Amazing doctor

To shake up the topics a little. As I said in the first post this won’t be a blog solely about struggles, nor only about victories. However, this post is a distinct victory. This post is about my doctor.

I have talked before about how amazing my support system is – chances are I will again, get used to it – but a person I didn’t fully expect as part of my support system is my doctor.

My doctor originally became my doctor due, solely, to geography. He was mere blocks away from the place I worked at the time, a place I could stop on my way to work, a place I could walk to on my lunch break (I did both).

What might surprise you about why I found a primary care doctor to begin with is I saw Magic Mike. I know! A movie that involved Channing Tatum and Matthew Bomer running around and dancing mostly naked for 90 minutes. What’s so tough about that?! But over the course of the movie – about so much more than the sex industry in case you were wondering (I know, it caught me by surprise, too) – I found myself longing for a substance abuse issue. That? That was not just a little out of character for me, that was a LOT out of character. As one of three people in the theater I had no qualms about texting with one of my Inner Circle. It was that person who firmly insisted on my finding a doctor. Once I left the theater I called my (now) doctor’s office. They fit me in within days.

Since then he’s checked up on me regularly. Made sure I’m seeing him regularly. Done his best to make sure I’m on the medicines that’ll work best for me. After my latest downswing when I stopped in to get a refill on my anxiety meds he added a new medicine to my medicine cabinet. Something he (and I) hope to make me feel less … less.

Thoroughly amusing about this visit is he scolded me, telling me not to let things get so low again. He also insisted that should I find it getting to that point I should call the office. Regardless of day of week or time of day. After hours the calls get connected to his cell phone so he can always help his patients. I can tell you like I told him, I won’t.

When I’m spiraling I don’t talk about it with anybody, but knowing that I have someone there for me regardless of time of day or day of week – someone with the ability to send an anxiety medication to a nearby pharmacy without me driving half an hour to pick it up – that’s amazing. I guarantee these assurances aren’t because the doctor is making money off me. These assurances are because my doctor is wonderful and because he genuinely cares about his patients. He’s the kind of doctor who calls you a couple days later just to check in on how you’re doing. Something that, when he did it this time, I cried. Kind of a lot. Not bad tears, just, “Ohmygerd the feels,” tears.

It sucks to be depressed. It sucks knowing I can’t feel less horrible without a pharmaceutical, likely won’t ever feel less horrible without a pharmaceutical. But knowing my doctor is there – knowing he’s there because he cares – I can’t put a value on that. Like the calls I’ve put in to the suicide crisis line of late, just knowing that someone is available regardless of time of day is often enough to get me through whatever crisis I’m experiencing.


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