For many months I’ve been trying to get my pdoc to do something about my depression. Every month it was the same thing, I would practically beg him to adjust my meds and every month he would respond in the same manner – NO. My husband Maurice has been concerned, my therapist has been concerned and I have been frustrated beyond belief. All I wanted was an increase in my antidepressants. Not much, just enough to get me out of my funk that stayed with me at all times.
Over a year ago I went to my usual appointment and I was definitely in a manic state. It was the first time I had been manic in a very, very long time, but he was overly concerned, in my opinion, and immediately adjusted my meds. it wasn’t long before I started to be regularly depressed. Not severely, but enough that I pretty much maintained this level of depression that felt like it was circulating under my skin. He had lowered my antidepressants and it had too great of an impact. Don’t get me wrong, he would tell me that medications aren’t the cure all for everything and I would nod in agreement, however, I would point out that the regular depression came on at the exact same time he lowered my antidepressants. Most frustrating of all was when I would try to discuss this with him he would not discuss the DAY that I was manic, but would refer to the PERIOD that I was manic. He sure remembers it differently than I do.
I received a lot of suggestions that I should request a new doctor. I do go to a county health clinic and there are forms to fill out to request a new doctor. Sounds like an easy solution, right? Well, not so much in my case. The clinic I go to is part of a hospital that is a teaching hospital. As a result, the vast majority of doctors are actually resident doctors. Who do they all report to? The head of the department, of course. Who’s the head of the department? Do I really need to say it? Yeah, the head of the department, the man who makes all final decisions regarding meds, is, of course, my pdoc.
This past week was horrible. I could barely get out of bed, I kept the shades closed and it took every bit of energy I had to shower and brush my teeth. I would cry for no reason and while I didn’t want to die, I did want to slowly drift away somehow. My husband, Maurice decided he had enough and made the decision that he was coming with me. That’s all it took. It still wasn’t easy. My pdoc brought up again that meds aren’t always the solution and each time Maurice continued to stand his ground. As a result of this standoff, my appointment on Friday took over 30 minutes. Can you believe it? A psychiatrist actually spending more than ten minutes with a patient? Miracles do happen.
We struck gold. Maurice stood his ground and my pdoc finally caved. He increased the dosage of my antidepressants. I’m fully aware that meds are kind of tricky. I may find that the increase won’t help at all. Perhaps I’ll become too manic. Who knows? At least I’m trying to do something differently. I am angry it took having to bring Maurice in to resolve the problem. Why couldn’t the man believe me?
If you take meds, do you have problems like this? Do you feel like your pdoc listens to you or do they brush you off like had been happening to me over this past year? I’m curious how many of you experience the same frustrations that I had.