In the past year I’ve lost both my therapist and psychiatrist. Nothing bad happened to them. My psychiatrist decided to take a year off after the birth of her child. And my therapist moved on to a different practice in Pasadena. It made her both out of network and would have made going to see her, given LA traffic, an hour trip each way. The year before I had another therapist leave.
This is the trouble with going to a faculty practice. There are good things, the care I’ve gotten has always been very good, frequently even great. They don’t take any money or perks (not even pens) from pharmaceutical companies, so usually the drugs they prescribe are available as generics. But faculty members tend to move on. Especially younger ones.
So last month I saw a new psychiatrist. The good thing is he’s chair of the department so likely to stay. He also seemed nice, but I didn’t feel the vibe of connection I’d always felt with my previous one.
The one who saved me.
On my new psychiatrist’s advice, because I want to work on my anxiety, the residual habits from having been depressed for so long, and the stress of the job market, I’m seeing a therapist today with the goal of setting up regular meetings if we both feel okay about it. As those of you who’ve read me for a while know, there’s nothing I hate more than first meetings with therapists. I’m hoping the new doctor will have at least scanned my 4+ years of records and case notes. I don’t want to have my history taken. But needs must.
So I’m whining. Sometimes it’s the only thing left to do.