The head shrinker was on time. I was early as is usual. While I waited, I sat under a television blaring soap operas in the waiting room, trying to trick my brain into understanding the reconstruction of functions from power series.
In any case, he greeted me punctually at the doorway to the office corridor, and walked me back to his office, asking the usual questions on the way. Do I have any other appointments today? (With the implication that he'll be scrupulous to not go over on our allotted time if I do.)
It was clear to me within two sentences that he hadn't bothered to even read his notes from our first session. He spent the next 25 minutes fucking up, looking at the clock every few minutes, and answering inter-office instant messages on his computer while spitting out generic questions and commentary. After a brief recap of the laughable advice from our first session, he gave me the swift boot after exactly 25 minutes had elapsed.
I'm trying to give the doc the benefit of the doubt for his reluctant participation, but isn't that supposed to be the other way around? I've had more productive and therapeutic conversations with my dog.
On the way out, he reminded me of my upcoming appointment. I had no idea what he was talking about, and told him as much.
He sighed and commandeered a nearby workstation to pull up my schedule. It turns out my referral to the special PTSD clinic came through. It's just that nobody bothered to tell me anything about it, despite having updated my mailing address, phone number, email address, and so forth.
If the doc hadn't mentioned it, I would have been a no-show and would have been taken off the list. I'm sure that would have looked good on a spreadsheet somewhere - cured in only two half-hour sessions with a non-specialist!
As it is, I'm due to be "assessed" again by the same thorough professionals who hooked me up with nothing more than a single page questionnaire and a prescription the first time I tried getting my head screwed on straight.