will happen.
Monday morning-Right Fucking Now: Crying. Why? Who knows.
This is not normal. I am not normal.
Friday night-Sunday:Meh.
Sunday night-Monday morning: Insomnia. Wake Drew up at six to tell him that I'm sorry he married me because now he's stuck with me until I commit suicide. He does the appropriate amount of comforting/distraction. If I had a gun, I'd be dead. Cry for four hours. Why? Who knows.
Monday-Tuesday morning: Fine. Whatever.
Tuesday-Wednesday: Just really fucking angry, OK? I didn't ask to have you goddamn kids, so just leave me alone.
Wednesday night: Panic attacks at the mere thought of someone coming by, even someone I know and trust. Peel myself off the ceiling when one person calls to see who I'm voting for and then a second time when someone calls to let me know that my registration did indeed go through. Cry for three hours. Why? Who knows. Panic attacks continuous. The urge to run away is only mitigated by agoraphobia. I can't fucking breathe. Back muscles tighter than hell, throat half closed. I just know that there's someone watching my house, and I'm trapped inside. If I leave, even for a minute, something will happen.
Monday morning-Right Fucking Now: Crying. Why? Who knows.
This is not normal. I am not normal.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
And another thing.
I have more to say about the LDS. A lot more.
Racist
There have always been quite a few black Mormons. In fact, the early Mormons were adamantly opposed to slavery, including Joseph Smith himself, who annointed a couple into the priesthood. When Smith was no longer around, however, the church's stance changed according to "prophecies" bestowed on church leaders.
These prophecies were as thus. In pre-mortal times (that is, before they came to Earth), there was a big war. See, Jesus and his brother Lucifer (I know) both had a plan for Heavenly Father's planet. Lucifer's plan was not good and was rejected. Jesus' plan was good and accepted. Lucifer, unwilling to leave well enough alone, took a third of the angels and rebelled. And war happened.
Post-Smith prophecy held that the black man (and other colored races) were born black because in pre-mortal times they didn't choose a side in the original Holy War. Also, black people bore the curse of Cain-- when Cain slew his brother, Abel, God cursed Cain with a mark. To the Mormons, the mark was black skin and a flat nose. Brigham Young stated that no man with even a drop of the blood of Cain would ever join the priesthood.
Prophecy (and speculation) also held that one's skin color was an indicator of how virtuous and moral the owner of that skin was. In other words white=good, black (or brown or red or yellow)=naughty. It was noted by church prophets that an Indian child (yes, I know, Native American) when adopted and raised by good Mormon parents, became lighter and more pleasant to look at.
It wasn't until 1978 that God finally came through-- that is, gave them the permission they needed to allow black men into the priesthood.
Sexist
The church has long been accused of sexism. "Not true," they say. "Our women never complain." In case you haven't noticed, a strong woman who hasn't been raised to think sexism is the natural order of things doesn't stay in the church very long.
There are two priesthoods: The Aaronic Priesthood is bestowed upon boys when they turn 12 (think of it as a redneck Bar Mitzvah), and the Melchizedek Priesthood, given to young men when they turn 18.
In a marriage ceremony, a man pledges himself to honor and obey God, while a woman gives herself into honor and obedience to her husband. A man may remain sealed to every woman he marries; a woman may only be sealed to her first husband.
In other words, a 12 year old boy is more fit to lead a household than his 35 year old mother is.
The priesthood states: "Well, y'all can make babies, so we have to have some power in order to be equal with you."
"Hey, your job is to make babies while we worry about the hard stuff, sweetheart." Same argument, different spin.
A woman's job in the LDS faith is total obedience to her husband, along with popping out as many babies as possible. Is it any wonder that the church makes up such a huge voting bloc?
Anti-Gay.
