babble, mental health

In Which Therapy’s Really Starting To Piss Tracy Off

So, I had an therapy appointment this morning at 9am.

The last time I saw my therapist was in January. I had an appointment after that, at the end of January, but she had to cancel it on the day. Luckily, that appointment was in the afternoon, and she called me up in the morning to cancel.

(Y’all can probably tell where I’m going with this.)

This morning, I got up at 8am, fed the cat, got dressed, and had my breakfast. Took my pills and ran out the door. Went to the Co-Op to get a bottle of juice so I’d have something to drink (and so I’d have a bottle to refill in future, since I seem to keep losing my 600ml bottles) during the session, then headed to catch the bus up to Blantyre. Got in at 9am on the button.

Now, since I’m sitting in a doctor’s surgery, and about to head into a therapy session, I turned my phone onto aeroplane mode, which means I can still use the phone, but can’t use the internet and don’t get any incoming calls, etc. I’m pretty sure everyone with a smartphone knows what this is, but maybe some people don’t. The fact that I couldn’t get incoming calls is the important part.

At about a quarter after nine, the receptionist sticks her head out of the reception area, and I already know what she’s going to say before she says it.

“Just got a call from Douglas Street; they said they’ve been trying to get in touch with you. Suzanne’s not well, so she won’t be coming in today.”

I, of course, have been sitting there for fifteen minutes, and have just turned my phone back on, only to find a missed call and a new voicemail on my phone.

“That would have been more helpful before I’d come down here,” I grumbled, but nodded my head. “Not your fault. Thanks.”

And headed out the door.

The poor receptionist got the full brunt of my wrath the last time this happened – and the fact that it’s happened more than once is ridiculous.

Of course, I wouldn’t have minded so much if it had been the afternoon. Had it been in the afternoon, I’d have been properly medicated; my painkillers would have been working properly by that point, and I’d have been able to walk home. But the idea of walking home only an hour after having taken my pills?

No. No, thank you.

I had to go and withdraw money, break £10 so that I could use £1 of it with the other £1 that was in my purse to pay for the bus home. £3.90 spent on bus fares that I shouldn’t have had to spend.

When I did get home, I had to call my mobile phone customer services to get them to reset my voicemail PIN so I could access the message. Which was left at 09:08. Y’know. 8 minutes after my therapy appointment was due to start.

So yeah.

I’m starting to get a little pissed off with my therapy this year so far. I can’t really be pissed off at my THERAPIST, because shit comes up and people get sick, y’know? But the Douglas Street centre are, as far as I can tell, a semi-useless bunch of nincompoops.

And more than anything, I’m annoyed that I had to waste that £4 today. In a week/fortnight when I could do without wasting any money, I really wish they’d have phoned me before 8.30am. Before I’d gotten on the bus in the first place.

The good news is that I did get a wee bit of a walk, obviously, because I had to walk up to the Blantyre Health Centre, and I got off the bus a stop early, but it wasn’t MUCH of a walk. About 3000 steps, according to Noom’s pedometer (and my 3DS’ pedometer, so it must be about right).

Still, better than I did yesterday.