"...And I find that doctors can be very condescending." -Sherry Stringfield
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June 12th, 2013
Psychologist - Dr. Rathborne
1st Appointment
"Verity Dysis?"Psychologist - Dr. Rathborne
1st Appointment
Blue eyes widening a bit more as she heard her name called, mind having wandered, hands clutching and relaxing in her lap. A nod was given, along with a nervous smile, getting up from her seat as the woman took hold of her arm in the normal fashion, leading her through the building that smelled far too sterile for her liking. As per her usual habit, she tried to follow the twists and turns down the maze of a hallway system, until she was deposited into an overly plush chaise, instructed to relax, and the receptionist left the room.
A smell, of something she assumed was supposed to be calming, wafted over her and made her face scrunch up and a hand absentmindedly try to wave it away from her face. It was too harsh, too much, too intense a smell to be anything of a relaxing sort.
"Ms. Dysis, it's good to finally meet you," Dr. Rathborne greeted her, taking hold of her hand gently in a small shake before releasing it and settling down somewhere in front of her. "Claire mentioned how hard it'd been to get a hold of you to schedule your appointment initially, but I'm glad you could finally make it."
...I'm starting to regret making it, she thought wryly, while forcing the smile to stay on her lips, body shifting back subconsciously into her chair. Not that shifting back bought her much distance, but she did it regardless. "I apologize for that," Ver answered with a light shrug. "Since the accident, I've been...tired, and was told to be on strict bedrest to make sure I recuperated."
"Well, you were supposed to have seen me before now," he mumbled, scribbling something down on the pad of paper. "But I suppose now is better than never."
This time she didn't bother to hide her overall reaction to his words, a brow quirking up and lips slightly parting in her silent retort. He'd never met her, but felt it prudent to start their first meeting on such terms?
What made it worse in her mind?
He's absolutely oblivious.
"So, tell me how you've been feeling since the accident?" the doctor prompted her, pen still scribbling a while longer before she heard it put down and heard the groaning of the leather chair while he moved. "Tell me, what's life been like? I hear you'd wanted to be released earlier than they recommended."
"I don't like doctors or being in places I'm unfamiliar," she replied rather bluntly, her toe tapping against the hard floor beneath her. "The hospital here is not one I'm used to, and not one that I'm comfortable staying in any longer than I absolutely have to. I was in a medically-induced coma for a few days, and then had to stay a few days after that. It was enough time."
"You don't like doctors...Interesting..."
More scribbling. The sound was becoming like nails on a chalkboard to her the more she kept hearing it. What had she said that required so much writing? What had she done even before the questioning started? There was nothing she'd done, was doing, or would do that would be that interesting.
"And, how have you adjusted to life back at home? Have you left your residence, apart from this appointment?"
"Does it really matter if I've left the apartment since I got home from the hospital?" Verity countered, voice clearly wary.
"While you're on bedrest, there should still be the want to continue life as normal. Have you even entertained the urge to want to get up and do things? Or are you content to sit in bed, like the doctor's ordered, and read a book instead?"
Her eyes widened in an incredulous manner, blue eyes lighting with something of an anger at the way he'd posed the question. What business was it of his what she did and what she didn't? First, she was a bad patient for not getting in sooner, and now she was a bad patient for not going out and breaking the rules that her doctor specifically set her to? Would this guy prefer her out clubbing every night?
"The urge is there," she lied.
"I see..." came his mumble, as a barrage of more scribbles resounded throughout the room, somehow far louder than her breathing, her heart, or the ticking of the clock. "And, have you acted on this urge?"
"Yes." Another lie.
"Mhmm..." More scribbles. If he pressed any harder into the paper, he'd rip it clean through. "Any changes in behavior? Do you find it harder to function?"
Her head dipped forward as she listened to his question, repeating it in her head as though she could somehow make it sound less like an assumption that she was mentally retarded, and more like an actual educated question. "...Do I find it harder to function...?" This time, she repeated it aloud, as though that, too, would somehow help her understand where he got off asking such. "I was in an accident, not some radioactive explosion that melted my face off, fused my limbs together, and killed my brain cells," Ver snapped, a hand gesturing off to the side in short, sporadic bursts. "Do I look like I'm finding it harder to function?"
"Ms. Dysis, the question wasn't meant to be insulting," Dr. Rathborne tried to explain, his voice never changing in pitch, remaining the ever-apathetic doctor. "But, when someone has been through as much as you have, they're more susceptible to mental bre-"
"Dr. Rathborne, does it look like I'm having a mental break?" she interjected, her annoyance clear. "You don't know what it's like to go through what I have; You don't know how it feels. You can sit there, scribbling your notes and asking me how I feel until you're blue in the face, and it wouldn't matter. My life is what it is, and I'm living it the best way I know how, and for you to sit there and ask me in such a tone is ridiculous. Being blind doesn't dictate who I am, nor should it, and for you to treat me as such is..."
Words were failing her, unable to truly describe exactly why such infuriated her. It was the very thing she'd dealt with her entire life, being coddled, people treating her like she was this fragile thing, and couldn't handle what the others could. Yes, she was sight impaired.
No, she wasn't breakable.
Pushing up from the chair with a sigh, she stared hard at where she thought he was, hoping to hit the mark. "I'm sorry we've wasted each oth-...No, no, I take that back. I'm sorry you wasted my time. And no, we won't be needing to schedule another appointment."
As dignified as she could, she hesitantly moved to the door (unable to execute a proper "storming"). Her cane having been angrily snapped open and tapping along the floor, hand feeling for its knob as he clearly wasn't going to help her with it, and she exited...again, hesitantly trying to remember which direction from which she'd come. Only when Claire found her meandering through the wrong hallway, did she manage to make it out in one piece.
Maybe she'd overreacted? Maybe she hadn't. He'd come off too condescending to her, too disconnected in a "I'm blatantly superior" way. Whatever the verdict...
...Just another place to add to my list of "Places to Avoid"...
