I had received a bill from Medicare and questioned some of the amounts. They were telling me I might be stuck paying a little over $2,ooo. They won’t be getting it anytime soon unless they want to take my one kidney and try to sell it. I’m not too worried about it because I just do not like Doctors or the entire Medical System to begin with.
So I looked up some charges from my Doctors. Yes, you can do that. Some Doctors offer Patient Portals. I read the notes from my last visit to my Psychiatrist. I don’t know why but they bothered me to the point I cried for 2 hours. Not really a surprise.
He had written: Bipolar Disorder, Current Episode: Severe Depression w/ Psychotic
Features. Conversion Disorder: Motor Symptoms w/ Severe Deficit
Patient should be Hospitalized but refuses.
The reason I was upset was I had never seen the word “Psychotic” used to describe me. No one had ever even said it. No one ever said it when they were mad at me or even joking. It was like reality smacking me in the face with a dead fish. I didn’t like it one bit.
What the world filled with people who do not have a mental illness doesn’t know is this “label”, “description”, now follows me everywhere. I feel like it’s tattooed on my forehead. I know it isn’t a rational thought but that doesn’t matter, I will think about it as much as my brain wants to. That is MY BIPOLAR. It comes in all shapes, sizes, colors, flavors, and severity. It also comes in all forms of available treatment. Some will never find treatment, only something to make life tolerable. There are more of us than the Medical Community would like to admit to.
Some of this is due to how long we went untreated and were given certain antidepressants that may have exasperated the underlying problem. Add on self medicating with alcohol or drugs and you have the perfect storm. There are many Scientific statistics that I’m not going to bore you with.
There is a side issue I’m throwing in here. My father is going in for surgery on the 14th of July. It’s overnight. Once again I will be putting my own health at risk feeding his 250 plus pigeons, freaking out if one dies, trying to make sure if one hatches it gets medicine, making sure I have enough of my inhaler on hand or I’ll have to go to the ER, and taking him to the hospital and picking him up.
I was going to hop a plane and make my sister deal with all of it. But I can’t have that many dead animals on my conscious. Plus I would never forgive myself if something happened to my dad. They are fixing his Aortic Aneurysm. Wish me luck.