The Psychologist

I was sent to a psychologist recently. Since my heart problems my doctors haven't released me back to work. There's no records from the hospital saying I have mental issues, but the Social Security offices decided I need, in their words a "Mental Examination." At first I was more then a little annoyed, as a matter of fact I was down-right infuriated. I have learned that being sick is a nightmare. I have worked most of my life. I got my first job at fourteen and have worked every since. I have been gainfully employed for over thirty years. So, when I was advised against working right now and the staff at the hospital started this process of disability I thought it would be easy. I did after all actually die..HA! How naive was I? I have had to write books of paperwork. These people have dug their inquiry so deep I feel violated. I want to hold my hands in front of my chest and ask "Is this really necessary." They didn't need all that information to take money out of each of my paychecks or the extra money I paid almost every year from the beginning.I have however been very cooperative. Mainly because I have no other alternative right now.

I go to the referred psychologist office. I passed the place twice looking for it. It was a small building that look as if it may have been a single family home at one time but was now converted into not just the doctor's office but a lawyer as well. I drove into the parking lot and there was one other car in the lot a Volkswagen Beetle, yellow of course. I proceed with caution, because if I was the only patient I thought surely he would at least had a staff member. I rationalized, maybe the Volkswagen belong to the receptionist and the doctor wasn't in the office yet. I walk to the door nearest the parking lot and there's a sign on the door that reads DR ----- office north entry with an arrow pointing, I follow the arrow even though it doesn't look like a door until you get in front of it. Now I feel a creepy sensation as if I'm walking up to the Bates Motel and Norman Bates is standing behind the door waiting to strike. I waited for this appointment for three weeks. I had a vision of a average doctors office, moderate building small but cozy waiting area with two or three other patience in the waiting room that I would start a conversation with just so I could let them know I'm not crazy that Social Security requested I visit.

I walk in and the first thing I notice was not only the lack of other patients but the total lack of furniture in the small waiting room. There's someone standing behind a closed in receptionist office. There is no chair or receptionist. The psychologist stuck his head around the corner and asked "Are you Carlean?" I said "yes." he directed me to come in and go to the back to the last room to the left. There are two rooms both to the left. To the right there's a wall. As I walked the narrow hallway I notice the first room door is closed. By this time my mind is in a total frenzy. "what can I use as a weapon of self-defense? where's his receptionist? did he kill her? I wonder if he need an assistant? should I ask him if he's hiring? is this set-up part of my mental exam?"

I finally reach the last room to the left, I stop at the door and peek inside not sure what to do. The room is scantly furnished and what furniture there is looks miniature, there is a small dark brown table that reminds me of an interrogation table you see in the movies only smaller. On the east side of the table is a lilliputian dingy green and beige chenille fabric chair, directly across from it is a lighter brown wooden chair with two pieces of paper and a stop watch laying on the seat. Near the wall closes to the door stood a empty corner plant stand except isn't in the corner and like everything else in the room it's extremely small, next to it was another small wooden desk chair.

I tried to figure out where the doctor would want me to sit, where exactly would a totally sane and rational person sit. I decided to sit in the chenille fabric chair, It was the biggest chair and the only one with the slightest bit of cushion and even that was minimal. My senses were alert, I wanted to make sure this man with the shabby "little" office didn't get in my head. I had nothing to fear!

He comes into the room and sits across from me. He introduce himself and asked me did I know why I was there. I told him as a matter of fact I didn't since there is absolutely nothing wrong with my mind. He went on and explained that Social Security sent me. I told him I was very much aware of that fact..what I didn't understand is WHY. He said he didn't know but he had some test he wanted me to participate in that would take 30 to 45 minutes. I said okay but I'm not crazy(told him since there was no patients in the waiting room to tell).

He asked me to remember these four things, 1) a table 2) a chair 3) a tree 4) a elephant. Then he asked who's the president, what day of week is it, how many weeks in a year, who's Martin Luther King, and name three presidents since I've been born, then he said four numbers and asked me to repeat them, then six, he asked me to count by threes he stopped me at thirty. He asked me to repeat the four things he first gave me. Apparently I pasted the mind examine with flying colors because after that simple test was over he told me there's nothing wrong with my mind. I wanted to ask him, "How in the hell would you know?" You can go to any house for the criminally insane and get the same if not similar answers( but I held my peace). What kind of little furniture possessing quack are you?" So I decided to give him a mind exam, I asked him what he thought of manage care--Obama healthcare reform? he gave some generic answers, I wasn't the least bit impressed. I knew by his answers he was absolutely clueless, or he was defending the government since they were the only business he had.

He asked me have I ever been to a psychologist before. I told yes I have. I have been to four of them. It started in kindergarten. I was extremely shy and never really spoke beyond a whisper. One day I was called out of class by one of the school office staff. I walked quietly behind her listening to the sound of her foot steps, all the while nervous and wondering why I was the only one called out of the class room. We get to this little office. There was this youngish guy(back then all the teachers looked ancient) in his early twenties. He told me he was the School Psychologist. He showed me ink stains and asked what they looked like, I said butterflies because everything was butterflies to me, even the big black spider I once put in my mothers hand(that didn't go over well). He gave me a bag of potato chips and sent me back to class. I never went back to his office. The second time was another school psychologist this time it was the six grade once again my shyness resembled mental illness. This time I got a place in the big brothers, big sister club. I got a beautiful big sister who took me places like skating, bowling, I never went back to that school psychologist either. The next was after my husband bled to death in my arms, this time I got a diagnosis, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and weekly visits. I would have preferred a bag of chips. I ended the sessions when one day during a session she started crying, my story was too sad for her. People often tell me they don't know how I survived without being crazy. I always tell them it was God and him only. He is and will always be married to the backslider, even the one that makes the biggest mistakes.