When my primary care doctor closed her practice, and left me flapping in the winds of the Lexapro aftermath, I was close to losing everything I'd worked for in my life. I'd enjoyed a good reputation as an excellent litigator, a fair-minded person, a good and loyal friend, an honorable and worthy adversary in the courtroom, and a damn funny wanna-be stand up comic. I had a good sense of self, built on my own principles and my relationships with others. Then that was ripped apart by a drug reaction, a subsequent label that was applied to me and the stigma that follows to this day.
My outgoing primary doctor decided that, based upon my adverse reaction to the Lexapro, "You're bipolar!" As her final gift to me, she wrote this insight into her transfer memo to my new primary care physician. My new primary care physician has therefore decided that I'm a med-seeking nutter that somaticizes everything, and really there's no need to take anything I say seriously. Our conversations consist of "I'm not going to prescribe you any narcotics, Peggy." Um, okay, I mentioned that I'm having headaches, doctor, I did not ask you for any narcotics. I just want to know if I need to see someone about these headaches. Actually, I hate the way narcotics make me feel. Ahh, the joy of being pigeonholed.
Once a doctor labels you as a nutter, your health care will suck. It's just the way physicians think.
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