The world being what it is, minutes after I finally write about my difficulties getting referrals, following up on referrals, etc, I get the phone call that I have an appointment with a new psychiatrist.
And I don't know if I want it.
When my GP had first mentioned the referral on the phone, he said that he was referring me to someone who did "garbledy-gattily-glot stimulant therapy". Or maybe he just said "stimulant therapy". Anyways, I googled "stimulant therapy" and found references to the use of caffeine or other stimulants to treat attention difficulties. Now, I have plenty of problems with concentration (I should write about my cloudbrain) but I already imbibe a great deal of caffeine with little to no effect on my concentration.
But today, after the psychiatrist's office called me to set up my first appointment, I was able to google the name of the specialist himself and what he works in, and I found out that it wasn't "stimulant therapy" that my GP had been talking about, but repetitive transcranial magnetic stimulation (rTMS).
Which freaks me the fuck out.
I wouldn't claim to be rational about this - hell, since I'm finally becoming able to talk about mental illness, I realise that I have lots of irrational thoughts.
I used to know someone who was very bright and had gotten a PhD in a hard science, only to be forced out when she developed a physical disability which impaired her ability to perform lab work. She had moved into another profession, which is where I knew her, but after a while she seemed to disappear. I later found out that she had been severely depressed (not without a damn good reason - her new career did not have the same prospects as her PhD field and she was definitely working under her abilities), and had been treated with some kind of electroconvulsive therapy. It had so damaged her memory and/or mind that she couldn't continue to work.
Her story has a special horror for me. I know that this rTMS is not electroconvulsive therapy - but I also know that it hasn't been around that long, and I have a reason to be freaked out about anyone playing my brain in experimental ways. I may not be physically disabled like Lois McMaster Bujold's character Miles Vorkosigan, but as he says at one point, I've always basically thought of my brain and my mind as my primary asset in life. I'm not good-looking, I'm not athletic or coordinated, I'm not personable, but (dammit) I have a good brain. My brains got me out of a terrible primary school into a gifted program (which itself was 80% of the reason I didn't drop out of high school), my brains got me through undergrad at the top of my class and into a fully-funded graduate program. Thanks to depression (among other things), I haven't finished my PhD, but my intellect is the only hope I have of doing so in the future. My brain is what I have relied on for my career, my personal life (picked up my SO by discussing history), and my personal fulfilment.
I know that my depression is just as much a disease of the brain, but (to borrow my broken legs metaphor back) I'd sooner amputate my leg in response to a break than threaten my brain function to treat my depression. It's bad, but not that bad -- and it has responded to medication just fine.
If I have to stay off of medication, what I really want is to find a good talk therapist, someone who (unlike my previous therapist) might be able to help be develop some mental skills through cognitive behavioural therapy or something. That was the first referral I asked for - to the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health (CAMH) for assessment for some kind of talk therapy. I'm still waiting to hear back - they warned me that it might be weeks.
I'm going to go to my appointment next week and listen to what they have to say, but right now I am freaked out.
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