<div> I called the office manager at the physician's office and scheduled an appointment tomorrow. In other words, I'll go in and see the doctor and ask him to go ahead and make the referral to the neurologist. I'm scared as hell. I've heard horror stories from my father concerning one of his. If mine pulls a superiority complex stunt on me as well, he (or she, who knows) will get the verbal equivalent of the imprint of my shoe on their butt. (Size 11, by the way.)
"How harsh!" Not really. I've already been jacked around by professionals for 23 years.
So then I called the new agency. So much fun. I've dealt with them before– just on the inpatient side. (Nope, no straightjackets.) Receptionist says intake eval appointment is set for a month and a half from now, and that it will take 2 hours. Lovely… they must be including a couple of meetings there as well as time filling out the paperwork. Not to mention I noted the old psychiatrist was going to see me this month, and actually wanted to see me a month or two ago (but it didn't turn out that way).
Evening local news came on some hours later with the news anchor saying it was the last day for Sunderland patients on Medicaid to find a new provider. I told him to shut the hell up even though he couldn't hear me. I inwardly smiled wryly, thinking that I didn't need to say that, since I got things taken care of, but damn, it was cathartic anyway. They also must have changed the date or Mike Crispino is dead wrong, because the counties' office said the 15th in the letter.
This is all so surreal. I've read about things like this, but now I'm actually writing about it… how it's happening to me.