I'd like to think positive things about the medical field. I'd like to believe that they are genuinely looking out for us and keeping our health at priority. That our mental and physical stability are in their minds when they put their signature on the prescription tab and hand it over. However, after this week of dealing with hospitals, psychiatrists and pharmacies, I've understood its a very rare thing to find a caring doctor now a days. One who can remember your name, your ailment and how long you've been seeing them. Its more often than not that I find a doctor who just wants to push you out of their conveyor belt waiting room just so they can put as much disinterest into the next patient. And the next.
I'm starting to heal up from the attack. It doesn't look bad. Thank god. The creams and the antibiotics they gave me worked better than I expected. But today, I had to run to my good old quacks office to get my refill of Xanax. Now, I've been taking Xanax for years now. Not excessive amounts. Not to get high. But mainly because of spurts of social anxiety and lack of sleep. It helps tremendously with both. After attempting suicide in 09' and being stationed in a beautiful, want-to-live facility... they put me on that stuff to keep me calm. Just a mg a day or two. Nothing intoxicating really.
Its been almost 3 years of being on benzos and I can't complain. I've slept well. I've communicated and been productive and been more positive (- positive being I'm no longer trying to hang myself-). I'd say it's 'worked'. So today when I went in for my usual case-study-fill-in-the-blank-to-get-your-medicine sheet, I had to deal with the oh so very pleasant 'nurses' behind the counter. They asked if I had an appointment. I said no, I just needed a refill. Then they asked if I brought my pill bottle. I said no, I just ran out last night though. As usual, they looked at me like I was a drug dealing hippie and told me to go wait in a chair to fill out the sheet. I'm used to it by now. Everyone looks at me like ' Hm, I wonder what he has in his pockets' or 'I wonder what he does when were not around' or 'I wonder if he's going to stab me'... so its nothing I take too much offense to. As long as this judgment doesn't hinder their capability to treat me like someone they dont know at all, then we will be fine.
I sat in the waiting room, put my headphones on and waited for them to 'grade' my sheet. A lady came out afterward and said they were going to need to drug test me to see if what they were giving me was in my system. I was okay with that. I had nothing hiding from them. I told them about my dog bite, and that I'll probably drop dirty for opiates but other than that, everything is as it was before. I took a piss, signed my name on the little cup and went back to the waiting room.
Ten minutes later, the lady walks out and tells me that I tested positive for thc and that the doctor wouldn't prescribe me my Xanax unless I go to drug treatment.
...
...
Really. I looked at the lady for a few seconds and said
"Okay. So I smoke weed sometimes. He knows that. I've told him that since I started coming here. Thats nothing new. Now what?"
"Well, I'm just relaying a message. He said he'll prescribe you Viteral. Heres the prescription for that."
"Yeah, well I dont have a god damn clue what that is and I'm really not trying to detox off benzos right now. Especially with the trauma I've just been through. Can I talk to him when he's done with that patient?"
She said I could. It seemed like she was proud of herself. She's always given me this attitude since she's started working there. This little tone of 'you just want drugs' in between everything she says to me.
I sat back down and took my coat off. I knew something was about to go down. I felt shit in my head about to snap. I waited to hear that nutsacks voice before I got up and once I did, it was on mother fucker.
"Hey, ya lets talk in this room real quick."
I was in no mood to sit around and listen to anybody about anything at this point. I wanted to know how he could ignorantly fill out a prescription for someone who he's seen for the past two years, for something he hasn't ever prescribed him, for something that is going to 'replace' a seizure inducing withdrawal symptom.
"Okay, so whats the issue here?" I said, " I've told you from the get go that I smoke weed. And theres never been a problem. And now you just want to shove something else in my system without knowing what other medication I'm on or knowing I wont have a seizure or anything?"
"Well, you tested positive for thc and thats a schedule 1 drug. Its up there with methamphetimine, cocaine, and all the other intoxicants okay. I legally can't prescribe you a controlled substance if your on a controlled substance. Its like if the schools wanted to..."
He went on with some typical analogy that had little to no relevance. I didn't want to hear that shit so I cut him off.
"Listen, I appreciate all these fluffy similes but I know, as well as you know, that marijuana is a stones throw away from being prescribed right along with all of these harmful chemicals. That's why its medically acknowledged in Michigan already."
