Last week I saw my psychiatrist and this morning I saw my psychologist. My psychiatrist said, “Ok, be sure not to take Klonopin with alcohol. Ok? Oh, and by the way, I’d like to get you stable enough for you to have a glass of wine once and awhile. Just not with Klonopin.”
This really surprised me. Both of my docs have held a hard line against me drinking alcohol under any circumstance for the rest of my blinkin’ bipolar life. So I’m thinking “Hell yeah! I might get to have a beer at the ball game. Or wine with dinner. Or maybe a sip of scotch once in awhile.”
Now, if you’ve read my blog at all, you know that I’m uber compliant. I do whatever they say. And if I break the rules, I don’t lie about. So this morning in my therapy session, I brought up what the psychiatrist said. She threw a little fit. She said that she’s going to have a little chat with the good doctor and she will win. “I ALWAYS win,” she exclaimed, “And besides, he’s a little afraid of me.” Wow. So that’s how it is? The medical doctor who knows more about my body’s chemical makeup than anyone else in the world is going to have to answer to a psychologist?
In the end, I believe my psychiatrist will recant what he said because he is a little meek and she is a little scary. But you know what? It’s my body. In the end, it’s up to me to decide. I hired these two professionals to give me information, but it’s up to me to decide what to do with it.
Now, I know what’s going to happen. If I do have a drink, then I’ll have to decide whether or not I’m going to tell her. And if I do, I have to be prepared to catch some flack for it. I don’t think she’ll just give up without a fight. It could, in fact, end our relationship. I do not want this. This might be something I have to hold back information on so that I can continue to see her.
It’s hard for me to know who to trust when my doctors disagree.