Conversation

Co-worker: We just got a new admission. He has...I can never say this...dyskinesia...is that right?

Just Me: Yep.

Co-worker: But what's the other word? T-something....

Just Me: Tardive. Tardive dyskinesia.

Co-worker: Are you sure? I always get that one wrong.

Just Me (thinks): Hmm......Is this a good time to point out that I have had extra-pyramidal syndrome, a precursor to TD so I know it all too well? Nah...........

Such weird moments when these things come up.

I also have a patient who is, well, difficult. She refuses adamently most things we try to do. During the eval she made a huge point of telling me in great detail about being molested for 2 years by an uncle and all the ways it still affects her. As it turns out she was kind of making some of this up, not that it happened or that it still is a problem, but she is not always the way she made herself out to be.

She made me think a lot though. While no two situations of this sort are the same, and the context of our lives is different, one of the things that is helping me gain acceptance of who I am is when I encounter people who may have had terrible things happen to them, but not necessarily to the extent that I've been through, and when I see that the things they experienced affected them, it makes it more ok for me to be affected by the things that were bad in my own life.

Worse childhoods than mine exist. But I also survived one that is pretty awful compared to most. I've lived through some really bad things. I don't know why I'm just now coming to accept that it is ok for those things to have an effect on my life. But I am. Talking as much as I have on this blog lately about things I've experienced is kind of a weird feeling because in general I don't talk about it, but I'm finally becoming less ashamed of the experiences as I am more comfortable with the idea that they may have been bad things, but I've survived and handled them fairly well considering. I used to think I could move on and live a life totally separate from my past. Maybe that could have happened if I didn't get sick, but I did. Getting sick meant that my mind has looked at things I was afraid of and them worse. My brain has also taken things that I'm partially ok with and imposed new and harsher rules. I am just now realizing that some of them make no sense. For example: I spend 60-90 minutes per month with Dr. Brain. I have been seeing her about 6 1/2 years, so that means at most I've spent something like 120 hours with her. In contrast I have spent an hour per week to 2 hours per week with Dr. Mind for almost 4 years. That would be a minimum of 210 hours, and it's really much more than that, probably closer to 250 hours. So about twice as much time. Both of them have seen me cry and shared my heartache at different times. I literally trust both of them with my life. However, when it comes to sharing intense details of things that I've talk almost nobody or nobody, Dr. Mind has gotten far closer to me. Yet where am I much more relaxed? With Dr. Brain. Simply because she is a woman. It makes no sense, but apparently with me gender is worth major points. Another example on the same theme: Thanks to what I've been through gynecologist visits are torture for me. Because I have pretty much no risk of problems because of my lifelong abstinence program and since I've had testing for nasty diseases passed on by child molesters twice and been clear I only have to do that every 3 years. I still have 2 1/2 years to go. Already though if I think of it I dread it. My gynecologist I actually liked moved away a few years ago. I got a referral from Dr. Body and asked for someone skilled with trauma patients. It was awful. She was totally uncomfortable and her nurse asked a totally inappropriate, gossipy question that I found really offensive. (Yes, my brother had serious health issues at birth. But if you want to ask about that you need to choose ANY method besides "so did your brother die?" as the only question asked, when the issues he had have absolutely nothing to do with my health). I don't want to go back. I am very, very comfortable with Dr. Body. I trust him as much as I trust any man; more really since he's allowed to touch me. I also trust his nurse who would be there, and between them they would keep me totally in the right place mentally. He could do those exams. It makes sense to try. But he's automatically excluded because of being male. It's like they are a different class of human instead of a different gender. Instead I'll probably wind up with a referral from Dr. Brain and a huge drive for a stupid appointment.

I'm falling asleep sitting here and I'm probably not making any sense. I certainly forget my point. So I'm going to go to bed; tomorrow is bust-butt day so I can see Dr. Mind. Finally.