But anyway. I show up. She's running late. Her nurse asks me what I want to discuss, as usual. My list includes perfectly normal things like "my knee is doing weird shit" and "please for the love of god do something with my pain meds, they aren't working". Nothing on the list is a psychiatric problem, because, you know, my PCP isn't my psychiatrist. (This will be relevant in a moment.)
Mrs. Not A Psychiatrist comes in, sits down, asks a few questions, and tells me that she is not a psychiatrist. I tell her that I'm aware of this. She tells me that because she's not a psychiatrist, she's not qualified to handle my psych problems. I tell her that I'm aware of that, too, which is why I came to see her about my pain problems.
She tells me that they're "connected" and goes back to talking about how I really ought to be seeing a psychiatrist and how she can't do anything with my antidepressants because my file says I'm bipolar and doing anything to my meds would make me manic.
A: I don't actually have bipolar disorder.
B: No, actually, my pain isn't "connected" to my depression. It's connected to the dislocated hip I was born with, the surgery that made it worse, and the lifetime of muscle and joint strain caused by trying to compensate for a crooked pelvis. These are not psychiatric problems.
The entire appointment ended up being about how I need to see a psychiatrist, with a small break to ask how the muscle relaxant she prescribed was helping my headaches. I have silent migraines - basically all the fun parts of a migraine without an accompanying headache. I have told her this. Somehow she's decided that no, my painless visual disturbances and one-sided hearing loss are symptoms of tension headaches.
Happy(?) ending: I finally have referrals to an orthopedist, a neurologist, and - sigh - a psychiatrist.
Not-so-happy cause of said happy(?) ending: This only happened after she left the exam room for "just a second" and then went to see her next patient without bothering to inform me or sign off on med refills; the actual getting-things-done part happened when my dad called the office later demanding to know why I didn't have those prescriptions.
Bonus suck: Those prescriptions are for controlled substances and can't just be called in to the pharmacy, so I guess I'll just have to... not take them... for a month.