Healthcare

"For English, press one.  Para espanol, el numero dos."
"For questions about medication, press one.  For questions about behavior, press two.  To speak with your therapist, press three."
"I'm sorry, but there are no available therapists to take your call.  Goodbye."

"For English, press one.  Para espanol, el numero dos."
"For questions about medication, press one. For-"
"For prescription refills, press one.  To speak with a doctor, press two."
"I'm sorry, your doctor is on vacation.  Goodbye."

"Thank you for calling the mental health center, how may I direct your call?"
"Did you leave a message with the nurse on staff?"
"Well you need to leave a message, she will take the information and give it to the next available doctor, and he will get back to you.  What is the patient's name?"
"Hm, we don't have anyone by that name or birth date on record.  Did you come in recently?"
"Ah, okay, since it was last week we don't have the records in yet.  Just leave a message with the nurse and she will have the doctor get back to you as soon as possible."

"Hi, this is Doctor so-and-so, I hear you have some questions about Tristan's medication?"

I banged my head against the bedroom door and bit back the "no shit, Sherlock!" that threatened to burst out of my mouth.  "Yes, there seems to have been a lapse in it's effectiveness and now he refuses to take it.  And it's bad."

"Why didn't he take it?"

Memories from only five hours before of Tristan gripping a kitchen knife laughing maniacally that he won't take the "poison" I was "tricking him into taking" flashed in my head and I wished right then and there that I could project this image into every single medical car professional's mind.  "He says it's poison."

"Well, he needs to take it."

Call me stupid but I certainly don't need a bachelor's degree to know that.  "Well, he won't.  He doesn't want to take any poison."

"Why does he think it's poison? Is it doing anything bad to him?"

Yes!  It's not working!  "The voices in his head told him it's poison."  I tried very hard to suck out the dripping disdain from my voice.  I'm a halfway-there anthropologist spelling out schizophrenia to a psychiatrist.  For a moment I wondered who exactly I was talking to because if the universes of Youtube, Yahoo and Google all know a typical reaction to medication is the word "poison", a professional psychiatrist wouldn't have to even ask all these dumb questions.

Okay, to be fair, I understand that every patient is different, they need all the facts before proceeding, etc etc, but even so, they still lump Tristan in with the "20-something males who develop schizophrenia around 18 years-old" and made him get $200 worth of medication that wears off 5 hours after sleeping for 10.  Of course it gets rid of the voices because it shuts off his brain!

"You're not his wife, you're not his girlfriend, you're not his legal guardian, you're just his friend!"  Mom reminded me that 5 times when I called her to ask for advice about what to do with work.  "You have to go to work!  He is not your responsibility!"

"Why do YOU have to take him in?"  Our boss, the head manager of the store Tristan and I work at, was not understanding at all when I called in to let him know I'd be late if I could show up at all.  "Why can't his parents take him in?  His own parents aren't on the release papers?  And there is no one else who can take him?"

By the grace of God, I didn't curl up into a ball and cry.  For a moment I wondered what I was even doing, why I was there to begin with.  But I quickly remembered.  I care about Tristan.  I'm his friend, and friends help each other when we need it.  Having voices tell you to kill yourself, that you're worthless, is a situation that calls for major help, and when family and friends are out of town and the doctors don't even have your records, and the only person available for you right now is your roommate.... Well, between doing what's right and saving my job, I picked the obvious.

I am sooooooo sick of the current healthcare system.  And this is our nation WITHOUT social healthcare!  If it's this bad privatized, and Tristan is just going through a public form, how the hell does anyone expect social healthcare to be BETTER??????

No one has any answers short of calling the police to have Tristan involuntarily committed to the mental ward of the nearest hospital until the episode(s) pass.  I thank God for protecting us enough that it's never come to that, especially since Jake trained me in disarming knife-wielding maniacs.  I'm never afraid for my own life, it's Tristan's that scares me.  Like I told his therapist (who is probably one of the worst in effectiveness, especially since he dismisses me every time I have a legitimate concern), it's like playing tug-of-war with an invisible person.

I am very painfully aware that I am not Tristan's wife.  That shipped sailed before I could board, nevermind that I had my bags packed and ready for the amazing journey.  I know I'm not his girlfriend.  That fact is reminded to me every single day either by self-control or Tristan's voice reiterating it.  But dammit, a great commander in one of the most powerful ghost divisions in the United States Special Operations Command made me in charge of making sure Tristan lives in one piece.  His temporary successor underlined that order, and Tristan's (and my) unofficial new commander (by trust more than position) has further encouraged me to keep going with this task.  Even Jake made sure I was ready by teaching me how to deal with the stresses of instabilities.

Why can't the world just accept things as they are?  I'm Tristan's constant companion so yes, I do happen to know quite a bit more about him than his own mother!  Yes, I am the only one who can take him in for medical care with the exception of Alex, who is currently on vacation!  And yes, I DO freaking need assistance NOW!

At least the nurses and doctor got that last message clearly enough to respond fairly quickly.  Even the receptionist finally understood the words coming through slightly gritted teeth enough to not make me leave a message and patch me through directly to an actual nurse and not a machine.  The doctor was actually really nice and seemed to understand that I was hiding from Tristan so there would be no tragic misunderstandings about my intentions of this phone call.  Finally, someone cooperated.

Today Tristan's therapist called while I was on the phone with Tristan (who is back on his medication and back to work thanks to his own reason thankfully getting past the voices), so he left a message.  He wanted me to call him back, leave him a message and he'd respond tomorrow.  I called back hoping he'd have the courtesy and sense to answer since he had to be in the office only 1 minute after calling me, but no such luck.  And I left a message about how yes, I have SEVERAL questions and concerns about the medication and would greatly appreciate him returning my call ASAP.

Still no call back.

I keep reminding myself this is a walk through Disneyland compared to last spring in Washington.  Oh dear Lord, that was horrible.  And we actually lived in the area that has the best mental health care in the nation, they just don't do anything unless you call the police or men in white coats to have a person committed.  I just couldn't do that to Tristan.  The few times he did try to kill me, I wasn't afraid, I was just majorly creeped out by the look of hatred and fear that kept flashing back and forth in his eyes.  He told me later that all he remembered was screaming at the people he saw and heard command him to kill me that he wouldn't.  I was never bruised, cut, or anything like that.

Tristan is doing better, and that's really all that matters.  And I will take on the world's criticism of me if it means getting him the help he needs to finally get some peace.