Monday, 6 August 2012

A review of a letter, part two.

I should have known it was all part of the game. You know how I wrote before about how the different NHS trusts (areas of the country) fight over government funding? Well bodies and services within the same trusts also have to fight over funding. I don't know if you've ever done this, but if you take a slice of bread and chuck it among a whatever-the-collective-noun-is of ducks, they all go on attack mode to get a bigger piece of it than the others, and that's the best description I can think of as to how the NHS works. There's no logic or strategy, besides eye on the prize and peckpeckpeck.

I was pretty damn angry last week, anyway. So I called up the therapy service and demanded to speak to my therapist. I was told he only worked there on Thursdays, but was assured they'd have him call me back on Thursday. Come Thursday, I was so set for a fight that I actually got out of bed at 9 (that's ridiculously early for me, hahahaha. I may not be a teenager, but my sleeping pattern doesn't seem fully aware of that fact) so that I wouldn't sleep through him calling me. And I waited. And then I waited some more. My usual appointment time is 12, so I was fully aware that he'd be free between 12 and 1 so did some of my best waiting during that period. No phone call. It got to about 2, half 2 and by then I was pissy to fuck, so called the service again, at which point the receptionist told me that he'd be in session constantly all day and would be until 5, and so wouldn't be able to talk to me. I wasn't letting him off that easy and told her that if she looked in the book, she'd see he was free between 12 and 1, a point she had to acquiesce. So I had a bit of a bitch fit, because he'd obviously decided he didn't want to discuss it on the phone and would discuss it in my last appointment, which is on the 9th, and I wasn't happy with kind of holding on to all my anger for another week.

Bitch fits at mental health services tend to work, hahaha, and he finally called me back. It's a bit cringey to think back over the conversation, so you're not getting a transcript because I most definitely cried down the phone. Apparently, I misread the letter or missed his point or WHATEVER. I say apparently, because having reread it a few times since then, I stand by what I thought it said and don't think it says what he's claiming it does. He reassured me that the letter was first and foremost a letter referring me to the drug and alcohol service, which was why he put in all the stuff about my hospitalisations and instabilities and all that. Oh, and I misunderstood what he meant by discharge... apparently we'd take right back up as soon as I've been to rehab or whatever.

I don't know, I don't entirely trust him now, because reading the letter even know brings me to the same conclusions it did a week ago. He offered to put in writing what he told me on the phone, but I was too embarrassed by that point, it was a most un-British display of emotion, and to do it down the phone is more than a touch embarrassing. But I'll be seeing him on Thursday so I suppose we see from there where to go.

1 comment:

  1. It's hard to trust people when you have written word of what they try to deny.