For Ra.

Originally uploaded by SarahLena.

And, yes, I swear there was a little old lady, standing there, picking through the bunches.

My family doc, whom I LOVED and would’ve had babies with, moved on to bigger and better things in January.  Of course, this was about the time I really needed a doctor.  When she sent out her “I’m no longer practicing” letter, it included the name and phone number of a doctor to whom she was handing over all caseloads.  I didn’t think much about it and had heard rumor that it was INCREDIBLY ugly, paperwork wise, when they made that change.  So I was hesitant to call said new doc and try and explain something like what may or may not be PPD to a complete stranger.

When I called in this morning, a perky little lady answered the phone.  I explained I was with Dr. Old Doctor, but I hadn’t been in to see New Doc, but I’d like to come in.  ”Do you have some concerns, or are you just wanting to get established?”

Loaded question, eh?

I took a breath.  ”Well, I had a baby five months ago, and I just.. well, I’m having some post-partum questions I need answers to.”  I figured that was vague.  It could be nipple leakage, too, right?  Not necessarily gloom and doom.

She put me on hold and disappeared for about a minute.  When she came back, she said, “We can squeeze you in today.  Is an hour and a half good for you?”

I was really surprised by how quickly they could get me in!  Since I had taken a “mental health day” anyhow, I was thrilled at the opportunity to chat with mom at the hospital, and then get this taken care of.

You know, it’s weird.  I never once said “depression” in talking to these people.  I didn’t include “PPD” or “depression” on any of the forms.  But when I got back to the waiting room, the nurse said, “You’re feeling kinda down, huh?”  I nodded and smiled.  And then I hated myself for smiling.  Why am I smiling?  I’m fucking depressed, for God’s sake.  Why smile?  Or am I depressed?  Shit, is she just gonna tell me to get the fuck over it?  She is, isn’t she?  And then I’ll just have to rely on meth or something to make it all better.

While I had this little inner struggle, she was babbling.  Something about heart disease or some crap.  Finally, she said the doctor would come in and see me momentarily, and would I mind filling out this “depression survey” in the meanwhile?

Dude, I fuckin’ ROCK at tests.  Hells to the yes, I’ll take one of your little tests.

And I found myself cleaning up my answers.  I had to start over again and FORCE myself to answer honestly.  Because honestly?  I don’t think I feel depressed.  I just feel NUMB.

The nurse came and collected the survey (again, with me smiling like some obviously un-depressed dork), and disappeared.  Leaving me with posters of groin injuries.

The doctor appeared.  She was younger than I expected, but very sweet.  And she jumped right in.  ”Okay,” she said, skimming my test, “two questions: do you ever consider suicide?”

“Oh, God, no.” I said.  Note to self: NOW IS THE TIME TO NOT SMILE.

“Good,” she said, nodding as if I had earned some extra credit.  ”And have you ever had harmful thoughts toward your baby?”

“Nope.  I don’t blame any of this on my baby, matter of fact.”

She set down her pen.  ”Good.  Because you scored really, really highly on this test, indicating you are what we would call ‘Severely Depressed’, and if you had answered yes to any of those questions, we would be on our way to a hospital right now.”

Well, raise my rent. (more…)