"..There is no true Latter-day Saint who would not rather bury a son or daughter than to have him or her lose his or her chastity -- realizing that chastity is of more value than anything else in all the world." --Prophet Heber J. Grant
According to LDS teachings, sexual sins are second only to murder in their seriousness. And like many Judeo-Christian churches, homosexuality is one of the worst types of sexual sin. In fact, if we're not careful and let those sinful homos marry each other, they'll destroy everything that's right in society and we'll all catch the gay.
Right? I mean, we're not like those wishy-washy Episcopalians.
Born Again Bigots
This flapstick (apologies to the pancake-sausage-corndog hybrid) managed to save all his righteous fury until the White House was just over the horizon-- then BLAMMO! he was a one-man homo/abortionist/gun control hatin' machine.
I'm thankful his run for office didn't get that far.
Go Away
Now with the fracas of the raid on the Eldorado Texas compound, I know that Mormons are getting a lot of unfavorable press. These people? They are not LDS. They are an offshoot. They are a throwback to the time when God said it was cool to have as many wives as you could sustain. Now God says to follow the law of the land, but these people just didn't get the memo.
The lesson: Fanatics and fringe groups make us all look like asses. Don't be like those guys.
(Edit: I can't believe I went through all this without mentioning Orson Scott Card. Oh, wait, yeah I can. Uncle Orson has come under fire off and on [just today, at 4:01pm, he was called "Orson Scott 'Pompous and Wrongheaded Windbag' Card"]. However, OSC has never run for public office that I'm aware of. Did no one else read Lost Boys and think, "Hey, is this guy a Mormon?" Or does it all revolve around some homophobic statements that are uttered on a daily basis by Fundies, Evangelicals and Charismatics of all stripes? Can I get an Amen?)
(Edit #2: WTF, OSC? That's the last time I halfheartedly defend a bigot.)
Racist
There have always been quite a few black Mormons. In fact, the early Mormons were adamantly opposed to slavery, including Joseph Smith himself, who annointed a couple into the priesthood. When Smith was no longer around, however, the church's stance changed according to "prophecies" bestowed on church leaders.
These prophecies were as thus. In pre-mortal times (that is, before they came to Earth), there was a big war. See, Jesus and his brother Lucifer (I know) both had a plan for Heavenly Father's planet. Lucifer's plan was not good and was rejected. Jesus' plan was good and accepted. Lucifer, unwilling to leave well enough alone, took a third of the angels and rebelled. And war happened.
Post-Smith prophecy held that the black man (and other colored races) were born black because in pre-mortal times they didn't choose a side in the original Holy War. Also, black people bore the curse of Cain-- when Cain slew his brother, Abel, God cursed Cain with a mark. To the Mormons, the mark was black skin and a flat nose. Brigham Young stated that no man with even a drop of the blood of Cain would ever join the priesthood.
Prophecy (and speculation) also held that one's skin color was an indicator of how virtuous and moral the owner of that skin was. In other words white=good, black (or brown or red or yellow)=naughty. It was noted by church prophets that an Indian child (yes, I know, Native American) when adopted and raised by good Mormon parents, became lighter and more pleasant to look at.
It wasn't until 1978 that God finally came through-- that is, gave them the permission they needed to allow black men into the priesthood.
Sexist
The church has long been accused of sexism. "Not true," they say. "Our women never complain." In case you haven't noticed, a strong woman who hasn't been raised to think sexism is the natural order of things doesn't stay in the church very long.
There are two priesthoods: The Aaronic Priesthood is bestowed upon boys when they turn 12 (think of it as a redneck Bar Mitzvah), and the Melchizedek Priesthood, given to young men when they turn 18.
In a marriage ceremony, a man pledges himself to honor and obey God, while a woman gives herself into honor and obedience to her husband. A man may remain sealed to every woman he marries; a woman may only be sealed to her first husband.
In other words, a 12 year old boy is more fit to lead a household than his 35 year old mother is.
The priesthood states: "Well, y'all can make babies, so we have to have some power in order to be equal with you."
