I had my appointment with my psychiatrist today. You’d think that he would want to spend a good deal of time with me, especially with this being a crisis appointment. Did he? No. He spent 5-10 minutes with me. He didn’t check my chart to see what had happened on Tuesday, nor did he look at the list of problems I’ve been having that I wrote down and Jane stuck in my chart. No, he sat there and asked me what was wrong. He asked me what medicines I was on, which he could’ve looked up. Then, he decided that in addition to the .75 mg of Risperdal I take at night, I can now take .25 in the morning. Oh joy. That’s like patting me on the head and treating me like I’m an idiot. That little amount will probably do squat, considering the .75 doesn’t even keep me asleep at night. Oh, and guess when he wants to see me again? Well, he didn’t say. He wants his nurse (the evil one that I don’t like) to see me at the beginning of March. I’m at a freaking crisis appointment and he doesn’t even want to check back with me in the next 2 weeks to see if I’m okay. And what will the nurse do? She doesn’t care when things are getting worse. I had told her things were getting worse and what did she do? She suggested I wait three months to see him. So, do I like that he’s, yet again, passing me off to her? You know, if his schedule is too busy to handle seeing me properly, then maybe he should send me to a doctor in the center who does have the time. I am sick of all of this crap. If I had insurance, I would be looking for a new psychiatrist right about now. The hospital is looking more and more like a good thing.
Chelsea, don’t worry about the misunderstanding. 😉
Oh, just a happy, sort of, sidenote. My birthday is in 2 weeks.