area physician declares local woman 'nuttier than an outhouse rat'

[phosfate]

Went to see Dr C today. I really, really hate his office. It's in the bottom half of a sorta split-level medical building, with 20-something-year-old art on the walls (the goddamned stupid owl is STILL THERE) so it's like visiting your parents' basement.

He's a nice fella, though. I felt bad 'cause it's a Monday morning in the middle of summer and I Just Didn't Want To Deal, so I was Miss Clam, in spite of an overwhelming urge to grab him by the lapels and scream, "FIX ME!!!" We played with his plastic drug company brain toy for a little bit. "It would be really cool if it lit up," I said. "Yeah, but then I wouldn't have it. There's a $5.00 limit on free stuff to prevent conflict of interest. It's why doctors get a lot of pens."

He also understands the concept of hyperbole. "Uh, I don't really want to kill my supervisor, that was just..." "I know," he says, and leans in confidentially, "I didn't write it down."

Anyway, we did our 15 minutes and I still get drugs, so cool.

The Prozac guy was coming in as I left. I thought about hitting him up for a coffee mug, or my own plastic brain toy, but facing the owls had taken all my nerve.

And then I delivered a baby:
http://www.livejournal.com/talkread.bml?journal=finduilas&itemid=18682

Comments

Another country heard from

[cybertardis.livejournal.com]

This kind of reminds me of my brief stint in therapy, back when my life sucked even more than it sucks now. He was a very tall, soft-spoken man with an office on the bloody fourth floor of a little townhouse near Montefiore. I would go there every Tuesday morning for my session.

He had a nice painting hanging on the wall which he used to sit in front of. It was patently obvious it was there so you had something to look at so you didn't have to look at him while you had a complete emotional breakdown.

After the first week, when I had my complete emotional breakdown, he and I would spend the better part of our sessions locked in a battle of wills. He would deliberately not say anything in the hopes that I would say something, and I would deliberately not say anything because I knew he was delibertaely not saying anything waiting for me to say something.

Strangely enough, when we did talk, he was actually helpful. He didn't perscribe drugs for me, though. He just wanted me to keep seeing him, and I didn't want to because I'd sorted out what I needed sorting out which was the only reason I went to see him in the first place.

--sah

Re: Another country heard from

[annlarimer.livejournal.com]

Perhaps you've hit upon something.

The owls...the owls are in the waiting room to make the doctors' offices seem that much more inviting.

Re: Another country heard from

[kissoflife.livejournal.com]

Gosh, thanks for the reminder of those days for me. That battle of wills thing- and Ann, I think yours's doing a bunch better'n mine did. To this day, I can't figure out what she did for me besides being an example of a person who felt more togetherly-individual than me. Same silence battles, but more my compulsion to get *something* out of it led to meandering useless-connections soup - you feel worse cuz it's so clear you're just flailing at straws.
But her dresses and her haircuts! Those were her paintings.

Suddenly I'm wondering if I just had a crush on her. Or saw Cooler Mom. Damn..

Re: Another country heard from

[annlarimer.livejournal.com]

I lucked out. My GP, Wee Bruce, knew his onions, and Dr C (near as I can tell) differs from many of his fellow mental health professionals in that he is not a maniac.