The Wonderful NHS

I went to see the psychiatrist yesterday. It was interesting to say the least. I have been a nervous wreck for the last few weeks, as one person put it, “constantly on red alert”. I kept telling myself over and over again, not long to go now, just two more weeks, one more week, and then the doctor will put me on the right medications and I’ll start to feel better.

Hmmm. Don’t ever put that much faith in the NHS.

Off I trotted yesterday, typically feeling neither too up nor too down – isn’t that always the way with these things? I was greeted by a new doctor. She apologised and said my previous psychiatrist had left suddenly and she was just filling in. She was pressed for time so we squeezed my hour-long appointment into fifteen minutes. Naturally, I became somewhat agitated at this. Foot tapping, hands shaking, tripping over my words.

I tried to say that I need help, my moods are cycling too fast for me to cope with, but she wanted details of this. How high does your mood go? How long does it last? How long does it take to go down? How do you feel when you’re down? Do you notice a pattern to your moods? I just stuttered that I’m having trouble with my memory; as I’m not miserable now I can’t really remember what it was like and the same goes for being high. She asked me when things started to get worse; for example, how was I on Valentines Day? I desperately tried to recall that far back in my head. Then the light bulb came on. I had brought my mood diary with me for the last few weeks! So I found my entry for the middle of February and tried to pull some sense out of the confused muddle of my mind.

Just as I was starting to talk, she moved onto something else. Do I hear voices, do I want to kill myself, or hurt myself? Do I get messages from the television? Do I practice breathing techniques to calm myself down? Do I ever become sexually promiscuous or flirtatious? The rapid-fire questions made me more and more nervous, until she eventually had to calm me down and persuade me to breathe properly to prevent me from giving in to a full-blown panic attack.

The upshot is that she has increased my mood stabiliser as the dose I have been on clearly doesn’t work at all. She wanted to see me again in two weeks time, because she feels I warrant “closer attention” and other meds may need to be changed too. But, and here’s the rub, they don’t have any appointments free until June. JUNE. That’s right, I have to wait ten weeks until my next appointment.

I initially freaked out about this (internally of course, one must never show ones true emotions, particularly anger or aggression, to virtual strangers). My inner panic attack started whispering sweet nothings to me, such as: you’ll never cope for that long, you’re going to break down completely, you can’t keep going like this, etc. But actually, it’s not as bad as it first appeared. This psychiatrist is giving a care plan to my GP so that my GP can further increase my mood stabiliser as needed. Hopefully this will halt or at least slow the incessant ultra-rapid-cycling. Maybe I’ll be able to get her to change other things too, like getting off this sodding SSRI anti-depressant.

However, I am left feeling a little unnerved. This psychiatrist seemed genuinely worried about me, and she only saw me for fifteen minutes. Unfortunately, due to stupid NHS shortages, she was unable to do much about her concerns. I went home after the appointment, took the rest of the day off work, and seriously considered getting blind drunk. I decided against that course of action, and as I was working out what to do instead I suddenly felt incredibly tired. So I lay down, fell asleep and didn’t wake up for four hours. I guess all the anxiety of recent weeks has taken it out of me more than I realised. I felt substantially calmer after my nap, and I still feel calmer today. Bloody exhausted though!