Thursday, May 19, 2005.
Last meeting with my C4 Primary, J.F.
(read prologues here and here)
I wake up to a very cloudy day. Perfect weather backdrop for wishing someone "Farewell." Stumble into kitchen, pour a cup of coffee, and head to living room to check email and such before I get ready to leave for my final 11:00 a.m. meeting.
The voicemail light winks it's one red eye at me. It's a message from J.F. informing me of a last minute cancellation Dr. E. had, and could I come in to meet with her. Suddenly, I am running late.
I rush to the office, check in, throw my last fee to M. (reception guy), and listen to the Very Angry Little Asian Man scream at the other two receptionists, the office manager, and one of the 2 medication distribution nurses. With the accent and the volume and angry sputterings and start-stops, it's not easy to make out what exactly is the man's problem. I gather from piecing parts together he didn't get enough meds (or anger management classes, yo!) the last time he visited. Unfortunately, C4 would be happy to give him more today, but couldn't as they had run out of the particular kind he needed. I understood this, as it happened to me a couple of times. They also seemed to be trying to inform him that in order to continue receiving free meds, he needed to fill out the SS-199 form, which he hadn't yet done (I didn't qualify for this form).
At this point, Dr. E. popped her head through the door and waved me in. In the back hallway, she told me to go ahead to office and wait a second, she felt she needed to "put in my two cents" and help the Angry Little Asian Man out.
After a few minutes in her office (time 10:50 a.m.), she joins me. She asked me to come in today because she had just recently been informed about J.F.'s need to "close out my case," since her Internship is ending (she's not graduating as I misreported earlier, but moving on to another Internship in Career Counseling). We talk about the meds and old side effects (still yawning, touch of nausea, tiredness at night, etc) and a NEW ONE (Yay!)...itching, fun! For (from now) the past three weeks or so, I been scratching the Hell out of my shoulders, hips and ankles. I went through the common possible problems: I didn't change laundry detergents, Lilly doesn't appear to be flea-ridden, and my apartment isn't dry with the windows being open. Dr. E. didn't think it'd be an allergic reaction to the Paxeva like I suggested. She wasn't aware of any mention of that in case studies. But, just to be sure, she pulled out this HUGE-FUCKING-MUNGOUS medical book. Turns out there is a 1 in 1000 people itchy (science word was like Rupherohscratchthecrapoutofu) reaction. Score! She explained the anti-depressant ingredient was the same in both Paxeva and Paxil CR (that I didn't have a problem with), but the coating might differ, and I may be reacting to that; so, she wrote me a two month Script for generic Paxil to get me through the waiting process at the new place.
I am now like 15 minutes late for my meeting with J.F. Dr. E. and I say good-bye and she wants me to call her next week, to check in about the reactions and such (and shit, if I didn't forget to do that a couple of days ago).
J.F. and I meet in our favorite office we borrow for sessions: The Green Room. Whoever the owner of the windowless office is, they have filled it with 4 or 5 lush plants and a few mellow, soothing pictures. One feels like they really breath in here. J.F. tells me she thought I was standing her up until she found out my meeting with Dr. E was just running over. It turns out something like roughly 65% of clients, in general, don't show up for their last appointment. A result of many levels of abandonment issues, a kind of "I'll leave you before you leave me" thinking. Some of which we've discussed.
We talk. I feel weird and a little uncomfortable. Overtones (only in my mind, I'm sure) of an amiable break-up, sad, but amiable. I am unable to really look at her more than usual. I feel shy, not sure what to say. There are also strange bored vibes (from both of us), like what is the point of this? Can't start anything new. I've babbled enough about other things, now my turn to work on them. Nothing sucks more than a draaaawwnn out farewell, especially when you don't like saying good bye in general.
That's when the Fire Alarm goes off. A voice from Nowhere/Everywhere announces "Code Red in the *garglebargle*!" It's a fire drill. We and a bunch of others shuffle out the sidewalk. Her and I tell each other how this feels like high school or back at the dorms in college, those worthless, drunken/stoned fire drills at 2:00 a.m. Annoyed that your Tall Boys are getting warm and it's your turn for 3-Man and you were on a roll.
Back inside, I am really not sure what to say. In fact, now, I haven't a clue what I talked about. Probably expressed concern about new medical health center in "The Jungle," my goals I want to accomplish through them, and a new situation that's arisen. No sense of time left in session due to the late start and fire drill. I gave her "permission" to read this blog (Hi J.F.). Then she gave me a cool black journal and a sweet card as a going away present. I, of course, didn't think to bring/give anything as I am the worst gift giver ever. I thanked her, she walked me to the door where we hugged good-bye.
The world seemed even more grey and rainy.