Trusting Doctors

Rio de Janeiro - My biggest problem with doctors and therapists was always the difficulty of finding someone I could trust. My lack of confidence in these health professionals began some 15 years ago after a friend, on my recommendation, began treatment with a therapist with whom I had just begun treatment. Several months later, when I asked the therapist if I was making progress, he said, "A little, but much more than your friend, whose case seems hopeless."

When I questioned the fact that he was breaking the confidentiality pact between a therapist and his patient, he not only refused to admit ethical misconduct, but also turned the tables and offered to treat what he called my "trust problem." That when I realized that I did have difficulty in trusting - him. So I ended the relationship.

Too bruised to seek out another therapist but still troubled by personal problems, I took a tip from a friend and decided to see a “body therapist.” This specialist suggested that we begin our first session by wrestling on the gymnastic mats that covered his huge working space - so he could get a feel for whom I was.

I reluctantly agreed and, after some fierce rolling around, found we had gotten into an awkward “69” position with the heavier me on top. Frustrated by his inability to get out of this hold, the therapist sank his teeth into the calf of my leg. This caused considerable pain, so I bit him back in the same spot. I also decided not to go back for another mouthful.

A decade passed when, last year, I began to reconsider going back into therapy. Why?? I had developed a bad case of insomnia and I thought the root of this disorder was probably psychological.

But because I was still wary of therapy, I first went to a Rio de Janeiro clinic staffed by neurologists who specialized in sleep disorders. Because I hadn’t slept for three nights in a row, I was so exhausted that I fell asleep in a clinic waiting room chair and, according to the receptionist, started snoring heavily. Maybe that’s why, when I woke up, the other insomniacs in the room were giving me dirty looks.

When I walked into the neurologist’s office, it was hard not to notice an oil painting on his wall. It showed the faces of the four Beatles, their oval portraits encircling another oval portrait - that of his face. “You’re the fifth Beatle?” I asked. “Only I seem to think so,” he responded.

After hearing my insomnia story, the neurologist suggested that severe depression might be causing my sleeplessness, and told me to start taking strong anti-depressants, which acted like sleeping pills, and to begin therapy with a friend of his.

Worried that his friend might be the sixth Rolling Stone and not feeling the least depressed, I instead went to a neurologist at another Rio sleep disorder clinic. This specialist wanted to attach electrodes to my head while I slept overnight at the clinic so he could monitor my brain waves. But I argued that the odds of my falling asleep under such conditions were less than zero.

So, he recommended a psychiatrist who asked me a few questions, prescribed some sleeping pills and told me to come back in the month. The sleeping pills did finally allow me to get some sleep but gave me a hangover. When I called to tell him so, he just told me to follow his orders.

His Prussian demeanor forced me seek out a psychiatrist with a softer touch. The one I finally chose listened patiently to my problem, and suggested that, at night, I neither work nor watch a lot of TV, and that, each day, I take brisk walks. He also asked me to take a weak anti-anxiety pill before bedtime and suggested I start doing therapy with him.

Within days after taking this advise, I began sleeping and waking up without a hangover. And slowly, I stopped taking the anti-anxiety pills. One year has passed and I still do therapy with him. Why? Because he’s helped me reduce my anxiety, the likely root of my insomnia, and, even more important, because I finally found a health professional in whom I could trust.

This article was first published by the Brazilian daily “Folha de São Paulo”. Michael Kepp, a U.S. journalist living in Brazil for two decades, is the author of a book of essays "Sohando com Sotaque: Confissões e Desabafos de um Gringo Brasileiro," (Dreaming in an Accent: The Confessions and Critiques of a Brazilian Gringo), published by Editora Record. Order Sonhando com Sotaque from Livraria Cultura (in Portuguese).

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