Poo Buckets!
Oh well, I've not long said my goodbyes to Darth Hobbit and in the company of Smeagol he left for his journey back to the "Shire".
This week was meant to be a happy and relaxing time for the pair of us. Instead of which we've been battling the spectre of DH's line manager. Having driven DH to distraction by her inconsistent demands, inconsiderate "help strategies" and an almost tidal management technique (except you know when tides come and go) crisis point was reached and a visit to our GP became a necessity. For once our normally ambivalent Doctor actually paid attention to our condition, and listened. The result of this first appointment was that both of us were supplied with questionaires to complete - and a return visit to the surgery. Following this interview, the diagnosis was made that we were both "severely depressed" - DH being in a rather more vulnerable condition was immediately given an emergency appointment at a local psychiatric establishment.
Whilst I know that the NHS is not exactly rolling in funds and that illness is not meant to be fun, I can honestly say that the rise in mental health problems is possibly directly attributable to the state of health care establishments such as the place we visited.
Upon entry to this grim collection of 1970's design errors, the nature of the decor inside the building managed to exceed the air of despair that the outside had managed to instil. To compound this even further, the reception area and it's staff manage to ignore you totally... a great start - if you weren't too well before, this place ensured that treatment was necessary.
I won't go into what we endured, but it seems that various new ideas have been imported to the psychiatric proffession, the most disconcerting of which is the description that "as adults - you have "choices" and these are valid" . This worries me, at the time DH had expressed sentiments that should not be allowed to become action - to be told that these were "his choices" scared me. Eventually DH was appraised. True he was given drugs to help him, but precious little help seemed to be available. Darth Hobbit has spent the weekend pulling the tattered remnants of his confidence about him, girding his loins, recharging his lightsaber and deciding to go back and fight the "Cult of Mismanagement at Work" ..... I guess it was a better "choice" then going back to "Psychiatric Hell(p)"
Me..? Well I'll be seeing the GP on Monday, we'll have to wait and see - but I'll be buggered if I'm going to get sent to that place!
*looks through Yellow Pages for a decent Vet*
This week was meant to be a happy and relaxing time for the pair of us. Instead of which we've been battling the spectre of DH's line manager. Having driven DH to distraction by her inconsistent demands, inconsiderate "help strategies" and an almost tidal management technique (except you know when tides come and go) crisis point was reached and a visit to our GP became a necessity. For once our normally ambivalent Doctor actually paid attention to our condition, and listened. The result of this first appointment was that both of us were supplied with questionaires to complete - and a return visit to the surgery. Following this interview, the diagnosis was made that we were both "severely depressed" - DH being in a rather more vulnerable condition was immediately given an emergency appointment at a local psychiatric establishment.
Whilst I know that the NHS is not exactly rolling in funds and that illness is not meant to be fun, I can honestly say that the rise in mental health problems is possibly directly attributable to the state of health care establishments such as the place we visited.
Upon entry to this grim collection of 1970's design errors, the nature of the decor inside the building managed to exceed the air of despair that the outside had managed to instil. To compound this even further, the reception area and it's staff manage to ignore you totally... a great start - if you weren't too well before, this place ensured that treatment was necessary.
I won't go into what we endured, but it seems that various new ideas have been imported to the psychiatric proffession, the most disconcerting of which is the description that "as adults - you have "choices" and these are valid" . This worries me, at the time DH had expressed sentiments that should not be allowed to become action - to be told that these were "his choices" scared me. Eventually DH was appraised. True he was given drugs to help him, but precious little help seemed to be available. Darth Hobbit has spent the weekend pulling the tattered remnants of his confidence about him, girding his loins, recharging his lightsaber and deciding to go back and fight the "Cult of Mismanagement at Work" ..... I guess it was a better "choice" then going back to "Psychiatric Hell(p)"
Me..? Well I'll be seeing the GP on Monday, we'll have to wait and see - but I'll be buggered if I'm going to get sent to that place!
*looks through Yellow Pages for a decent Vet*
posted by Kat Maul at 1:53 PM
1 Comments:
I once spent 15 minutes chatting to a shrink. Then the shrink came in and it turned out I'd been chatting to another patient. The patient was a much better shrink. He giggled a lot.
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