Therapy Dropout
I’m not okay. So what?
A thing no one tells you about getting older is how your doctor count creeps up as you age. In my younger days, I had one medical provider at a time. Sure, I occasionally had reason to visit specialists, but except for the trials and tribulations of baby-making, my interactions with the healthcare industry were pretty minimal. Today I have: a primary doc, an oncologist, an endocrinologist, a colorectal surgeon, a dermatologist, a cardiologist, a gynecologist, an integrative medicine specialist, and probably a few others I’ve forgotten.
Since I am dedicated to optimizing my health and particularly to my overarching goal of not dying of cancer, I’m happy to have all of those providers on my team. And when one of them suggested I might consider adding a wee bit of therapy to help me work through my fear, anxiety, and terror, I had to agree. I’m a bit anxious. Ok, more than a bit. As a cancer survivor, I am surveilled rigorously and frequently for signs of backsliding into cancer patienthood. Right now, I have several such examinations coming up in my near future and if my anxiety were rendered in one of those cute thermometer graphics, the mercury would be standing at “thermonuclear explosion.”
So I went through my employer’s “employee assistance program” and made an appointment for a virtual visit with a counselor, or life coach…