"Hey, your job is to make babies while we worry about the hard stuff, sweetheart." Same argument, different spin.
A woman's job in the LDS faith is total obedience to her husband, along with popping out as many babies as possible. Is it any wonder that the church makes up such a huge voting bloc?
Anti-Gay.
"..There is no true Latter-day Saint who would not rather bury a son or daughter than to have him or her lose his or her chastity -- realizing that chastity is of more value than anything else in all the world." --Prophet Heber J. Grant
According to LDS teachings, sexual sins are second only to murder in their seriousness. And like many Judeo-Christian churches, homosexuality is one of the worst types of sexual sin. In fact, if we're not careful and let those sinful homos marry each other, they'll destroy everything that's right in society and we'll all catch the gay.
Right? I mean, we're not like those wishy-washy Episcopalians.
Born Again Bigots
This flapstick (apologies to the pancake-sausage-corndog hybrid) managed to save all his righteous fury until the White House was just over the horizon-- then BLAMMO! he was a one-man homo/abortionist/gun control hatin' machine.
I'm thankful his run for office didn't get that far.
Go Away
Now with the fracas of the raid on the Eldorado Texas compound, I know that Mormons are getting a lot of unfavorable press. These people? They are not LDS. They are an offshoot. They are a throwback to the time when God said it was cool to have as many wives as you could sustain. Now God says to follow the law of the land, but these people just didn't get the memo.
The lesson: Fanatics and fringe groups make us all look like asses. Don't be like those guys.
(Edit: I can't believe I went through all this without mentioning Orson Scott Card. Oh, wait, yeah I can. Uncle Orson has come under fire off and on [just today, at 4:01pm, he was called "Orson Scott 'Pompous and Wrongheaded Windbag' Card"]. However, OSC has never run for public office that I'm aware of. Did no one else read Lost Boys and think, "Hey, is this guy a Mormon?" Or does it all revolve around some homophobic statements that are uttered on a daily basis by Fundies, Evangelicals and Charismatics of all stripes? Can I get an Amen?)
(Edit #2: WTF, OSC? That's the last time I halfheartedly defend a bigot.)
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Better.
So I printed and mailed the letters this morning (not as easy as I'd hoped; "the printer is on the network" my ass). I find myself without an angry letter to write, so here's someone else's. This comes from our local paper, The Tribune, so feel free to chortle about the redneck way.
I recommend Frontline for things to watch to piss you off. If you're into that sort of thing. Many of the episodes are also free. Another pet peeve I've been cooking up is the evil of consumerism. Yeah, I know, but how much stuff does a person need? This show, which I saw on FSTV back when we still had satellite, is not free, but I think everyone should watch it, just to see how the other half (Freegans, Europeans, and other filthy hippies) live.
As long as I'm being borderline political, I'd like to point out that these people are the best. I wish they were my family, but my family members are closer to this. And this too. I have no idea what I can do about that. My dad, who is LDS, should know all about religious discrimination (but seems to either be blinded to it, or just never in an intolerant area). I am sorry I'm not fulfilling his requirements, but I really don't want to spend eternity in Mormon heaven, which is probably full of Amway, genealogy reports, and stockpiled food.
Lest anyone think I have a hate-on for the LDS, I don't. I just don't want to join their decaffeinated tea/Kool-aid party. I won't claim a church that won't let me drink, smoke, have a same-sex attraction (I'm straight, but I do get girl-crushes), have caffeine, or use birth control. I understand that some of these aren't limited to LDS, and that's why I'm not a member of any church.
Dad's also a backslid Mormon, which is why I don't take his recommendation seriously. He drinks Coke (not the pussy decaf version) and swears like a sailor (perspective: about as much as I do, and I keep it fairly clean on the blog vs. my usual Tourette's-esque goddamn motherfucking potty-mouth). He regales me with tales of his childhood in a Mormon home, in one breath blaming the faith for part of the emotional abuse he suffered, the next breath telling me I should be part of that. I don't need his issues. I have a year's subscription already.
