This post has been one that I’ve wanted to do for a long time but I needed to write all the background information before it made sense to do so. I wrote out the whole situation immediately upon my return home after this visit as I knew it was a serious violation of the code of ethics for physicians. I had considered filing a complaint with the BC College of Physicians and Surgeons but I knew that it would be his word against mine as it all took place behind closed doors with no witnesses. He could simply deny everything. Since I had seen so many psychiatrists in the hospital, I’m sure nothing would have come of it, as it would be very easy to write me off as ‘crazy’. I was extremely vulnerable.

But I will never forget this day.

In preparation for the appointment, I made a list of things that I wanted to discuss.

• weight
• swollen ankles
• dry skin
• cold feet that feel strange/numb
• medications
• reflux

I arrived early for my appointment as his office was a 5 minute walk from my house. I was escorted into the examination room by one of his staff members. I stood on the scale and recorded my weight 55.2 kg.  A few minutes later, he walked in, threw my file on the top of the desk and spat out with the most derisive tone I have ever heard directed at me, “You really need to see a psychiatrist.” I assumed he had received the hospital records. What did they say about me to warrant such a change in one week?

“Fine,” I said, “go ahead and refer me to one.” I had seen so many in the hospital already and if he insisted that I see one, I would do it. I needed a GP, and even though he had been less than helpful once he decided I was making up my symptoms, I still needed help.

Then he proceeded to tell me that he didn’t have one to refer me to . “Maybe your psychologist friend knows of one.” Hmmm. I wondered how a GP in practice for 25 years in Vancouver and a clinical instructor for the medical school at UBC didn’t have a single connection with a psychiatrist. That was astonishing to me. It was also incredibly insulting for him to call my psychologist my friend. She has clearer ethics and boundaries than most of the health professionals I had seen in recent months.

I tried to move on. I started to show him my swollen ankles from the gabapentin. “You’ve been on that drug before,” he said as he waved his hand. (Where do they learn that dismissive wave? It was the same one neurologists #2 and #3 used with me.) I didn’t argue with him. I had been on a drug called Lyrica or pregabalin before but I had never been on gabapentin. I wasn’t getting anywhere. I weighed the pros and cons of trying to correct him. I decided that it wasn’t worth it and I could discuss with the neurologist the next time I saw him.

He told me that he didn’t need to see me for weekly ‘weigh-ins’. I suppose it was because that recommendation was not in the discharge summary that Resident K wrote, although they told me to do it. At this point I didn’t care because I was not ever going to see this doctor again.

I took a deep breath. Then I had a short and relatively small electric pain breakthrough on my face, so I put my hand up reflexively.

Then his tone changed completely to a mocking tone, sort of like baby-talk with a healthy dose of contempt in it. “Oooh, feeling a little pain are you? There you go, pretending you have pain just to get a little sympathy.” You don’t know how much I wanted to punch him in the face or to give him just one hour in my body to experience the pain I had experienced. I had no power. Anything I did would be used against me. I’d probably be locked up on the psych ward if I did anything that I felt like doing. I still needed to find somebody who believed me and who would help me.

I got up and walked out without saying another word.

What did I learn from this? I learned how cruel health professionals could be. I wonder if all people with mental illnesses experience this type of abuse regularly. It was truly appalling.