Goddamn the fucking medical profession in this pissant excuse for a country. I swear they couldn't find their arse with both hands, a map, a maglight and some kind of GPS gadget. And that's if someone was helping them with all the big words... 
Short version (version of story with all my shouting/screaming edited out)- I just spent three hours in a meeting with my mum's GP, her psychiatrist, a social worker and a supposed 'mental health consultant'. (Background- My mum's been physically quite ill for a few years with M.E. Recently, she's lost the plot and gone quite bonkers. After certain recent 'events', I was forced to section (see also- commit) her into a mental health hospital so she could get treatment and couldn't hurt herself, and to move my little brother in with other family, away from my mum). After talking through _WHAT WE ALREADY KNEW_ for three hours, said 'mental health' prick tries to advocate that, because mum is 'unhappy' with Connor (my little bro') staying with my family, that we should perhaps put him into care 'for a short while, to appease her'.
Where the hell do they train these retarded fuckweasels? Auschwitz?
Anyway, a short 'discussion' later, after being asked to calm down, I _calmly_ expressed my sincere belief that they would take my brother from my aunt's place over the prone form of my cold, dead body. I also requested from our glorious NHS some idea of exactly what in the hell we pay our taxes for, with my mum only seeming to have gotten worse since she went into hospital. An awkward silence was the response.
*sigh*
At least it's done with now. I need a drink.
*reads above*
I shouldn't write this angsty stuff too often, it's depressing. Promise to be more bouncy in future (run-ins with the NHS notwithstanding)...
Short version (version of story with all my shouting/screaming edited out)- I just spent three hours in a meeting with my mum's GP, her psychiatrist, a social worker and a supposed 'mental health consultant'. (Background- My mum's been physically quite ill for a few years with M.E. Recently, she's lost the plot and gone quite bonkers. After certain recent 'events', I was forced to section (see also- commit) her into a mental health hospital so she could get treatment and couldn't hurt herself, and to move my little brother in with other family, away from my mum). After talking through _WHAT WE ALREADY KNEW_ for three hours, said 'mental health' prick tries to advocate that, because mum is 'unhappy' with Connor (my little bro') staying with my family, that we should perhaps put him into care 'for a short while, to appease her'.
Where the hell do they train these retarded fuckweasels? Auschwitz?
Anyway, a short 'discussion' later, after being asked to calm down, I _calmly_ expressed my sincere belief that they would take my brother from my aunt's place over the prone form of my cold, dead body. I also requested from our glorious NHS some idea of exactly what in the hell we pay our taxes for, with my mum only seeming to have gotten worse since she went into hospital. An awkward silence was the response.
*sigh*
At least it's done with now. I need a drink.
*reads above*
I shouldn't write this angsty stuff too often, it's depressing. Promise to be more bouncy in future (run-ins with the NHS notwithstanding)...
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
asha:
shit that sucks dude. i guessed it was something to do with your mother. 
iggy:
don't be bouncy, be yourself...we like you that way...and i need a drink too...