It’s always like this when I go to see a doctor who isn’t a shrink. I tell them my symptoms, and then it goes one of two ways:
Way #1 She listens to me carefully and proposes a diagnosis and a treatment plan.
Way #2 She eyes me suspiciously, wants to know how much opiate medicine I am taking, and hands me my chart back marked “irritable bowel syndrome,” which I do not have.
Let’s play a little game: which one of these doctors had access to my psych history?
Aha, I see you have guessed right.
So tomorrow when I go to see my gastro about a little issue I’ve been struggling with, I will most definitely NOT hip her to the fact that the rest of me is stuck in a heavy depression that just doesn’t want to get off of me. Kind of like “The Blob” in the old horror movie,
Nope, I am not going to tell her about that. I am going to LIE.