Friday, June 25, 2010
I never made another appointment with Dr. NOT Oprah, although it is still in the back of my mind that I might go back. My family doctor, who was appalled when I had told her what had happened, decided that I must move on and referred me to a psychiatrist in the outpatient clinic at the North York General. I am a bit apprehensive about going to hospitals, mostly because of how much parking costs there, but I figured it was worth a try. As I walked into the waiting room I was immediately greeted by a middle age Asian woman who yelled out at me "You're Gorgeous!!" Obviously, I went and sat beside her, and felt so good as she kept repeating how gorgeous I am. That is, until an old woman with a cane, probably in her early hundreds, walked in and the lady beside me blurted out to her how gorgeous she was too.
My first two appointments with Dr. Forget Me Not went quite well. She was a breath of fresh air after what I had recently experienced. I felt like she really got what my issues were, and did not once reprimand me for not being married with children as Dr. Not Oprah had.
Since I was starting on set the next week, I told her that I would call in to make an appointment once I had a better idea of what my schedule would be like. On my way out I noticed the Asian lady still sitting in the waiting room beside a very agitated man telling him how gorgeous he was.
A few weeks later when I had a free day, I was able to make an appointment with Dr. Forget Me Not for 1:45 on a Thursday. I was slightly annoyed when the receptionist said she'd only be able to see me for fifteen minutes? Fifteen minutes??? Seriously??? So basically I'd have time to put my purse down, push my sunglasses onto the top of my head, and then when she asks me how I'm doing I wouldn't even have time to give my answer before she said time's up. But, I figured she had been helpful at my previous two appointments with her, plus it was worth it if the Asian lady was there to tell me I was gorgeous, especially since I'd been having negative feelings about my hair in this humidity.
Unfortunately, Dr. Forget Me Not wasted the first ten of those fifteen minutes trying to remember who I was. She had no recollection of me. When she came out of her office and called my name and I was who appeared before her, she had a blank look on her face.
"You're Andrea?" she asked.
"Yes, hi," I said, thinking she was expecting another Andrea, not that she had no clue who I was.
"Oh, I haven't seen you before, right?" she asked.
"Yes, you've seen me. I mean, you haven't seen me in a month, but you've seen me," I replied.
"Really? Okay come in." We walked into her office and I took a seat while she went through her file trying to trigger her memory. I sat there in shock.
I kid you not when I tell you that I have looked the same since I was three years old, other than the fact that I now have boobs and better eyebrows. How could she not remember me? Isn't this part of her job. I seriously would like to see the criteria to be a psychiatrist these days. I think the rules have changed since the days of my ancestors. Finally it dawned on her who I was.
"Oh right, you're the one that wrote a book!" she said. I wanted to tell her well yes, that's who I am, but that's not why I am here. However, then I decided that if all I was to get out of coming to Dr. Forget Me Not was a book sale or two, then at least my royalties would pay for my hospital parking.
Needless to say, I'm not sure if I will go back or not. I may take a little break from shrinks for now and stick to bibliotherapy, which is the name I use for healing myself through reading. I will talk about that in my next blog.