There's also the Temple Sealing. As I understand it, this occurs when a man and a woman marry in the Temple, when a child is born in the Covenant (two Mormons who are married to each other and are in good standing), and during a special ceremony where the good Mormon can guarantee entrance for the rest of his family (or whoever the ceremony seals him to) in the Celestial Kingdom. It is permanent unless broken by another ceremony. Confused? I sure am.
My father was sealed to my mother after she converted. They divorced. He was sealed to my first stepmother in a Temple wedding. They divorced. He was married to my second stepmother in a Temple wedding. They divorced once and remarried the following Tuesday after the divorce was made final.
(edit: Note here that I was born in the Covenant, that is, to sealed parents. There's a good possibility that I'm already sealed to both parents, and will be with them in the Celestial Kingdom for all eternity. Oh, joy.)
As far as I know, my mom is still sealed to my dad. Which means she's going to be pissed if she ends up in the Celestial Kingdom with my dad for eternity along with my two stepmothers and 297 other spirit-wives, expected to populate a planet with their spirit children.
This religion makes me cry. Seriously.
Hey, I guess I had an angry letter to write after all. Go me.
I recommend Frontline for things to watch to piss you off. If you're into that sort of thing. Many of the episodes are also free. Another pet peeve I've been cooking up is the evil of consumerism. Yeah, I know, but how much stuff does a person need? This show, which I saw on FSTV back when we still had satellite, is not free, but I think everyone should watch it, just to see how the other half (Freegans, Europeans, and other filthy hippies) live.
As long as I'm being borderline political, I'd like to point out that these people are the best. I wish they were my family, but my family members are closer to this. And this too. I have no idea what I can do about that. My dad, who is LDS, should know all about religious discrimination (but seems to either be blinded to it, or just never in an intolerant area). I am sorry I'm not fulfilling his requirements, but I really don't want to spend eternity in Mormon heaven, which is probably full of Amway, genealogy reports, and stockpiled food.
Lest anyone think I have a hate-on for the LDS, I don't. I just don't want to join their decaffeinated tea/Kool-aid party. I won't claim a church that won't let me drink, smoke, have a same-sex attraction (I'm straight, but I do get girl-crushes), have caffeine, or use birth control. I understand that some of these aren't limited to LDS, and that's why I'm not a member of any church.
Dad's also a backslid Mormon, which is why I don't take his recommendation seriously. He drinks Coke (not the pussy decaf version) and swears like a sailor (perspective: about as much as I do, and I keep it fairly clean on the blog vs. my usual Tourette's-esque goddamn motherfucking potty-mouth). He regales me with tales of his childhood in a Mormon home, in one breath blaming the faith for part of the emotional abuse he suffered, the next breath telling me I should be part of that. I don't need his issues. I have a year's subscription already.
There's also the Temple Sealing. As I understand it, this occurs when a man and a woman marry in the Temple, when a child is born in the Covenant (two Mormons who are married to each other and are in good standing), and during a special ceremony where the good Mormon can guarantee entrance for the rest of his family (or whoever the ceremony seals him to) in the Celestial Kingdom. It is permanent unless broken by another ceremony. Confused? I sure am.
My father was sealed to my mother after she converted. They divorced. He was sealed to my first stepmother in a Temple wedding. They divorced. He was married to my second stepmother in a Temple wedding. They divorced once and remarried the following Tuesday after the divorce was made final.
(edit: Note here that I was born in the Covenant, that is, to sealed parents. There's a good possibility that I'm already sealed to both parents, and will be with them in the Celestial Kingdom for all eternity. Oh, joy.)
As far as I know, my mom is still sealed to my dad. Which means she's going to be pissed if she ends up in the Celestial Kingdom with my dad for eternity along with my two stepmothers and 297 other spirit-wives, expected to populate a planet with their spirit children.
