Yesterday I met with my psychiatrist, Dr T. She told me she had sent off another referral to my psychologist, R, as we’ve reached twelve for the year. “So I can have another six sessions for the year…” I enquired. Dr T confirmed yes, after that Medicare doesn’t provide a rebate. “And then next year we only get ten sessions…” I stated. She again replied in the affirmative. I told her that there doesn’t seem much point in continuing therapy if I’m only going to get ten sessions out of it. She started describing to me the benefits of attending long term therapy as opposed to short term therapy. “My recommendation is that you continue to see R [after you’ve used up your Medicare rebated sessions] and that your parents pay for it.” Right. Easy for her to say. I told her I’d feel too guilty to do so and I can’t justify spending $165 per session when I’m only paying $10 now. She tried to reason that I haven’t even asked my parents so I can’t know how they’d react if I brought it up. Yeah…but no. “Who pays for your private health insurance?” she then asked me. “I do,” I replied pointedly.
She’s not the one who grew up with my father, being made to feel guilty and undeserving. Memories have stuck with me all this time. Being driven home by my father after a psychiatrist appointment two years ago and being told in an accusatory tone, “We’re already spending all this money on your psychologist and psychiatrist appointments.” Being scolded by him when my grandparents offered me pocket money and being instructed that I must decline instead. Being told that I was “being selfish” and to “think of mum, working hard to earn this money,” when I was attending dancing lessons for $10 a week which resulted in me quitting because I felt too guilty. Him getting angry at me as a little girl after a shopping trip with my grandparents, because I finally accepted their offer of buying me a $20 pair of pyjamas, after shaking my head “no” to many other offers. Is it any wonder I refuse to even contemplate asking my parents to pay $165 per hour session with R, especially when I don’t even see any real benefits of going?
Oh how clueless the rich can be. It’s no wonder Dr T doesn’t get why I’m so hesitant, why I’d feel too guilty to bring this up with my parents. She earns $305 per hour! And not only does she earn that much, but her husband’s a psychiatrist too. So of course her kid/s would have none of those financial problems I face. Gosh, imagine having both parents as shrinks though… *shudders*.