I am angry this morning. I woke up some time in the night and I started thinking about how that appointment went. How I spent a good fifteen minutes describing my particular anxiety disorder. How it's a low-grade terror which makes it difficult to eat, to think. I never once mentioned the term "panic attack." How when I asked for some medication to help, I got ten pills which are not the medication currently thought to be the best for such situations. How this medication would be impossible to take on a day like today when I have my grandchildren to tend and yes, I did mention that I take care of my grandchildren. How when she gave me the 'script she said, "In case you have a panic attack."
Which is not currently my problem. And which, as I said, I never complained of.
It seems to me that it has always been this way for me and doctors with a few exceptions. I think I can convey my symptoms in an educated, thoughtful way and then I am sent away with little help. And that's not just one doctor or nurse practitioner but many over the course of the years. How pains have been poo-pooed as if I had made them all up in my head. I do make up pains in my head but those are not the ones I take to a doctor.
The NP did suggest that I up my dose of the natural hormones for the progesterone and I have started doing that. I hope it helps. I don't want Xanax or Ativan to misuse it. In fact, when I have taken it it did not feel like a party drug. It wasn't perfect. It didn't turn me into a happy, blithe, ecstatic person. I would never take it unless I truly needed it. And I told her that.
And I'm thinking of all of that today and I am feeling angry. I know there are doctors who over-medicate their patients. Who write out prescriptions like candy. I don't want one of those doctors. I want a doctor or a practitioner who listens like that dentist did. And I truly thought I'd found such a person in this NP. She is educated, smart, and open to new things and alternative treatments. But I do not think she is educated about anxiety.
Well, that's me today.
The boys are coming very soon and it is still very cold although the frozen stuff is no longer falling from the sky. It will start to warm up today and maybe soon we shall see the sun. I need to get my head in the right place to be a good grandmother. I have made deviled eggs for Gibson and there are oatmeal cookies too. There is a little bit of watermelon and some Annie's organic macaroni and cheese which they might like although I doubt it's much better for them than Kraft. There are carrots and there is peanut butter and we have cards and dominoes and paper and paints and crayons and of course, as a last resort, we have Sponge Bob.
I am angry but I cannot be angry at my boys. And I am not just angry. I feel frustrated and I feel sad and I feel condescended to and I feel as if once again, I have been told that my feelings, my problems, are not real and not worthy of true attention. Which is a very familiar feeling and I do not like it.
And I do not want to go doctor-shopping again which is a problem in and of itself.
Here we are. And as always, we go on.