Psych!

After being diagnosed with depression, I started the humiliating search for a psychiatrist and psychologist. I now know that there is nothing to be ashamed of, but at the time, it was mortifying. There was something wrong with me that no one could see. I had no physical scars, I had no physical symptoms. Yet, somehow I hurt all the time - enough to warrant the expertise of two health care professionals.

I should also clarify at this time that a psychologist is a psychotherapist - someone who uses non-chemical, discussion based methods to treat various psychological issues. A psychiatrist is a medical doctor who specializes in psychological illnesses. S/he can prescribe and regulate medication. In other words, the former treats by talking it out, the latter works to balance the chemicals in your body. My depression was so severe that it was necessary to work with both.

Normally, I would be skeptical of using insurance recommended providers. But, remember, I was highly embarrassed by the whole situation and the thought of having to justify why a different, non-network mental health specialist should be approved was no where near my list of things to do. I don't remember the exact order in which I called, but I do recall filling out a lot of paper work.

The papers I got from the psychiatrist were brutal. Why did I feel this way? How long had it been? Did I want to kill myself? (Not in the literal sense, but I might consider it now that ALL of my skeletons are permanently recorded in ink). I took my time and spent a few days with it, especially because there was a post-it at the top that said to bring the papers with me on the day of my appointment. Phew!! I didn't have to worry about the mailman steam-opening the document to look at all of my problems. Clearly, not a rational thought. Considering the circumstances, though, you would have had a hard time convincing me that that wasn't part of his master plan.

The appointment was set, the papers were filled out, and then the phone call came.

Hi, this is Doctor X's office. Normally, this would be a confirmation for your appointment tomorrow. However, we have not received your paperwork and will have to reschedule until we have those papers at least 24 hours in advance of your appointment.

The rest of the message contained contact information (which I will get to!), but all I heard was a loud explosion in my brain. But what about the post-it? How was this possible?

I listened to the message again to get the phone number and office hours. As it turned out, this particular office had the ridiculous policy of only answering their phones between 9:00am and noon, unless it was a medical emergency, and in that case call 911 or the nearest hospital. This was going well. Luckily, they also listed their hours. If I left at that precise moment and defied all traffic regulations, I could get there in time. And that is what I did.

I honestly don't remember if I had the papers with me or not, but I do remember ripping the receptionist a new one as tears streamed down my face. Why would someone write that post-it if it was office policy? What kind of doctor's office doesn't answer their phones? I don't remember the lady being nice. She claimed that the person who sent the papers out was new and that must have been the reason for the "mishap." I had another word for it.

In the end, I was able to keep my appointment. I have no recollection of that what-so-ever. I don't know if it was just that horrible, or I was so focused on other things that I didn't take the time to breathe it in. All I know is that I walked out of there with a prescription for an anti-depressant. I didn't ask what it was or what the side effects were. I just couldn't imagine how this drug was going to change the way I felt, when really, I felt - numb.