So, as I promised, the story of the psychiatrist.
One thing N did for me (as I mentioned in "The Weirdest Doctor" was refer me to the local County Mental Health Center. She got the county wrong, but that's fine. I live on the county border, so that happens a lot. I was told by everyone I HAD to go to this facility for mental health treatment, because Medicaid would cover nothing else.
That was hell from the start. I was referred because a sleep study revealed Zoloft was delaying my REM sleep so dramatically that I never actually got any real sleep. And she told me "I'm actually just going to refer you to a psychiatrist rather than prescribe you a new medication." And I had immediately stopped Zoloft, so I was on no psych meds whatsoever.
I get to CMHC, and I'm told I need to have a blood test done. Major hurdle, as I had somehow suddenly developed a moderate fear of needles about two years ago, and I'm not on any meds to counter that. I get it done. Then I have to talk to their nurse. Their nurse calls me once, never again. My parents deleted the message. (They don't support the idea of mental health treatment.) I manage to get this worked out with the psychologist.
It's been three months.
Then I'm told it's another three month wait before I can see the psychiatrist.
At month 5 of waiting, I call their help line and beg them to approve an admittance to a mental hospital because at least they'd "do something for me." I'm told I'm not crazy enough.
Finally I get to see the psychiatrist. He and I talk for a while. He told me my parents are toxic, and I refused to believe the idea. I wasn't ready. He told me to pick between Effexor and Wellbutrin, and refused to give me more information on either drug, saying they were both equivalent and either would work. I'd read up a little bit on Wellbutrin for a friend of mine who might have had Schizoid, and because I knew SOMETHING about Wellbutrin and nothing about Effexor, I chose Wellbutrin.
Next visit I've lost about twenty pounds. (It's been another three months.) Wellbutrin has a quirky side effect of killing the appetite of emotional eaters from what I can figure. I didn't get it so bad that I had to remind myself to eat logistically, and food lost all appeal to me, but I do eat fewer meals in smaller portions.
He raved about that, and I had to keep trying to get his attention to tell him that my temper has gotten dramatically worse, and though I didn't realize it, I was describing classic anxiety symptoms. Something my psychologist (in their building) had diagnosed me with. Which was in his file. In front of him. He waved it off.
I broke down crying to my psychologist, who told me to talk to his nurse. His nurse calls me and says that while she strongly reccomended he put me on Klonopin, he doubled my Wellbutrin dose instead.
Me: None of those neurotransmitters do anything for anxiety...
Her: I know. Hang on for two more weeks, then call back and tell me that nothing happened, and I"ll talk to him again.
I did that, and I got the Klonopin.
Visit three, and I'd just had a panic attack on a small theme park ride that I'd been on hundreds of times. It's one of the premiere rides at Michigan's adventure (think ship), and I'd been tracking my panic attacks since before I started taking Klonopin. I put this chart in front of him, with when I started Klonopin marked.
I tried to explain that Klonopin wasn't working, that I was still having frequent panic attacks, regular ambient anxiety, especially surrounding my relationships. I had been told I needed empirical evidence to talk to this guy, and this was it.
So I was not expecting this:
Him: So I'm going to take you off the Klonopin.
Me: And replace it with?
Him: Nothing.
Me: ... I waited six months to get on a medication of any sort. I didn't get treated for my anxiety disorder even though it's on my file for another three. I'm reporting some pretty severe anxiety. And now you're telling me you're going to do... nothing?
He doubled the Klonopin and sent me on my way. I wasn't too pleased with this either--the Klonopin had given me a "nightmare parade" side effect where I had 9 nightmares in 14 days--but I couldn't complain to his nurse over nothing. I could over something.
And as I was walking out of the office I thought: "Screw this guy. Screw everything." And so I got the form to report him to the clinic. I'm still debating on reporting him to the state, and the only reason I haven't yet is that I still need a psychiatrist, and I haven't met my new one yet. (I managed to talk Medicaid into letting me see an "out of network" one. And found one that would take me.)
