Posted by: catsandfish | April 24, 2012

Gov. Psych Eavluation- Fun Fun Fun

by Hannah Brown on Monday, December 12, 2011 at 7:54am ·

OK, as most of you know, I had to do a government psych evaluation yesterday for my disability claim. They had all the evidence they needed to nail down the physical problems I have, but they needed to make sure that I am not a threat to myself or others when it comes to my mental state. Since most of you will never get to have such a fantastic experience and in my opinion should know exactly how the establishment judges sanity, I am going to give you a quick run down of what happened.


OK, so first of all, due to conflict of interests, the government has to use a 3rd party doctor for disability cases. Because our government is broke as hell, this means that they are going to find the cheapest evaluator possible. Think Dr. Nick from the Simpsons, or Dr. Spaceman from 30 Rock.


William and I drove into the ghetto part of town, saw a police murder scene between Shifty’s Bar and a strip of like 6 bail bond places, about 7 people yelling at traffic, a ten year old with amazing sign spinning skills for whatever business he was advertising, and then tried to find the place.


Screw you government. The place was super hard to find. There was no street sign, it was buried in an unmarked parking lot, then buried in this shitty business complex with no real signs. Great, just try to confuse the disabled, crazy and sick. You guys are real sweethearts.


OK, so by this time I am sweating like a marathon runner, shaking all over and stuttering from anxiety. I was also lugging around a massive bag filled with my many meds and snacks, a bottle of tea, as well as my notebooks where I write down everything I do so I can remember things like meds and what I ate, in case of medical difficulties, my cane, and my regular massive purse. We find the office, and go into the shitty waiting room. I brought my camera and snapped a few photos which I will post later. There were a bunch of crappy waiting room chairs, fake plants and some really disturbing abstract art that should be nowhere near crazy people. There was also a very filthy public restroom that I had the privilege of using. Hand sanitizer for the win.


Then there was the check in window. I made sure to take a photo of it. It was frosted glass so the check in guy, David, a very smiley calm man, could section himself off from the crazy folk in the waiting room. Much like a frosted shower door. On the window there was a large sign that said, “DO NOT TOUCH GLASS”…challenge accepted. I had to touch it several times. Screw them and their rules. OK, so then we got our paper work, which was basic, except it asked a bunch of questions like if I do street drugs, have I ever been arrested, do I ever think of killing myself or others, if yes, then do I have any plans to do so now? Please describe these plans. Etc.


The other people in the waiting room were all chill, except this one guy, who was really pissed off about the frosted window, how hard the place was to find, and how he had no idea when he got his driver’s license. He did a lot of yelling, but was friendly about it. He had a lot of questions for David, the check in guy, and would go up to the window and yell, “BRO! HEY, BRO! BROOOOOO!” until the window was opened. He also had a lot of stuff to say to the form.


It took me forever to fill out the form, and I needed a lot of help from William because I suck at remembering dates. It was at this point that I noticed the camera capturing the events in the waiting room. Sweet. I would love to get my hands on that footage. I finally finished and was taken to the exam room, basic desk, 2 chair set up, basic exam table.


My doctor was about 27, pretty attractive chick with a bob haircut, very empathic eyes, a nose ring, wearing overly colorful scrubs. Her name was Dr.T. I was very glad that she did not try to touch me in any way. She had an amazing poker face for the entire interview, even when I made her crack up laughing.


I sat down, with a lot of trouble due to my massive amount of stuff, and the exam began.


She started with an explanation of why I was there, asked me what race I was, to which I shrugged and wanted to know why the hell that mattered, and she laughed and said she had no idea. I wish I would have answered that with “human”.


Then…she started asking me vague personal questions, like exactly how my disabilities have an effect on my life, why I didn’t like to leave my apartment etc. Stuff that really wouldn’t let you know how sane the person was. The thing was, I could see that she had my forms I had sent in months ago in her hands, with all of my answers written plainly and in extreme detail, so this whole exam was just bullshit. I got pissed, and the panic attack started. Between gasping for more air and crying, I gave her a run down of what my life has been like, how my chronic illness, depression, and anxiety affect my day to day life, how it was so unfair how my cat Friendly only lived to be 2 years old, and exactly why I hate the human race/reality as a whole and therefore do not want to leave my apartment. There was a lot of angry hand gestures, swearing, crying, (I had brought my own embroidered cloth hanky, thank you very much) odd inappropriate jokes, and losing my train of thought mid sentence in my rage and panic.


She had an amazing poker face. Polite smile, nod. “Well that makes sense.” Etc.


After I was done telling her my basic life story and ranting about how humanity sucks as a whole, she thanked me for giving her so much information and making her job easier. I showed her my notebooks that I compulsively write in and she said that I manage things well, considering. Then I got to do a basic math and memory test, which I did…mostly well on. I was too stressed to count backwards from 100 by 3s, so I was like, “Let’s skip that one.” I got to tell her why we obey the speed limit, why we floss, who George Washington was, who our current president is, and several other basic fun trivia facts. She was nice.


I left still shaking, crying and, sweating. I will hear back from them in 4 to 6 weeks.


After this we went home and ordered delivery from a pizza/sandwich place, and of course they got my order wrong. My sandwich came smothered in deadly butter and cheese, after William had spent 10 minutes explaining exactly how to prepare the sandwich. We finally got the correct sandwich, covered in bacon, turkey and veggies, I devoured the entire thing and went to sleep.


Fantastic day. Let’s hope the psych ward people don’t show up at my door.

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