psychiatric malpractice

For most of my life, I have suffered with depression, and for the past ten years I have seen the same psychiatrist. I took Prozac for all this time and it usually worked, even though I only took 10 mgs. a day. Every once in a while, probably twice a year, I would have a setback, a trip to the Slough of Despond (from Pilgrims Progress). When that occured I would go to see my doctor, and invariable he would try to talk me into taking more mediation- or a different medication. Last year was really hard for me- Jon's brain injury and not being able to work, my surgery and not doing well, and the lawsuit continuing. So I did see the psychiatrist during this time.

The past few weeks, I have felt really depressed and anxious. I just couldn't pull out of it, even though I increased the Prozac somewhat. Finally, instead of seeing he psychiatrist, I went to see the therapist who had sent me to him in the first place. She was always kind and helpful, and now it was important that she did not charge as much for a visit as the doctor. She was alarmed that I seemed to have suicidal ideation and called the doctor. That same afternoon I went to see him and was surprised to see that he seemed really irritated that I called the therapist instead of him- even though I have seen them both the same length of time. He berated me somewhat and insisted that I start to take Cymbalta, and that I return the next day. I started a tiny dose of Cymbalta as prescribed and returned the next day.

That is when the horror began. For ten years he had been a kind, quiet doctor. I came to him for help again this time, and he attacked me verbally when I was most vunerable. For all the ten years he had been telling me that my depression was due to a biochemical imbalance , and that my amygdala was probably hyperactive. There was nothing wrong with me in any other way, and according to the psychiatrist, if only I would increase my meds, or change meds and follow his instructions I would be fine. I kept trying to get across for all these years that I don't like to take medication, that I wanted to get better without medication or additional medication anyway, and that I was terrified of side effects. Although he tried to harp on "living better through chemistry", I was never ridiculed in any way. He hit me with the cruelty when I got there this week. He told me that I thought that I was smarter than everyone else, that I was not open to new ideas, that I expected my doctors to treat me as a peer, that I was bi polar(!) (Damn I never did get to have a high), that I was grandiose, overly dramatic, that I had cried so loud the day before that his secretary heard me (now don't you think you should be able to cry in a psychiatrist's office, and do I give a damn that his secretary heard me?) , that my husband of 32 years was afraid of me (he has never talked to my husband) that I had a pathological relationship with my children and they were of afraid of me, ( also has never spoken to my kids) that I didn't really have any friends, that I deserved to be sued, that my lawyers were lying to me if they seemed to be taking my side, that I would die of Alzheimers, and have a heart attack or stroke if I didn't start his regimen of drugs, and that I didn't want to ever stop being depressed. He gave me malicious details on all these "points". Needless to say they are all untrue, except that I did cry really loudly, I'm afraid.

At first I thought this was some alternative therapy and tried to be light- such as "at least insurance pays for heart attacks, unlike psychotherapy", that I couldn't believe it took him 10 years to decide I was bi- polar and that I never had the fun high times if I was, etc. He became more and more furious. At one point he said, Yeah, you are smarter than me. I'm working six to six all week, and you are at home playing in your wildflower garden. " Then he told me to get out of his office and that he wouldn't see me again. I didn't know how to feel, I was so stunned. As the therapist put it, you should have stopped feeling suicidal and started feeling homicidal! My therapist was horrified and sent him a long email expressing her dismay and disapproval. My husband also sent a letter. I guess Dr. Reed just cracked up while seeing me. If I weren't basically a strong willed person, it would have really devastating effects. As it was, I cried all day, stayed awake all night, and felt even sadder. I just felt defeated. I also felt that I would have a really hard time trusting a psychiatrist again. My therapist has arranged for me to see a new psychiatrist and see if I can switch over to another antidepressant sucessfully. Maybe that will work, I hope so. I am blessed that I have such supportive family and friends. I love them and care about them and they do the same for me. I also just hope that he never does this to someone else. That would be so terrible. Maybe I'll be better soon.

Concussive syndrome

Yesterday was one year since Jon's accident and brain injury. Today we got more requests for information from the disability people and a phone call from them. I am so thankful that Jon is living and doing well. This past year has been full of adjustments and changes, but I think that we have done great. I can remember every detail of March 1st of last year. It was a beautiful day, warm and sunny. Jon went with Dad in the morning to get some mulch, and then after lunch Jon decided to go on a bike ride. I left a few minutes earlier to take Josie and Bella to the dog park and then go to the grocery. When I got in the car from the dog park, the phone rang and it was my neighbor telling me that Jon had been in an accident. He had been taken to Vanderbilt in an ambulance. Just then, an ambulance passed me with the siren going. My brain went into some other type of survival mode. I dropped Josie and Bella off at Rebecca's place, and starting driving down West End to Vanderbilt. At the same time I called Rebecca, and thank God I reached her. She was going to meet me at the ER. Then I talked to Rob, Mom, and Vicki . It was a miracle to reach them all. When I got to the hospital, I was shaking so hard that I couldn't park. They were so kind to me, parked my car and took me in. Rebecca was there. Mom and Dad arrived shortly thereafter. Finally I got to see Jon. He was all cut up on his face and head. The ambulance drivers gave me his helmet which was dented. The miracle also was that the man who found Jon, J.D. saw the bike on the side of the road and stopped to see why someone had left it there. Jon was down the hill, almost in the ravine. J.D. called the ambulance and recognised Jon, so he called my neighbor who had my cell phone number. Thank God Jon was found.

Rob came home and Heather came first. She was here when I took Jon home from the hospital, and was a huge help. Rob was great emotional support and help also, as was Rebecca of course. I couldn't have made it without the kids. Jon was in another world, and I was so afraid that he would be that way forever. He told me that he didn't really feel anything for me anymore. I knew it was just his injury talking, but still, it was like a knife in my heart. Sometimes now, I get angry when he gets confused or exhibits signs of this concussive syndrome. Then, I feel so sad and guilty. Things are doing well though, and it could have been so much worse. Rehab helped a lot, and just time helped too. You never know when your life will just be flipped upside down, so it is good to try to enjoy every momemt that you are able.