This religion makes me cry. Seriously.
Hey, I guess I had an angry letter to write after all. Go me.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Letter number two.
As follows, with names removed to protect the people I'm currently crabbing about:
[Name of owner]
[Name of practice]
[Address of practice]
April 28, 2008
Dear [name of owner],
I am writing this letter to air a grievance. I regret that I have to do this, but writing is my only form of therapy, having been booted out of your practice last month.
First, regarding [Dr.T]. On the day of August 15, 2007, he never showed up for my appointment. I arrived on time at 1:30, and was told that he was in a meeting. After more than an hour in the waiting room, I informed [Dr. T's] receptionist that I had to leave to pick up my kids from school.
The only reason I bring this up is because I have a question: Was I considered a "walk-out" because I couldn't wait longer? If so, then the following might make more sense to me, but I still consider it unfair.
Two days later, I received a letter informing me that [Dr. T] was no longer with your practice. It isn't my business as to why [Dr. T] is no longer practicing with you, but I wasn't sure what to make of it. In the letter was a list of doctors in the area who could write prescriptions for displaced patients, but I never availed myself of their services because I was coming off of my medication anyway due to side effects.
January this year, I believed I needed treatment again (depression), and I got an appointment with [Dr. G]. I saw [Dr. G] on February 19, 2008. Afterward, I made an appointment for the following month.
In the middle of March, I was taking care of things while my grandparents were in the hospital. Their house is in Markleville, Indiana, about a hundred miles north of Seymour. My grandmother had fallen, and at 81 years old, the fall resulted in serious injury. During the crisis, I had forgotten about my March 19 appointment with [Dr. G].
When I got back home, I called your office to apologize for the oversight and make another appointment. At this point I was informed that since I missed an appointment, I couldn't return to [name of practice]. When I asked what I was supposed to do, I was told that "[my] records could be transferred to whoever gets [me] next."
My feelings were hurt by this because the conversation took less than two minutes, and I wasn't given a chance to explain. I understand that no one wanted to hear my sob-story, but I felt that I'd been rejected on false grounds.
If it's true that a patient can be dismissed from your practice because of a single missed appointment, I'd suggest that you post a sign to that effect in the waiting room.
Sincerely,
[Real name]
[Real address]
[Real phone number]
[Real email]
The reason for the blogumentation of this whole episode is to vent, yes, but mainly because I can't seem to remember my own name most days, let alone a date.
(edited: No one needs to know about the rest of today's bullshit re: my precarious balance between Good and Not-Good.)
[Name of owner]
[Name of practice]
[Address of practice]
April 28, 2008
Dear [name of owner],
I am writing this letter to air a grievance. I regret that I have to do this, but writing is my only form of therapy, having been booted out of your practice last month.
First, regarding [Dr.T]. On the day of August 15, 2007, he never showed up for my appointment. I arrived on time at 1:30, and was told that he was in a meeting. After more than an hour in the waiting room, I informed [Dr. T's] receptionist that I had to leave to pick up my kids from school.
The only reason I bring this up is because I have a question: Was I considered a "walk-out" because I couldn't wait longer? If so, then the following might make more sense to me, but I still consider it unfair.
Two days later, I received a letter informing me that [Dr. T] was no longer with your practice. It isn't my business as to why [Dr. T] is no longer practicing with you, but I wasn't sure what to make of it. In the letter was a list of doctors in the area who could write prescriptions for displaced patients, but I never availed myself of their services because I was coming off of my medication anyway due to side effects.
January this year, I believed I needed treatment again (depression), and I got an appointment with [Dr. G]. I saw [Dr. G] on February 19, 2008. Afterward, I made an appointment for the following month.
In the middle of March, I was taking care of things while my grandparents were in the hospital. Their house is in Markleville, Indiana, about a hundred miles north of Seymour. My grandmother had fallen, and at 81 years old, the fall resulted in serious injury. During the crisis, I had forgotten about my March 19 appointment with [Dr. G].
