Looks like a duck, and the doctor's a quack
On looking like a duck... Today, I was so excited to have been fast-tracked into psychiatric care by a counselor, whose nurse was insistent that I fill out a form saying I would pay if I no showed for my first appointment (this is generally not done within medical circles I think). Further, she made me give her my credit card number over the phone before she would even schedule my appointment. This was not a good first impression.
Neither was her harassing phone calls trying to move my appointment from 10am to 2pm, saying that the Dr. couldn't move his appointment with city hall, so I was going to have to move mine. She apparently called a couple of times that I was at work, and I didn't call her cell phone over the weekend, so his 2:15 slot was in danger of going unfilled. I thought as I was crossing the river to get there, I wonder if this is going to be in the ghetto, or what sort of financial strait this 'clinic' is in.
But I did make a wrong turn, and was knee deep in ghetto, having seen some cops with the black guy in handcuffs looking, "man, what the hell?!?" And called the nurse/receptionist, to find out how to get there, and having told her where I was and what had happened, she said that he probably did something wrong, now mentally assenting that in the scheme of probabilities this might be the case, but that the outsider has no way of knowing that, innocent until proven guilty should suffice.
Finally having gotten there, the patchouli smelling waiting room full of pseudo-intellectual magazines which served well the tastes of a diletent such as myself, waited while the great and powerful oz behind the prescription pad decided within 2.5 minutes that I was drug-seeking, compared my use of adderall for my (condition he will investigate to see if I have) to the cocaine usage which undoubtedly occurs at my waitressing job, and sent me away with not even a refil on my zoloft or klonopin, the latter as I have learned the hard way, will cause pretty obnoxious withdrawl, if not seizures. He told me to come back in two weeks when I was out of medicine. Am I a cash cow to subsidise his otherwise disadvantaged clientele? I don't have time or energy to keep up with weekly counseling meetings, and go back to wackass to see if my history comports with whatever he has made up his mind already about.
This guy with this stupid prescription pad put me in psychiatric handcuffs, and patted me down. Waitress, do I see drugs go on everyday, yes. Could I make hella money off selling my scrips, yes, do I, no. Will I now have to go into the drug culture to get adderall? It is a possibility, but still not my style. I have been off the stuff for the last month or so and on low dosage before then, and decided that I'm not as sharp or efficient at my job that requires a lot of shift work, so I want to go back to the medicine that a doctor put me on in the first place. Will I be back in the middle of the downwardly spiralling morass of what is the meaning of life in me waiting tables, and then lose my job because I'm not 'sharp' enough to do it. Great. Just what I need, to fail at being a waitress, on top of all the other disappointments. It is what my last boss told me, "you need a job where you don't have to think too much."
So, because this wackass with a prescription pad is more enlightened than his colleagues who believe in ADD/ADHD, his solution is tabula rasa... great and powerful oz.
Neither was her harassing phone calls trying to move my appointment from 10am to 2pm, saying that the Dr. couldn't move his appointment with city hall, so I was going to have to move mine. She apparently called a couple of times that I was at work, and I didn't call her cell phone over the weekend, so his 2:15 slot was in danger of going unfilled. I thought as I was crossing the river to get there, I wonder if this is going to be in the ghetto, or what sort of financial strait this 'clinic' is in.
But I did make a wrong turn, and was knee deep in ghetto, having seen some cops with the black guy in handcuffs looking, "man, what the hell?!?" And called the nurse/receptionist, to find out how to get there, and having told her where I was and what had happened, she said that he probably did something wrong, now mentally assenting that in the scheme of probabilities this might be the case, but that the outsider has no way of knowing that, innocent until proven guilty should suffice.
Finally having gotten there, the patchouli smelling waiting room full of pseudo-intellectual magazines which served well the tastes of a diletent such as myself, waited while the great and powerful oz behind the prescription pad decided within 2.5 minutes that I was drug-seeking, compared my use of adderall for my (condition he will investigate to see if I have) to the cocaine usage which undoubtedly occurs at my waitressing job, and sent me away with not even a refil on my zoloft or klonopin, the latter as I have learned the hard way, will cause pretty obnoxious withdrawl, if not seizures. He told me to come back in two weeks when I was out of medicine. Am I a cash cow to subsidise his otherwise disadvantaged clientele? I don't have time or energy to keep up with weekly counseling meetings, and go back to wackass to see if my history comports with whatever he has made up his mind already about.
This guy with this stupid prescription pad put me in psychiatric handcuffs, and patted me down. Waitress, do I see drugs go on everyday, yes. Could I make hella money off selling my scrips, yes, do I, no. Will I now have to go into the drug culture to get adderall? It is a possibility, but still not my style. I have been off the stuff for the last month or so and on low dosage before then, and decided that I'm not as sharp or efficient at my job that requires a lot of shift work, so I want to go back to the medicine that a doctor put me on in the first place. Will I be back in the middle of the downwardly spiralling morass of what is the meaning of life in me waiting tables, and then lose my job because I'm not 'sharp' enough to do it. Great. Just what I need, to fail at being a waitress, on top of all the other disappointments. It is what my last boss told me, "you need a job where you don't have to think too much."
So, because this wackass with a prescription pad is more enlightened than his colleagues who believe in ADD/ADHD, his solution is tabula rasa... great and powerful oz.