Doctor Day

Sitting in the waiting room of the hospital for my doctor apt.  I’m having a little trouble calming myself.  I was sitting at home at the  front door waiting to leave, to come here, aware of the passage of time.  How long ago was it that this all started.  How long and winding was the road to this waiting room.  How many dark places did I pass through to get here.  It makes me anxious.  My heart is pounding.   It’s just a dr apt. nothing more than that. Well its a doctor’s apt with a psychiatrist, in the mental health wing of the hospital. 😦  We will  assess my meds and carry on.  Sometimes I sit and think ” is this real… is this really happening to me?  Its made up in my head.”  I am imagining this.  I’m here under false pretense and using up OHIP money that is really needed for someone  else .  But here I am thinking Oh My seriously!  Sigh….. I guess this is shocking to me today cause this is admitting that it is real.  In my little world, in my little house, I can deny it.  Its other people’s issue not mine.  Why is this so hard to accept.  I can handle it when its someone else … I sat in a hallway at school for 20 min last week,  I talked a student down from a panic attack.  Its fear.  I guess maybe fear of the unknown and fear of the places I have been and where it could go.  At this very moment, this second, it is fear of the doctor I haven’t met yet that is 20 min late.

So there are a few of us sitting here, in the waiting room, all looking embarrassed, all staring at floor, no one meets anyone elses eyes,  all saying nothing, all frowning.  There is lots of noise – it is a hospital after all, but its quiet too, suspended time waiting.


So the doctor comes out, calls my name from the door, 25 feet away.  My first gut response is “shhhhhhhhh! someone will here you.” Is that not the stupidest thing you ever heard?  So I go in,  I think, if there is a couch in there and she asks me to sit on it- or lay down and tell her about my childhood I am bolting.   She is nice, we talk for over two hours,  no couch no bolting.   We talk about my childhood, my marriage, friends, life, work, the dark times, the voices, the anorexia, other things I have inflected upon myself.   Then we stop. We stop, and she looks at me and says nothing.  I am thinking — I don’t know what I am thinking …. we stop and blink at each other.

The Dr says I am suffering from Major Depression.  She tells me there are two drug programs I need to consider, and she tells me that I am in denial and I need to start to group therapy to first accept what I have become, and to develop some more coping strategies.  She also wants me to see my Dr in 3 weeks for all her recommendations and to see her in three months.  Anymore episodes like in November I am to go to the hospital.

blink blink blink.

I leave – go shopping — spend money I don’t have — come home — look amazing from new cloths– feel like I want to cry- can’t cry dam drugs won’t let me.

She wasn’t that short or blunt but that is the short story.  So I guess it is true.  I really am suffering from mental illness.

I have been sitting here staring at the last sentence for the past 15 minutes I have no idea what else to say… so I will leave it here while I consider things.

till next time…………………


Waiting Room

So I sit in the waiting room, 20 minutes early.  I sit in front of a large window, the building is right beside the highway.  The highway is moving well, I am surprised how little time it took me to get to this side of the city.  The waiting room is behind glass doors the receptionist; who is gorgeous, is sitting at her desk on the other side of the glass.  I can’t help but look at her.  I love her hair.  Its pulled up in a beautiful bun  drawn back in a lovely sophisticated manner.  Her hair must be as long as mine, I am resisting  the urge to asking how she did it.   My side of the glass there is a play area behind me.  There must be a T.V. or something que’d up to play a movie.  It keeps playing the same theme music over and over and over again.  I am trying to zone out.  I am trying to concentrate on other things.  The traffic keeps moving along. I read all the truck signs, wonder what that one is carrying, or where that one is going, or wouldn’t you be embarrassed to be driving around with that slogan on the side of your truck.   Time is passing slowly.  I read the signs on the walls, resisting the urge to look again at the receptionist and analyze her hair.  She has seen me twice looking at her, not good.  I read the bristol board on the wall describing mood disorders.  Bipolar, depression, anxiety.   Its like sitting in an examining room looking at diagrams of the insides of the body and wondering if your aches and pains are one of the horrible things they are describing with an arrow.  This ugly spot is cancer!  Ok; back to the traffic.  I am trying to do three things at once.  One; look normal, not scared, second; don’t read the mood disorder descriptions, and three; don’t get up grab the DVD and rip out that disc and stomp on it cause the music is about to make me crazy.

I am waiting for my new therapist to greet me.  I keep looking out of the corner of my eye, receptionist, someone walking by- is that her– ugg, mind telling me don’t look.   Traffic.  Corner of eye, looking, ugly man, ugg, no mine is a woman.  Traffic.  I am losing my mind sitting here.  I feel like a caged animal sitting behind the glass.  Everyone looks at me as they walk by.  If it’s a waiting room where are all the people?  Or am I the only crazy one here today.

These are all irrational thoughts. But they are my thoughts- the thoughts of someone who is just a little anxious about what is about to happen.  I pray for God give me someone good.  I sit remembering the past year, how the hell did I get here?  I was a strong farm girl. I could handle anything.  If any of my family, Mother, Uncles, cousins, anyone knew I was sitting waiting to see a councilor they would laugh, tell me to go do some farm work and smarten up.  Too much time on my hands, thinking about stupid stuff, get to work.

Yet here I am watching the traffic. Wanting to take a bat to the DVD now- but I saw anpatient transport van in the parking lot, so I am thinking, not a good sign, what mental institute does that one belong to?? If I smash the DVD they will see me as aggressive– when No I can’t stand the stupid music. This thought makes me laugh, I can picture myself white jacket in a rubber room – explaining to the doctors “really I’m crazy I just hear the same song 58 times and couldn’t handle it anymore.  Why does this make me laugh- its like something from a sitcom, and by the way if this is a waiting room at a Family Counciling centre wouldn’t they have calming yoga type music?? I’m just saying! ! ! ! ! !

So I meet her.  She is nice and makes me feel at ease, but I am still conscious of the fact that I have gone from normal to depressed, to drugs, to a therapist.

She takes down my information and after an hour of questions about my husband my kids my child hood I leave.

What do I think about all this ? I am not sure yet.  She tells me I am brave to be there I am sure she tells everyone that.   Her body language when I was telling her my father has passed was like she was about to cry.  A little over the top, I almost said, “”hey I got over it, relax that was 15 years ago”    I do know about this.  I am still feeling good, and maybe that is why I am feeling weird about this.   It might be easier if I was sad or mad or feeling anything else but good.

I go back next week, we will see where this leads to.

Dear Lord my God you lead me to this place, you lead me to these people.  I pray that you lead me down the road in this journey never to leave me always holding my hand.  I give you all of this and ask for help in the powerful name of Jesus Christ.  Amen