When I got back home, I called your office to apologize for the oversight and make another appointment. At this point I was informed that since I missed an appointment, I couldn't return to [name of practice]. When I asked what I was supposed to do, I was told that "[my] records could be transferred to whoever gets [me] next."
My feelings were hurt by this because the conversation took less than two minutes, and I wasn't given a chance to explain. I understand that no one wanted to hear my sob-story, but I felt that I'd been rejected on false grounds.
If it's true that a patient can be dismissed from your practice because of a single missed appointment, I'd suggest that you post a sign to that effect in the waiting room.
Sincerely,
[Real name]
[Real address]
[Real phone number]
[Real email]
The reason for the blogumentation of this whole episode is to vent, yes, but mainly because I can't seem to remember my own name most days, let alone a date.
(edited: No one needs to know about the rest of today's bullshit re: my precarious balance between Good and Not-Good.)
No Goddamn Subject.
This is a reproduction of the letter that I am sending to my (now former) psychiatrist.
(Name of shrink)
(Name of practice)
(Address of practice)
April 28, 2008
Dear Dr. (Name of shrink),
I regret that I missed my March 19th appointment with you (due to other obligations). As a result of my missing that appointment, I am no longer welcome at (Name of practice). Perhaps it's best, then, that I find care elsewhere.
Thank you for seeing me on February 19th and your insights. I wish you all the best.
Sincerely,
(Real Name)
(Real Address)
(Real Phone number)
Real pissed off. My original letter read something like "FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING FUCKS." I hope it got better with the editing. I'm half tempted to leave in the name and address of the practice.
This, then, is the whole issue and thoughts on said issue.
I was referred to this practice by my primary care physician. He is competent, but not a psychiatrist. I was referred after spinning out of control and being "in-crisis" late March 2007.
So, in April, I meet Dr. T. He was about fifteen minutes late, but a good dude to talk to. He agrees with the Zoloft prescription (given by my PCP), and tells me to come back in a couple of months.
I see him in a couple of months. He is late. He also has fourteen (I counted) McDonald's medium cups on his desk. It struck me as... well, honestly, as someone who is in that particular zone of preoccupation on a regular basis, I think he has ADD. This is better than the alternate theory, which revolves around off-label prescription (or not) drug use. In spite of all this, he's still a good dude to talk to.
He also kind of looked like Randall Flagg from The Stand. That would be the ABC miniseries. But I'm veering off track.
The third (and as it turns out, the last) appointment was a bit surprising (see August 15, 2007). In a nutshell, I waited for an hour and did not see him. I finally had to leave because my appointment was at 1:30, and I had to pick the kids up from school at 3:00. For some reason, I thought I had plenty of time.
They (the psychiatrist whose name is the name of the practice and Dr. T's receptionist) were full of OMG concern when I told them I had to leave, and asked me if I needed another script. I think they were concerned because I was wearing The Look. After that, I cried in my car, because although this wasn't really rejection, it sure as hell felt like it.
I get a letter in the mail the next day or two days later, stating that Dr. T was no longer with the practice. I laughed my ass off, and hoped I'd never need mental health services again.
So I went along without a shrink until I was "in-crisis" again. This time I go back to my PCP. He prescribes Wellbutrin, and I'm on my merry way. The next appointment, a followup, he kind of bitches at me. So, I call this practice again and set up an appointment with the new Shrink-At-Large.
Dr. G is a wonderful psychiatrist, it seems, and she wanted to monitor me for bipolar symptoms while I was on a new SSRI (Celexa). This is actually covered in my last post, because things have been hectic and I'm bad at this blog thing.
I make another appointment for a month later. This is important.
I call the office back to request the record of my payouts there for tax deduction purposes. "Sure," they say. For two weeks, I get nothing. Then, there's an envelope. It's a bill for goddamn $160. Tax papers? No. I debated the wisdom of trusting this practice with my mental health when they were so clearly trying to drive me crazy(er).
