Today was a hard day. I had therapy and an appointment with my psychiatrist, both in the same office suite. When I arrived the tiny waiting room was packed with little ones to quite big ones. I waited a step away from the guy in front of me at the receptionist’s window. Then I stepped up and paid my $80 copay. That’s right. 80 smackaroonies. After signing the receipt I stood with my back to the wall. There was only one seat left and I was not about to shove myself into it. Now, this is a very nerve wracking part of going to therapy and the pdoc for me. I can’t stand being closed in with a lot of people. I become very anxious. I remembered my iPod, my go-to for relaxation or at least distraction, but couldn’t find my earbuds in my mess of a purse so I impatiently waited a short time before my therapist came and saved me.
She took me back to her office and I melted into the upholstered armchair I always take, first grabbing a bottle of water. I told her about my recent couple anniversary – about the enjoyment and the disappointment. I talked. She listened. She talked. I listened. It’s good like that. I disappointed her, but was honest anyway. Listen to me, it is important to be honest as much as you may think your therapist won’t want to hear what you have to say. That is the only way that therapy can work. Honesty.
When we finished I headed out to the chairs lining the hall before my pdoc’s office. This is not the waiting room. It is a step closer to actually seeing the pdoc. The reason I was escorted to the chairs is because my appointment with the pdoc was set for the exact same time as my therapy appointment.
I still waited 45 minutes.
And the young woman next to me kept threatening that she was going to lose it if she had to wait much longer and the woman next to her was a diabetic who hadn’t had breakfast (it was now 1:15) and complained to the office manager about the wait and wasting her day. They were aggravated and it fed into my anxiety and fuck me if I didn’t have my music to calm me down!
Then, (FINALLY), it was my turn with my Dr. H. We discussed some med changes and a vitamin my physician recommended and then, after setting up an appointment with him for a month from now, I was out of there.
Outside that cramped waiting room I had to walk through, I ran my fingers through my newly shortened hair and took a few deep breaths. It’s not easy – therapy and meeting with your psychiatrist isn’t easy, at least not for me, even all these years later. But it is necessary and helpful, however exhausting.
Image courtesy of renjith krishnan at FreeDigitalPhotos.net