The People Behind My Eyes

I saw the new pdoc who is actually a nurse practitioner. I sort of grilled her about her experience with psych meds. I asked not just what meds she knows but what meds she’s seen make a difference in the lives of her clients. We talked about prescription Lyrica for the fybro. Right now we’re keeping all meds as they are. During the session she asked the basics. Have you ever been abused, is there a history of addiction in your family, blah, blah, blah, etc, etc. She then asked if I’m in a relationship. I said yes but it’s brand spanking new. She asked if the person is a man or woman. When I answered she paused then said, “Um, how long have you been gay?” I laughed and said, “About as long as I’ve been black.” It was a nice icebreaker. She and I laughed about it. She said it was a stupid question but I thought it was kinda funny.

We then moved into a bit about the mother. She just shook her head like most do in total disgust. At the end she said, “Now, lets discuss your fee.” I about fell over. I know I changed 6 colours when she said that. I said, “Um, fee? I was under the impression this was pro-bono. That’s what the secretary said; this is pro-bono for right now.” She said it wasn’t and could I pay anything at all. I said, no, I don’t have anything to give you. I have three dollars and you can’t have it. I immediately thought to myself, “I could always do like people do at a restaurant. I wouldn’t dine and dash but psych and dash.” She then asked if I’d be willing to trade artwork or crafts as payment. I’m sure I didn’t show it but I was livid. This is the thing, I’ve bartered with my artwork for a lot of different things. I’ve bartered for furniture, DVD’s, work on my computer and a host of other things but I WILL NEVER trade art for therapy. Hell I’ve sold art therapy sketches before but I will not trade my art for psych services. I’d rather get a bill for that $100 session than to hand her a hundred bucks worth of prints or a few dolls. Forget that. It’s not going to happen. I thought all of that but I never said anything. I just looked at her in total disbelief.

She kept babbling on about painting her a picture then she said, well, it’s not as if I’m going to hold you captive for not paying. Tension… you needed more than a power saw to cut through it. I stood up to leave and she said, “Do you want your scripts?” I said, “No cause I don’t want that billed to me either.” By the end of it all the secretary, the nurse practitioner and I talked and agreed that this session would be pro bono but that I’ll see her again in December. Gracious sakes alive!

Had I for one second thought I would be billed for a hundred dollars I would never have set foot in that ladies office until my insurance was approved for that provider. I don’t have a hundred dollars and I will not give my heart and soul (art work) in exchange for something I have to do to get over a sadistic pedophile. Never!

Despite the issue of payment at the end of the session the nurse and I got along well. So, since I’m pleased with her experience and our personalities seem compatible I’ll go ahead and see her in December when she starts accepting my insurance. In my opinion the whole issue of payment was the secretary’s fault because she again failed to communicate with the provider and client. This is the same secretary that everyone says is nice but not competent at her job. This is not the first time I’ve had an issue with the secretary. What she told me was that the nurse does pro bono until insurance kicks in and that she’d set up an appointment for me. She didn’t communicate my need for pro bono to the nurse so the nurse asked for payment in blood (art work). She has no idea how offensive that was, how could she?  We only knew each other for an hour.

I’ve referred to artwork as “heart and soul” as well as “blood” but what I mean is art does so much for me. I get a lot out therapeutically but I also enjoy it. It feels like the one thing I have that’s not tainted by my past. I put a lot of work into it so to ask for something I love in exchange for payment for something I resent felt as if I’d been pierced with a knife. I would rather have been billed so I could keep what is precious to me separate from the most excruciating work ever.  I give my trust, my tears. I’ve given up good rest, financial security, good relationships and happiness due to my past. I’ll be damned if I exchange the very thing I hold dear so I can see a doctor I probably wouldn’t need to see had my mother been half ways decent. Hell, I have options. I could see a doctor that does accept my insurance. But the point is, that trade wouldn’t have been worth it for me. I would gladly trade something that means little to me for that session… something like money.

Perhaps I’ve spoken with too much passion on a subject that doesn’t appear to warrant this response. But damn, I’ve got to keep something for myself. This is mine, art is mine and I only offer it to persons and causes not related to the splitting of my mind.

Joan of Arc

Therapy Notes, This is My Heart and Soul-Tuesday, September 30, 2008-2:31PM EST