March 12th. This is a Wednesday. My 81 year old grandma falls. She busts her head on the sidewalk, and her head is cocked at an odd angle. I get the phone call at 9:30 at night. I think it might be THE phone call. It turns out that my grandma is doped up on Percocet and my phone number was the only one she could remember. I spend the rest of the night calling everyone else.
Thursday, I'm on the phone all day. They move her to Methodist (an hour away) because they think there's a broken bone in her neck. Meanwhile, I'm wringing my hands because I have no clue what's going on and no way to do much (being two hours away from Anderson and an hour away from Indy).
Friday, I keep the kids out of school. Their spring break is the following week, and I will go insane if I don't do something. I pack them up and go to my grandparents' house to help clean, do laundry, answer the phone and pay bills. Things that will go neglected for who knows how long while everyone's at the hospital.
Saturday, they send her home. We all know she's still too weak to be home. She goes back Sunday for rehab. The whole week, I take care of the day to day operations of things.
What I'm blissfully distracted from: I have an appointment with Dr. G on Wednesday. I spaced it. I had a very good reason for doing so. When I get back home, I panic. I finally call their office to apologize for the missed appointment and hopefully make another. The conversation, in pretty much its entirety, follows.
Me: Yeah, I spazzed out and missed my appointment with Dr. G on March 19th. Man, I'm usually not like that. I need to make a new appointment.
Receptionist: Hold on. (pause for a minute while she asks.) Yeah, we can't do that. Once you miss an appointment with Dr. G, it's... (trails off.)
Me: Really.
Receptionist: Yeah.
Me: So now what? I mean, what am I supposed to do now?
Receptionist: Well, we'll pass your records on to whoever gets you next.
Me: Thanks.
So, that was it. With that, I'm no longer their patient. Or, from the way they made it sound, their problem.
I won't pretend. For five minutes, I got that lump in my throat like I wanted to cry. And then I called my auntie, the psychologist. She's still got contacts in the area, and was able to forward me a list (I haven't called them yet, though; it's too soon to shop). After that, I toyed with the idea of going into their office and demanding to speak to someone, but I wasn't sure I could do that without trying to rip someone's arm off. I'm still not sure I could. Hence, the short and civil letter. It is after all not Dr. G's fault, I don't think.
I'm still toying with the idea of writing another letter, this one to the owner of the practice. It might be less civil.
(Name of shrink)
(Name of practice)
(Address of practice)
April 28, 2008
Dear Dr. (Name of shrink),
I regret that I missed my March 19th appointment with you (due to other obligations). As a result of my missing that appointment, I am no longer welcome at (Name of practice). Perhaps it's best, then, that I find care elsewhere.
Thank you for seeing me on February 19th and your insights. I wish you all the best.
Sincerely,
(Real Name)
(Real Address)
(Real Phone number)
Real pissed off. My original letter read something like "FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING FUCKS." I hope it got better with the editing. I'm half tempted to leave in the name and address of the practice.
This, then, is the whole issue and thoughts on said issue.
I was referred to this practice by my primary care physician. He is competent, but not a psychiatrist. I was referred after spinning out of control and being "in-crisis" late March 2007.
So, in April, I meet Dr. T. He was about fifteen minutes late, but a good dude to talk to. He agrees with the Zoloft prescription (given by my PCP), and tells me to come back in a couple of months.
I see him in a couple of months. He is late. He also has fourteen (I counted) McDonald's medium cups on his desk. It struck me as... well, honestly, as someone who is in that particular zone of preoccupation on a regular basis, I think he has ADD. This is better than the alternate theory, which revolves around off-label prescription (or not) drug use. In spite of all this, he's still a good dude to talk to.
He also kind of looked like Randall Flagg from The Stand. That would be the ABC miniseries. But I'm veering off track.
