Bonus points to anyone who get’s the movie right from the title of this post. Hint: 1968 cult film.
I make no effort in hiding my mind’s various issues. I think it is toxic to NOT talk about them and to assign shame to the misfiring of whatever neuron is mucking up the joint. I may have run up against my first real life glitch from doing that, though. Not a friend on a social media page saying: “maybe you should keep that to yourself, you know people will judge you.”, but a face to face interaction.
I have been suffering from lower back pain for years. I have always thought it was traced back to a child hood injury and was exacerbated by one particular car wreck I had in Boulder, CO. I finally have insurance and went to my GP, who prescribed muscle relaxers, anti-inflammatory drugs, and PT. I was unable to take the PT due to it’s cost, but I took the drugs and stretched on my own and then trotted my happy arse right back to her this past Monday.
Monday was the day of DOOM around Kansas City because of big ass storm “Rocky” coming through that evening and into Tuesday morning. I was ushered into my little medical room and left to wait while my GP did triage on others, as I was just a followup. The storm threw everything out of whack and I was a bit wonky feeling by the time her doctor-in-training came to see me, forty minutes later.
I had been self soothing during that time by, I thought, just moving my necklace back and forth. In fact, I had been scratching at myself–a habit I had picked up while young and never really understood or wanted to stop it. I normally scratch at my arms or legs and the continuous movement is very calming. Repetitive movements relax me and let my brain focus. I have been doing somethings, like scratching, for so long I don’t even notice anymore. Others have to point it out or I need to glimpse myself in a mirror.
The DIT met me and asked the regular questions : “How is your pain?” “How long have you had it?” “What all are you taking?” “Has anything changed?”. I answer the questions and expect a bunch of pokes to the back but, instead, I get a concerned look and asked if I have a rash or something that I was scratching. I forget what I said, but the honest answer coupled with a few more things dinged me for a depression test.
Now, my GP is NOT my psychiatrist. She does not prescribe my drugs or even really know all about my medical history. However, she still knows what I take (to avoid a drug interaction) and that I see someone.
I take the test and score “high” on what seem like normal, everyday sort of questions to me. I am trying not to laugh at the DIT and GP while discussing things (mirror exercises! pillows for my office chair! other things of obviousness!) until the GP comes out with “Psychosomatic Illness”. The fuck? My GP seems to think that my brain is so overloaded with things my current medications are “obviously not controlling” that it is manifesting physical symptoms in my back.
Now, I did some Googling and this is possible, I guess. I am highly skeptical and do have a bit of a thought that this may be a “we don’t know, this sounds good” answer to my problem as x-rays have shown no bone issues.
I will be bringing this up with my OTHER doctor when I visit his big comfy chair in a few weeks, but it just does not FEEL like it is the right answer. Have I been discounted a bit because of foreknowledge of a psychiatric diagnosis? Is my back all because of my head? If it is, why was it not worse prior to my treatment? Also, maybe if you told a gal she would be waiting FORTY MINUTES to see another human, perhaps I would not have this weird scabby area on chest now, hmmmmmm??
Yes, it is just as hot as it sounds. Me so sexy.
I had a pretty mind once. Such a pretty miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiind! Oh GOD, I wish I had my pretty mind back.