IS THERE A PSYCHIATRIST IN THE HOUSE????

I have been living within the mental health system since early 1994, and diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder (manic depression) in 1995. Bipolar is characterized by mood swings, sometimes swinging drastically into a deep, deep depression or upwards into mania. Psychiatrists are key to dealing with mental illness, for without their monitoring of medications and in-patient/out-patient counseling, the illness can lead to an unmanageable life. Living with mental illness at the best of times is difficult, however, untreated BP disorder can only lead to a life sentence of “jail time” filled with black, endless depressive days or mood swings upward, and out of control.

My most memorable experience was changing psychiatrists in the mid stages of my dark depression. Getting nowhere with my present psychiatrist, whose patient load was incredible and monthly appointments lasting a mere 6 minutes, I went on the search for a new doctor. I questioned many of the mental health staff at the hospital if they knew of a doctor accepting new patients, however, NO was the answer from all. So I went on the hunt on my own, starting with the Yellow Pages. Phoning doctors on my long list proved futile, until I thought I hit the jackpot with a Dr. H. He was accepting new patients. Bells should have gone off in my head – why was he accepting new patients when no one else was? I was to find out why…

Visit #1 – I was geared up and in fact excited about a new start. I craved only the attention it would take to repair the damage that depression had left me with and bounce me back onto the road to recovery.

Only a half-hour appointment for the initial assessment, Dr. H introduced himself, shook my hand and offered me a chair. He was a larger sized man sporting a white shirt and wool-patterned vest. My eyes encircled his mid-sized office, noting the tall bookcase over-flowing with mostly thick books, and on top of it, a poor spider plant on its last legs crying out for water. His desktop also made room for additional books, but I sat in wonderment at the heaps of files. Were all of these patient files permanently living there for impressive purposes or did this man lack bad office filing skills? I hoped the latter.

Atop his desk sat four green ceramic turtles each the size of a small onion. I welcomed these as I felt nervous and they proved somehow to have a soothing effect. He made himself comfortable in his brown leather chair, asked many questions, and made no notes but was quick to mention how he and my former doctor had studied together. This gave me a chill. Was this a positive or negative thing? Before long the appointment was ending and I had to return the four turtles to his desk. “Next week, we’ll resume our discussion”, he stated.

I felt as if I had achieved nothing really, just a change of doctors, and he was not the breath of fresh air that I was so much hoping for.

Visit #2 – This appointment went without incident and I felt I accomplished nothing once again. The four turtles helped, but I was raw with emotion from the depression. Living with crying spells and walking the tightrope of deep suicidal thoughts all week, I was hungry for some concrete advice.

Dr. H. seemed uninterested in my depression woes, offering the same advice as my previous psychiatrist and adjusting my medications slightly. He spoke slowly and softly and I had to lean forward to understand what exactly he was saying. I left the office perplexed, asking myself is it the doctor or me? The appointment, an hour this time, concluded right to the second.

Visit #3 – Another week passed and depression was holding on to me. Dr. H. asked me how my week was and I started to recount the relentless days of depression. Holding dearly on to the turtles, I glanced across the desk and startled by what I saw - Dr. H. was napping! Fast asleep, slumped over in his brown leather chair, and here I am the patient asking myself what my next move should be. Do I: A) call the secretary, B) nudge him awake, C) escape while the going is good? Suddenly, Dr. H awakens from his slumber, glances at the clock and states, “we must close for today”.

To conclude this waste-of-time appointment, I receive such an uninspiring statement while exiting the office. Dr. H. asks me “did you know that your eyes are large – you should have that looked into”. Huh? My eyes? I have enough problems right now with mental health issues; I hardly wish to look into a possible eye deformity. I know that my eyes are ‘big’, but hey, I’m no Marty Feldman!

So right then and there it was adios to Dr. H. Perhaps the reason why was accepting new patients was due to his slumber problems with former patients.

I never called or returned to confront Dr. H, and he never followed-up with me. It was a strange relationship, seemed like a movie of sorts.

Unfortunately, but fortunately my previous psychiatrist accepted me back. Once again I was met with six-minute appointments on a monthly basis and ineffective medications.

Shuffled from the mental health unit at the medical hospital, to home, to psychiatrist office, to mental institution, the years dragged by and my condition sustained a downward spiral. I prayed for death so many times. Who would desire a black death-like life, living each day weighed down by mental illness?

Throughout the next few years, I met with several other psychiatrists. Some were helpful; most seemed exhausted by my resistance to their treatment. I felt as if I was to blame for this illness, but would soon shake my head and come back to reality thinking, “Why would someone wish themselves an illness?” Just when all hope was lost and I had conceded to the fact that the illness had won, and every hope for the future was lost, a new psychiatrist entered my life.

During one of my many hospital admissions, my outpatient psychiatrist was on holidays, and another filling in. I was not optimistic, walking down this path before with negative results.

Scratching my head after this psychiatrist’s first visit, I was left bewildered by the preliminary consultation. Dr. J. in fact took 1½ hours to interview me, seemingly puzzled by my ongoing years straddled with untreatable bipolar disorder. I was to learn he was an expert in treating BP, and throughout my stay visited and planned a new strategy of medications right for me. I remained in hospital for another week, and during my stay requested if Dr. J. would see me as an out-patient when discharged. Although I was informed of his heavy patient load, he agreed, and as they say “I never looked back”.

It’s been over three years under Dr. J’s care. Medications are working successfully and I exist with an almost “even” mood. I still experience mood swings, but they hardly compare with the drastic swings experienced years ago. Hard work and determination have paid off, but one cannot achieve such determination when life is dealing you a black hand and nothing is working in your favor. Easy for people to say “pick yourself up, don’t always think negative, and quit complaining”. Hmmm…I used to want to reply, “If I could, I would”.

Standing in our way though, of course, is stigma. An unpleasant word, but it sits in our society almost like a hex over individuals with mental illness.

I did not write this article to paint a negative tone about the doctors of psychiatry. I can’t stress enough, however, that they are our ‘life line’ to mental health wellness.

Written by:
Me