I see them in a little over a month.
One thing N did for me (as I mentioned in "The Weirdest Doctor" was refer me to the local County Mental Health Center. She got the county wrong, but that's fine. I live on the county border, so that happens a lot. I was told by everyone I HAD to go to this facility for mental health treatment, because Medicaid would cover nothing else.
That was hell from the start. I was referred because a sleep study revealed Zoloft was delaying my REM sleep so dramatically that I never actually got any real sleep. And she told me "I'm actually just going to refer you to a psychiatrist rather than prescribe you a new medication." And I had immediately stopped Zoloft, so I was on no psych meds whatsoever.
I get to CMHC, and I'm told I need to have a blood test done. Major hurdle, as I had somehow suddenly developed a moderate fear of needles about two years ago, and I'm not on any meds to counter that. I get it done. Then I have to talk to their nurse. Their nurse calls me once, never again. My parents deleted the message. (They don't support the idea of mental health treatment.) I manage to get this worked out with the psychologist.
It's been three months.
Then I'm told it's another three month wait before I can see the psychiatrist.
At month 5 of waiting, I call their help line and beg them to approve an admittance to a mental hospital because at least they'd "do something for me." I'm told I'm not crazy enough.
Finally I get to see the psychiatrist. He and I talk for a while. He told me my parents are toxic, and I refused to believe the idea. I wasn't ready. He told me to pick between Effexor and Wellbutrin, and refused to give me more information on either drug, saying they were both equivalent and either would work. I'd read up a little bit on Wellbutrin for a friend of mine who might have had Schizoid, and because I knew SOMETHING about Wellbutrin and nothing about Effexor, I chose Wellbutrin.
Next visit I've lost about twenty pounds. (It's been another three months.) Wellbutrin has a quirky side effect of killing the appetite of emotional eaters from what I can figure. I didn't get it so bad that I had to remind myself to eat logistically, and food lost all appeal to me, but I do eat fewer meals in smaller portions.
He raved about that, and I had to keep trying to get his attention to tell him that my temper has gotten dramatically worse, and though I didn't realize it, I was describing classic anxiety symptoms. Something my psychologist (in their building) had diagnosed me with. Which was in his file. In front of him. He waved it off.
I broke down crying to my psychologist, who told me to talk to his nurse. His nurse calls me and says that while she strongly reccomended he put me on Klonopin, he doubled my Wellbutrin dose instead.
Me: None of those neurotransmitters do anything for anxiety...
Her: I know. Hang on for two more weeks, then call back and tell me that nothing happened, and I"ll talk to him again.
I did that, and I got the Klonopin.
Visit three, and I'd just had a panic attack on a small theme park ride that I'd been on hundreds of times. It's one of the premiere rides at Michigan's adventure (think ship), and I'd been tracking my panic attacks since before I started taking Klonopin. I put this chart in front of him, with when I started Klonopin marked.
I tried to explain that Klonopin wasn't working, that I was still having frequent panic attacks, regular ambient anxiety, especially surrounding my relationships. I had been told I needed empirical evidence to talk to this guy, and this was it.
So I was not expecting this:
Him: So I'm going to take you off the Klonopin.
Me: And replace it with?
Him: Nothing.
Me: ... I waited six months to get on a medication of any sort. I didn't get treated for my anxiety disorder even though it's on my file for another three. I'm reporting some pretty severe anxiety. And now you're telling me you're going to do... nothing?
He doubled the Klonopin and sent me on my way. I wasn't too pleased with this either--the Klonopin had given me a "nightmare parade" side effect where I had 9 nightmares in 14 days--but I couldn't complain to his nurse over nothing. I could over something.
And as I was walking out of the office I thought: "Screw this guy. Screw everything." And so I got the form to report him to the clinic. I'm still debating on reporting him to the state, and the only reason I haven't yet is that I still need a psychiatrist, and I haven't met my new one yet. (I managed to talk Medicaid into letting me see an "out of network" one. And found one that would take me.)
I see them in a little over a month.
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