I just switched psychiatrists because the last one was too white and too mannish
(Listen to the audio version of this essay.)
A few days ago, I logged into my health provider’s website and navigated to the area that was gonna let me connect to member services. I wasn’t quite sure what member services meant because it sounded kind of like hotel concierge, and I was like oh, is this what I need? The healthcare version of hotel concierge?
There were three options to pick from. I could chat with them online, email them, or call them. At that moment, the idea of picking up the phone and talking to a human felt super daunting, so instead, I opted for the chat option. When the chat box opened, it let me know that there were 17 people ahead of me in line.
It took an hour and a half to get to the front of the line.
And then when I got to the front of the line, a member services person popped on and her profile pic was of a Black woman. And I was like, OH MY GOD, YES. FINALLY! SOMEONE WHO GETS IT!
She asked what I needed.
I told her, “I want to change psychiatrists.”
And then she put me on a brief pause.
And then she came back and was like, “Sorry, I can’t help you with that. You have to call our mental health services phone number.”
And I was like, “For real?”
And she was like, “Yeah.”
And I was like, “Okay.”
(Just imagine these lines of dialog with lengthy pauses in between each utterance, okay?)
And then she had the nerve to say to me that she hopes that she provided me with excellent service today and that she hopes I will fill out a survey about her service after our chat ends.
I totally filled out the survey after our chat ended. I gave her five out of five stars, too. I did it because her profile pic was of a Black woman. I told myself these are the small ways we practice antiracism every day.
Anyway, I ended up calling the phone number and having to talk to a real person. It sucked just about as much as I imagined. Which actually wasn’t very much, but I was kind of easily done in by a shoddy connection and her soft spoken, mutter-y voice. She introduced herself and said her name. I immediately forgot her name, and that’s pretty normal for me. So I made a mental note to avoid referring to her by name for the rest of our interaction.
She asked me what I was calling for.
I told her, “I’m calling because I want to switch psychiatrists.”
And then the line dropped, and it was like I was talking to nobody at all.
I was like, oh my God, are you fucking kidding me?
And because I was like, almost two hours deep in this shit, I forced myself to call her back right away. The same person picked up. She introduced herself again. And I totally forgot her name again, and I was internally like OH MY GOD, STACY. YOU HAVE A PROBLEM!
And after her rote greeting, I immediately started talking to her with familiarity. I was like, “Hey, it’s me. Stacy. We got disconnected?” I hoped really hard she wouldn’t say, “Stacy who?” in response.
She didn’t really indicate she understood we have shared history, so I went through it again. “I would like to switch psychiatrists, please.”
She asked me for my member number in order to look me up in the system. I already had a future appointment scheduled on the books with a psychiatrist I didn’t want to see anymore, and she noted that I already had that appointment.
Instead of saying, “Nah, he sucks,” because I just didn’t have the nerve to tell on a white man in that moment — because what if they are friends? — instead of that, I stated, “Yeah, but I would like to cancel that appointment and schedule one with a different psychiatrist instead.”
She must get this request a lot, because she didn’t ask why. Maybe she was trained not ask. Maybe she didn’t care. I like to think she did care though, so it was probably that she was trained not to ask.
She told me, “We’re pretty booked out. It might be a while until we can see you. Maybe it’s best to stick with your appointment?”
And I wanted to be like, NO, BRO, NOT WITH THAT GUY, but I didn’t have the nerve. So I was like, “I will wait. I would like a different psychiatrist.”
She did some searching on her computer. And then she came back at me with an appointment in about three weeks — with a white female psychiatrist.
By the way, before all of this, I had already aggressively read the reviews and bios of nearly all the in-network psychiatrists in the area, and I knew them by name like how some sports aficionados know the names and specs of baseball players (I am not a sports aficionado.). Because of this prep, I knew the demographics of the psychiatrist that I was being proposed.
And she had a 3.8 star review out of 5. Which is actually pretty fucking good for a health provider. (People who review health providers tend to do it while they are very cranky.)
So I was debating internally with myself for a hot second. I was like, man, this white woman psychiatrist seems like a pretty caring doctor and competent and probably would treat me like a human being, so maybe I should try her?
But then something deep in my gut was saying: No, Stacy. No. Don’t settle. Advocate for yourself. Just go for the gold.
So I said, “I would like to see a woman of color. When is the availability of your next psychiatrist?”
The woman on the phone said something I couldn’t understand because she muttered.
So I was like, “Sorry, can you repeat that?”
And she asked me, “You’ve looked up our health providers?”
And seriously, she did not sound accusatory at all. Just gently inquisitive. She was probably wondering how I knew everyone’s gender and race. She was probably wondering if I was some psychic wizard — or maybe just someone who used their database.
I definitely took her gentle words like an accusation, because I had to mentally slap myself down from being super defensive. I wanted to be like, YES, OF COURSE I FUCKING LOOKED UP EVERYONE’S GENDER AND RACE. I don’t want to go another round with a white male doctor. IS THAT OKAY WITH YOU?
In reality, I was just like, “Yes.” And that was all I said about that.
Anyway, I have to wait a little bit longer to see a woman of color psychiatrist, but I am sure she will be worth it. Or maybe she won’t be, and I will just fucking give up and go back to being stranded in malls and having emotional meltdowns on Zoom in front of clients.
No matter what the future brings, I have what I did this week though. And this week, I am very proud of myself. I think in the past, I would’ve tried to tough it out with a health provider I didn’t like that much — as a means to an end. But this week, I feel like I kind of stood up for myself. Yay me.
And I know. You are probably now very curious about why I’m trying to see a new psychiatrist. Well, that’s a story for another time. Tell you later! Maybe!