"No its not. That was because a few doctors in Lansing decided to let people pay for prescriptions and its not going to be medical because..."
I cut him off again.
"Yeah no, its medically acknowledged. Thats why I have friends who used to have cancer who have medical marijuana cards, with medical marijuana care givers. Thats Michigan state law right there. And this isn't even the point. The point is that you're willing to put me on something else simply because you made me take a piss test, the first and only piss test you've ever made me take, and told me it was for something else, when it was really to see if I was on anything else. I came here to get something to keep me stable. And your fine with sending me out of here without anything close to what I was taking?!"
He began to write on his pad for a second. He asked what my fuckin name was. I couldn't believe him. I have been seeing him for years now, he is dealing with my case right now whether he likes it or not, and he doesn't even remember my god damn name?!
He handed me a script for the same Vitral shit and said,
"You didn't have an appointment. Come see me when you set up an appointment. Can we get someone else who's supposed to be in here in here?"
I didn't know what to do. I was tearing up. I was sweating. I was pissed. I couldn't believe the negligence he was treating me with. I walked out and received obvious stares from the patrons in the office. I couldn't leave though. I had to find out what the hell he was prescribing me. So, I went back to the very kind, thoughtful ladies who put me through this ordeal and explained my situation to them. Asked them if they could tell me what the doctor couldn't because I dont feel safe throwing shit into my system like that.
They both told me I wouldn't go through the withdrawal symptoms from xanax if I took the stuff. They thought that was sufficient for me to leave. It wasn't. I still didn't know what the hell I was being given.
"So, is this an anti anxiety drug or what is this exactly. I've been getting anti anxiety drugs for 3 years now and to just get shifted off them doesn't feel safe or right. You said you were testing me to see if what you were giving me was in me, and it was, but somehow me testing positive for thc completely interfered with the purpose of coming in here."
"Well who's fault is that for smoking weed then?"
I probably could have been a little kinder after that. But I wasn't. Of course, I slipped up and called them receptionists, to which I got a harmonized 'We're not receptionists' response. They pretty much yelled like banshees and crack heads for 10 minutes while I tried to get them to calm the fuck down and talk to me like I'm a human being. Then they began to insinuate that I sell my medicine.
"You didn't bring your bottle with you. How do we know when you leave here you're not just selling them?"
"Well because you just tested me to find them in my system, and they are- I would take the benefit of the doubt and say that maybe, just maybe I'm not a stereotype and that I'm possibly taking them as I'm supposed to?! I can bring in the empty bottle tomorrow."
"Whats that going to prove? That doesn't show me that you're not selling them."
The conversation escalated to the point where the ladies got in my face, dry mouthed, rotting teethe and all, and literally threatened to call the cops if I didn't leave. I asked if I could set up an appointment. They refused.
"Either you leave or were calling the cops. I'll give you one more chance"
" Wow. Well you guys are just so friendly. Thanks for all your help."
She picked up the phone and stared at me like a little child.
I walked out of that place feeling beat up. Like I had just lost a tooth in a fight or been knocked out. I tried making sense out of everything in my head afterward. In between feeling unusually alert and light headed from not taking my meds, I rationalized that these bastards A.) Thought I was a drug dealer for a looooooong time. B.) Thought I was an avid drug user for a loooong time. and C.) Were never going to let me in that office again.
I drove to the pharmacy where I then decided to actually capitalize on the use of the pharmacists and asked them what the hell Vitral is.
Vitral is an antihistamine. Its not an anti anxiety medication.
I'm not too sure how I feel about doctors who can do what these doctors did and still manage to sleep at night. Getting off this Xanax was a long time coming but I never thought I'd be shoved into it at gun point. At a -take this or leave bitch- conclusion. I want to believe there are doctors out there who would read this and say 'damn, thats just wrong' but then again... birds of a feather. They tend to cover each others short comings. They all would justify this somehow. With fancy medical terminology and legalities that dont actually exist. Like how you can't prescribe someone medicine who smokes weed... fuck, if that were true, I would have never got on them in the first place.
Shit, when it rains, its a fuckin monsoon. Nonstop. Everywhere. I guess the universe really doesn't want to align with me this year. Its showing me every sign that this year is going to be an uphill sprint. Jog at best but a constant work horse feeling.
Come on karma, kick in for me.
No comments:
Post a Comment