Oh my gosh....I am so pissed right now I don't even know where to start.
I went to a new doctor today. While I've been to therapists and counselors before, I figured it was time that I was a doctor. Why? I don't know. What I experienced today just made some of my worst fears relating to mental health come true.
This woman was no more interested in finding out what happened to me than I am interested in the name of the man in the moon. When she heard that I was sexually abused she immediately took of on that - didn't want to know of the physical abuse. She never asked me what I did for a living, but she did tell me that I couldn't possibly have PTSD since I was able to hold down a full-time job. I only met with her for 15-20 minutes and in that time she diagnosed me with DID, depression, and being bi-polar. She thought it was really bad that I didn't know any of my medical background (I was adopted), she thought it was really bad that my mother and father passed away and that I haven't found my birthfather yet (don't know what finding him has to do with it). She told me that she suspected that I have multiple personalities; when I told her I didn't think I did I also told her that she should talk with my husband to find out. I asked her why she thought I was depressed (she told me that in the first 5 minutes); her response was because I wasn't smiling. I almost cussed at her, but I held back - I told her that we weren't talking about anything yet worth smiling about!!
I brought up the fact that I had been diagnosed with PTSD in the past but she didn't want anything to do with it. She said that I didn't have the symptoms of it. When I mentioned (again) the flashbacks, hyperawareness/hypervigilance, rages, thoughts of suicide, fear, sense of doom, trouble sleeping at night once I've been awakened by the simplest of things, and the helplessness I feel at times, she said that wasn't enough. She said there was so much clinical criteria that I had to meet and she didn't think I had enough of them. When I mentioned that I was intelligent enough to do my own research on it, she reminded me that I didn't know the clinical side of it (I think she didn't appreciate the fact that I educated myself on it; perhaps she felt threatened by it?).
And, here's where my worst nightmare about these doctors came true: she immediately began pushing meds. She said that the Wellbutrin I am taking wasn't doing anything for me, that it was the wrong thing for me, that I needed something else. This, of course, got my hackles up. I told her that I would rather try therapy first and that if that didn't seem to help I would take additional meds - told her that 3 times. That wasn't good enough for her; she kept at it. I told her that I have never self-medicated over all of this and I didn't plan to now, to which she replied that this was different. By this time I was getting angry and was really trying my best to hold back, so I shot back at her, "My brother was an addict. I've worked hard all my life to not get addicted to anything and I'm not about to start now. I don't want to take something that's going to mask my problem, I don't want to take something that I'm going to get addicted to, I don't want to take something that I will have to wean myself off because of the addiction. If therapy doesn't work, then I will look into the meds." Yet, she still continued. Finally, when I had had enough, I looked her straight in the eyes and said, "I will tell you this: if you presribe meds for me, I won't take them. Plain and simple." That was about the end of our conversation...
Now here I sit wondering who has the bigger problem.... ha ha ha.
OMG...there's so much more that happened in the span of this office visit, but I am so mad I can't even think straight. Of course, it'll all come back to me tonight when I'm trying to go to sleep...LOL.
Okay, now that I've vented some, I'm going to go start making dinner...
Take care all...know that you are loved!
Kim
I went to a new doctor today. While I've been to therapists and counselors before, I figured it was time that I was a doctor. Why? I don't know. What I experienced today just made some of my worst fears relating to mental health come true.
This woman was no more interested in finding out what happened to me than I am interested in the name of the man in the moon. When she heard that I was sexually abused she immediately took of on that - didn't want to know of the physical abuse. She never asked me what I did for a living, but she did tell me that I couldn't possibly have PTSD since I was able to hold down a full-time job. I only met with her for 15-20 minutes and in that time she diagnosed me with DID, depression, and being bi-polar. She thought it was really bad that I didn't know any of my medical background (I was adopted), she thought it was really bad that my mother and father passed away and that I haven't found my birthfather yet (don't know what finding him has to do with it). She told me that she suspected that I have multiple personalities; when I told her I didn't think I did I also told her that she should talk with my husband to find out. I asked her why she thought I was depressed (she told me that in the first 5 minutes); her response was because I wasn't smiling. I almost cussed at her, but I held back - I told her that we weren't talking about anything yet worth smiling about!!
I brought up the fact that I had been diagnosed with PTSD in the past but she didn't want anything to do with it. She said that I didn't have the symptoms of it. When I mentioned (again) the flashbacks, hyperawareness/hypervigilance, rages, thoughts of suicide, fear, sense of doom, trouble sleeping at night once I've been awakened by the simplest of things, and the helplessness I feel at times, she said that wasn't enough. She said there was so much clinical criteria that I had to meet and she didn't think I had enough of them. When I mentioned that I was intelligent enough to do my own research on it, she reminded me that I didn't know the clinical side of it (I think she didn't appreciate the fact that I educated myself on it; perhaps she felt threatened by it?).
And, here's where my worst nightmare about these doctors came true: she immediately began pushing meds. She said that the Wellbutrin I am taking wasn't doing anything for me, that it was the wrong thing for me, that I needed something else. This, of course, got my hackles up. I told her that I would rather try therapy first and that if that didn't seem to help I would take additional meds - told her that 3 times. That wasn't good enough for her; she kept at it. I told her that I have never self-medicated over all of this and I didn't plan to now, to which she replied that this was different. By this time I was getting angry and was really trying my best to hold back, so I shot back at her, "My brother was an addict. I've worked hard all my life to not get addicted to anything and I'm not about to start now. I don't want to take something that's going to mask my problem, I don't want to take something that I'm going to get addicted to, I don't want to take something that I will have to wean myself off because of the addiction. If therapy doesn't work, then I will look into the meds." Yet, she still continued. Finally, when I had had enough, I looked her straight in the eyes and said, "I will tell you this: if you presribe meds for me, I won't take them. Plain and simple." That was about the end of our conversation...
Now here I sit wondering who has the bigger problem.... ha ha ha.
OMG...there's so much more that happened in the span of this office visit, but I am so mad I can't even think straight. Of course, it'll all come back to me tonight when I'm trying to go to sleep...LOL.
Okay, now that I've vented some, I'm going to go start making dinner...
Take care all...know that you are loved!
Kim