Saturday, January 17, 2004

I had an appointment with "my psychiatrist" this week. Yes, friends, I go to a psychiatrist. I've been doing so for neigh onto three years now, since my little 'bout with adrenaline exhaustion. He likes to keep track of me. He has to because he addicted me to medications. Oh, he denies it but it's true. He says you don't get "addicted" to this stuff. You become "dependent" on it. Oh. Thanks for clearing that up. All I know is that when I don't pop the pill the room spins and my equalibrium is ... less than equal. He says I don't really "need" it anymore. The under lying sickness is long gone. So why do I keep taking it? Good question. I keep taking it because everytime I try to STOP taking it somebody in my life (usually me) does something stupid and launches stress grenades in my direction. And when those things go off you don't want to be dizzy and disoriented, my friend. Trust me.

Anyway, about this psychiatrist. What a trip. You think I'm crazy? You should meet this guy. He's about 55 years old. He has a wall full of diploma's. He has an office full of receptionists and assistants. He has an address in a very nice neighborhood. He also has a pony-tail. And a Harley. And well over 200 frogs. In his office. Stuffed frogs, crystal frogs, plaster frogs, embroidered frogs, painted frogs. You name the frog and chances are very good that he has it.

But the frogs don't really bother me. I guess a psychiatrist can be obsessive/compulsive too, can't he? I mean, I'm a pastor and I preach against sin ... but I'm still a sinner. So why can't a psychiatrist be a little nuts? Frogs are relatively harmless in the over all scheme of things.

It's the pony tail. And the Harley. And the hint of leather in his clothing. That bothers me. He showed me his picture this week. He was in the middle between two guys who are most definately either Hells Angels or he just chipped them out of arctic ice as relics from the last onrushing glacier. They all wore funny helmets. I recognized them from my father's old WWII pictures. They are just like nazi helmets.

My psychiatrist wears a nazi helmet. His pony tail sticks out the back. He prescribes my medication. And then I go to church and hundreds of people look to me for spiritual guidance. They get out of bed way too early on Sunday morning just to hear me speak about God. Think about that for a minute. Or maybe ... don't.

I had a Christian counselor a few years ago too. He's out of the business now. These days he drives a route delivering cookies to little quick-mart type gas stations. He doesn't have a pony tail. He has a buzz cut and his eyes are crossed. Really. I saw him this week. I bought him lunch. That's when I noticed it. He has these piercing blue eyes and their gaze intersects about 8 inches out in front of his head. I do not remember them doing that when he was my counselor. I suppose it could be my fault. I am pretty hard on doctors and counselors.

My dentist does not like me. He did a root canal on me about 18 months ago. He didn't use any pain killer. Oh, he gave me a shot. But it did not work. I kept raising my hand like he told me to do if it hurt. I assumed that meant he would give me another shot. I have come to realize that it only increased his sadistic pleasures. He lives to see grown men raise their hand. He would pat me on the leg and tell me to hang on because he was almost done. Then I tried raising my head up really, really, quickly everytime he would hit a nerve ... which was constantly. Because it was, after all, root canal. Finally, I tried lifting my entire body off of the chair at once. I didn't do it on purpose. It was totally involuntary. He drilled and I flew. When he finished he told me that I was proof that he could do root canal without any pain killers. I tried to snarl but I could only manage to drool.

I am not sure what the point of any of this is. I am not stretching the truth on any of it. My regular MD is a great guy. He's about 72 years old and should have retired long ago. He could own his own beach home in Maui. He likes to help people though so he keeps working. I suppose that somehow he balances the others out. I like going to my MD. No pony tail. No nazi helmet. His eyes are straight. He doesn't hurt me. He alone gives me faith in the medical community.

Well, I just thought I needed to put those things into print. If I come up dead after a psychiatrist appointment or a dentist appointement ... call somebody. Like the International Enquirer.