Busted by a Shrink

Went last Wednesday for a meds check with my psychiatrist, Dr. Oui. Have I mentioned I adore him? And that he's adorable? And that his voice is the most soothing thing you could ever hear? And that he's smart as a whip? If I haven't, consider them mentioned.

So he wants to hear what's on my mind, which is part of why I adore him, since, really, everyone else is bored senseless with what's on my mind. And I talked a bit about N, and the challenges I'm having in trying to figure out what the best course of action is with him, feeling all deserted and on my own as I do.

"I assume he's already been seen by a psychiatrist or psychologist, yes?" he asked.

"Um, no," I replied, then explained. See, the thing is, I don't want him to have what I'm coming to think he actually does have, which is some form of social anxiety. Because those are the sorts of diagnoses that lead to medication down the line, and I'm not ready to medicate my 4.5-year-old because he doesn't like to play with other kids but is otherwise a happy, smart-as-a-whip, scrumptiously cute little boy. So, I've been avoiding this line of inquiry, hoping to get someone to tell me he's on the autism spectrum and therefore doesn't need drugs. (Yeah, I know. It ain't just a river in Egypt.)

So he suggested a psychiatrist in their office, a new guy, who works with kids and adolescents and is covered by my insurance and seems really good, says Dr. Oui. "And all you'd have to do is tell him you're not interested in medication right now, and see if he has anything else to offer you."

"That sounds great," I enthused. "If you would write down his name for me, I'll try and get an appointment with him."

My adorable and brilliant psychiatrist looked at me with only a slight smile playing at his lips. But I could read his mind. This is the man who, several months back, told me it was imperative that I get some marriage therapy for Baroy and myself. But have I? No. And why? Well, there's the phone phobia thing, plus the scheduled-up-to-my-ears thing and the can't-deal-with-anything-else thing. So, trusting me to follow up on this? Wouldn't have been a good bet.

"You know what?" he said, getting up from his chair. "I'll do you one better. Let's go make the appointment right now."

And so we did. He stood there until a date had been found (September 15) and I was filling in paperwork. And then he smiled gently at me and told me he'd see me next month, and that he hoped this would help both N and me, and to keep him posted.

Smart man. Cute man. And he's totally got my number.