The third (and as it turns out, the last) appointment was a bit surprising (see August 15, 2007). In a nutshell, I waited for an hour and did not see him. I finally had to leave because my appointment was at 1:30, and I had to pick the kids up from school at 3:00. For some reason, I thought I had plenty of time.
They (the psychiatrist whose name is the name of the practice and Dr. T's receptionist) were full of OMG concern when I told them I had to leave, and asked me if I needed another script. I think they were concerned because I was wearing The Look. After that, I cried in my car, because although this wasn't really rejection, it sure as hell felt like it.
I get a letter in the mail the next day or two days later, stating that Dr. T was no longer with the practice. I laughed my ass off, and hoped I'd never need mental health services again.
So I went along without a shrink until I was "in-crisis" again. This time I go back to my PCP. He prescribes Wellbutrin, and I'm on my merry way. The next appointment, a followup, he kind of bitches at me. So, I call this practice again and set up an appointment with the new Shrink-At-Large.
Dr. G is a wonderful psychiatrist, it seems, and she wanted to monitor me for bipolar symptoms while I was on a new SSRI (Celexa). This is actually covered in my last post, because things have been hectic and I'm bad at this blog thing.
I make another appointment for a month later. This is important.
I call the office back to request the record of my payouts there for tax deduction purposes. "Sure," they say. For two weeks, I get nothing. Then, there's an envelope. It's a bill for goddamn $160. Tax papers? No. I debated the wisdom of trusting this practice with my mental health when they were so clearly trying to drive me crazy(er).
March 12th. This is a Wednesday. My 81 year old grandma falls. She busts her head on the sidewalk, and her head is cocked at an odd angle. I get the phone call at 9:30 at night. I think it might be THE phone call. It turns out that my grandma is doped up on Percocet and my phone number was the only one she could remember. I spend the rest of the night calling everyone else.
Thursday, I'm on the phone all day. They move her to Methodist (an hour away) because they think there's a broken bone in her neck. Meanwhile, I'm wringing my hands because I have no clue what's going on and no way to do much (being two hours away from Anderson and an hour away from Indy).
Friday, I keep the kids out of school. Their spring break is the following week, and I will go insane if I don't do something. I pack them up and go to my grandparents' house to help clean, do laundry, answer the phone and pay bills. Things that will go neglected for who knows how long while everyone's at the hospital.
Saturday, they send her home. We all know she's still too weak to be home. She goes back Sunday for rehab. The whole week, I take care of the day to day operations of things.
What I'm blissfully distracted from: I have an appointment with Dr. G on Wednesday. I spaced it. I had a very good reason for doing so. When I get back home, I panic. I finally call their office to apologize for the missed appointment and hopefully make another. The conversation, in pretty much its entirety, follows.
Me: Yeah, I spazzed out and missed my appointment with Dr. G on March 19th. Man, I'm usually not like that. I need to make a new appointment.
Receptionist: Hold on. (pause for a minute while she asks.) Yeah, we can't do that. Once you miss an appointment with Dr. G, it's... (trails off.)
Me: Really.
Receptionist: Yeah.
Me: So now what? I mean, what am I supposed to do now?
Receptionist: Well, we'll pass your records on to whoever gets you next.
Me: Thanks.
So, that was it. With that, I'm no longer their patient. Or, from the way they made it sound, their problem.
I won't pretend. For five minutes, I got that lump in my throat like I wanted to cry. And then I called my auntie, the psychologist. She's still got contacts in the area, and was able to forward me a list (I haven't called them yet, though; it's too soon to shop). After that, I toyed with the idea of going into their office and demanding to speak to someone, but I wasn't sure I could do that without trying to rip someone's arm off. I'm still not sure I could. Hence, the short and civil letter. It is after all not Dr. G's fault, I don't think.
I'm still toying with the idea of writing another letter, this one to the owner of the practice. It might be less civil.
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