How’s that for a title? Let’s jump right in, shall we?
I’m taking a respite from the meds that make my brain work, not exactly by choice.
When I went to pick up my refill, I was informed that I hadn’t had an actual appointment in six months and this would have to happen before I could have the prescription. This irks me, frankly, since I follow up with my therapist every two months — sometimes more frequently, and she keeps serious tabs on my weight and emotional stability and communicates with Beverly, the nurse practitioner that writes my prescription.
It’s worth mentioning that I take a VERY low dose stimulant. Every doctor with specific knowledge of ADHD has recommended a higher dose, but because I have a history of restrictive eating disorders, most general practitioners are hesitant to prescribe more since it does curb my appetite. It also tends to increase anxiety, another problem I don’t need.
The office staff kindly worked me in the next day, but Beverly was off, so I saw a soulless witch
a responsible physician who doesn’t know me and was using her professional judgement.
“You’re five pounds down since your last appointment. That’s not good. According to your file, you have a restrictive eating disorder. Is that why you’re partial to stimulants?”
“No. They just happen to be the medication that works best for me. And I don’t have a restrictive eating disorder; I HAD one when I was in college. . . over fifteen years ago.”
“Well, I’m not going to write this for you until you gain back the five pounds you’ve lost.”
Oh my freaking jezebel, lady, are you kidding me?! You guys, I would tell you here if I were “restricting.”
I’ve had a helluva busy month, and meal planning and cooking have been at the bottom of my to-do list. Yes, I need to do better, but not being on my meds is not going to make meal planning and remembering to actually eat easier.
However… I think it’s pretty shitty to meet a person one time and flat out refuse to write a prescription she’s been taking for well over a year.
I did everything in my power to keep from grabbing her by her OWN skinny little neck, focused on my breathing and calmly said, “Can you call Eve Waters? She’s my therapist, and she and Beverly communicate on this. I need this medication and I have records showing that. Look closer at my file. Yes, I have to keep an eye on my weight, but it’s likely I was wearing heavier clothes at my last appointment. Had I been ON this medicine today, I likely would have remembered to wear something heavier than yoga capris and a t-shirt, but I have ADHD and was trying my damnedest to get to this appointment before your office closed. I also had to drive an hour to get here, so it would be helpful if I could get the prescription today and followup on my weight.”
“Ms. Fitzpatrick, I understand your frustration (The HELL you do, but keep going. . .) but our office closes in 15 minutes. I won’t be able to get in touch with Dr. Waters until the next business day (otherwise known as tomorrow…) — I can’t write your prescription today.”
Alrighty then. Here’s my $45 copay. Thanks for your time,
Bitch Dr. Someone-Shit-in-My-Cornflakes.
Did I mention that my children were waiting impatiently in the lobby?
Well, they were, and as we were leaving a smarmy, geriatric Southern belle reminded me that we can’t be too careful when it comes to our children, “There are sexual predators on every corner these days…”
I glanced around the empty waiting area, and saw my two boys, said woman, who I was ready to tell to mind her own business, and . . . and . . . Oh! That was it.
I could be wrong, but she didn’t appear at all interested in seven and eight year old boys. Not to mention, I was ten feet away from them for all of five minutes, AND the office gate-keeper was kind enough to say she’d keep an eye on them. This is Tiny-Town, Georgia. I’m not saying bad things don’t happen in off-the-grid places, but I’m highly anxious about that kind of thing, and my children being sexually assaulted in Tiny Town Family Practice was the LEAST of my concerns that day.
It took everything in me not to turn to her and say, “Thank you for your concern! Guys, did this sanctimonious scumbag try to weasel her way into your pants?! How many times have we discussed the importance of yelling ‘STRANGER DANGER!!!’ if that ever happens?”
I contained myself, turned on my own Southern charm and said, “You are so right. The horrors! I appreciate you reminding me that I need to be more careful. Enjoy the rest of your day, now.” All while wrangling my little barracudas out of the office.
And back we drove to Savannah, distracted as ever. I could write a book about the struggles I face trying to get my medication filled. I get it. . .sort of, but lately there seem to be more and more restrictions. I’m waiting for my new insurance to kick in before I transfer to a Savannah doctor.
In the meantime, look for me standing in line at the Krispy Kreme donut counter as I attempt to make weight.
What’s new in your world?