8.5.09

so i had my first Outpatient Therapy yesterday.  it was what i expected, having done this thing in the past.  an hour and a half or so of full background: personal history, family history, drug/alcohol history, major and minor details of all kinds.  since i've been repeating the same items for about two weeks regularly, it came easily and without much thought.  i only had to think about one question, that came early in the session: what do you want to achieve in your therapy?

even though i knew in my head, it took me a few minutes to articulate my goals.  that i needed to unload & work through the major events.  to come to some sort of resolution with a few of the issues.  stress management.

i was upbeat, nay, almost perky throughout the Q & A.  my sense of humor, both natural and a bit of a defense mechanism, ran amok in spurts.  again, having been through all of these questions so often lately, i partly keeping myself entertained.  i realized that i could be perceived as being "flip" or "glib", but after the fifth time of being asked in a different way if i had thoughts of harming myself or others, i leaned back in my chair, looked at the intake counselor, and said, "yes, i can contract for safety", at which point she stared at me and started to laugh.  "you certainly know what you're talking about, Barbara", she mused.

when the intake was through, i waited to meet with my psychiatrist, who would be monitoring my medication.  the intake counselor met with the shrink to brief her on our meeting, and i waited in the lounge area with Chris.  i was feeling positive, and we muttered exchanges of immediate thoughts.

the psychiatrist ran through some of the same questions, and i was careful to maintain eye contact, to not fidget, as we discussed the medication i was presently taking, and what i had taken in the past.  about 15 minutes into our meeting, she looked over her glasses at me and remarked "you're quite a savvy woman, Barbara".  i have a history of this sort of thing, depression/anxiety, being treated for it.  they knew this.  i know the lingo, the routine.  and i want to get better, so why not cut to the chase?

she ran through my bloodwork, the 6 or 7 vials that were drawn the night before i entered the Behavioral Hospital.  the shrink hmmm'd and muttered over some of the results, asking me health questions and dropped a bombshell on me.  that i might have another form of mental illness.  might.  we'd keep an eye on that, revisit the medications in a month.  while she was almost breezing over that news, my stomach bottomed out.  and we moved onto other topics.

we spoke briefly about adoption and she fed me, unfortunately, the lines that have kept me out of proper therapy for so long.  "well, when he's 18, there IS a possibility for reunion.  it happens, you know".  i felt my blood pressure rise, my face turn red.  i kept repeating to myself internally that neither of these women were going to be my therapist.  this was simply intake. neither knew my story, just the most basic of details, patter that fell from mouth out of habit, without emotion.

when we reached the miscarriage bit, i was again irritated by the doctor's responses.  the "my sister's husband's cousin's wife had X amount of miscarriages, adopted a beautiful baby and then lo and behold! she got pregnant! and she was nearing 40!  it happens!".  my anxiety was rising a little, i had started biting the insides of my cheeks, and the left foot that was crossed in a ladylike fashion over the right started to click softly with my flip flop.  while i was paying attention to what was being said, i started my internal mantra "she's in charge of monitoring my medications, not my therapy".

i was silent on the way home.  as we sat in traffic on the causeway heading onto the island, each of us smoking, classic rock playing softly on the radio, i started to get a little angry.  a little agitated.  the "possible" diagnosis that lingered in my head.  the standard responses to both surface issues of adoption & miscarriage.

while the rest of the afternoon was a bit hairy - some tears, a little hyperventilating - Chris and i talked for hours while we watched the Phillies pummel the Rockies on tv.  i was able to go to bed in a much better frame of mind.  and still looking forward to therapy.

my first actual therapy appointment is on Monday afternoon.

(note: i realize that these last two posts are not in the same vein as the others, meaning not "all about adoption". please understand that my adoption issues, and what has stemmed from them, are the main reason why i'm seeking help. this is simply the first toll booth on the road to getting better. i appreciate, more than you know, your support. many of you have been reading this blog for years. so thank you, most sincerely)