The Adventure Continues....

It was one week later and time to return to the doctor. I crawled back out of bed. After a cursory brushing of hair and teeth, along with a haphazard "spit bath" (see how depressed I was?), I headed out. This time, my doctor told me they had scheduled a session with a psychiatrist and I was to meet with him 2 days later. I asked the doctor if there was anything she could give me for my cough. I honestly don’t remember her exact response, but I think it was something like “ Well, let’s do something about your drinking first. I think you will then see a marked improvement in your cough”. It seemed there was no serious concern about my cough or any desire to consider my theories that the damn cough was what LED to the drinking and depression. I made my way back home and crawled back into bed.

Two days later. I’m looking for the psychiatrist’s office. The directions I had received were “It’s the building right behind the hospital”. I drove directly behind the hospital, parked my car and walked up to the door. I believe the sign on the door said “Panhandle Health”. “Interesting”, I thought. “Why would a psychiatrist have an office in the building that housed health inspectors? Perhaps the good doctor was moonlighting.” My fogged mind somehow came to the conclusion that this was most likely NOT the correct building, so off I went, on foot, to find the man my doctor seemed certain would change my life. As I walked, my mind began to “speak” to me. “Oh wonderful”, it said. “Not only are you lost in this maze of practitioners, you are now going to be LATE for your first appointment with this guy. Way to make a positive first impression, girlfriend!”

After a few more minutes of aimless meandering, jumping across a few berms and climbing a small fence, I found the building I was looking for and discovered that his office was housed in what I believe was the local "rehab facility". I gave a fairly agressive tug on the door handle and immediately felt my body being hurled forward against the door with my head following milliseconds later. When my brain quit slamming itself against my skull, I realized that by golly, the door was locked! Only fairly dazed, I noticed that next to the door was a sign indicating that if I wanted to go to “area A”, ring the doorbell. If I was headed to “area B”, I was to stand there until someone saw me and came to the damn door! I considered my options and patience level (on a scale of 1 to 10, I am about a –5). I selected option #1. I did this because I knew that if I chose option #2 and stood there for more than 30 seconds, I would begin to dance, make faces or start swearing like a sailor to get someone to notice me and let me in. I further discerned somehow that option #2 would most certainly land me in an area consisting of rubber walls and a straight jacket. I rang the bell.

Momentarily. a stern-faced woman appeared at the door. “Are you here to check in?”, she asked. As I was forming my response, which was “oh HELL no”, she said “Oh, you’re here to see Dr. Phil. YOU rang the wrong bell”. I was beginning to wonder why on earth they ever let me out on the streets at all – EVER. (It also occurred to me that I was quickly earning eligibility to ride for free on a short bus, which would have taken me right to the front door of the building I had just run the gauntlet to find. (Note to self...check this out. You might be able to save a little money at the pump!)