Identity Crisis

Am I a doctor?

According to my degree plan, I'm not even close at this point. However, I don't know that that's really the question I'm asking.

As a therapist, I get paid (now) to make judgment calls on other people. While I try not to say things to people that make them gasp and go, "Yes, that's EXACTLY what I'm feeling!" like I'm some kind of mindreader, I do find that I have pretty good instincts about people. And I have started to notice that, among my own kind, there is a phenomenon I like to call "Doctor Envy." A recent trend in my profession backs this up, I believe. We call it medical family therapy, and, while it means different things in different settings, it often refers to doing family therapy with people who are simultaneously being seen for serious medical issues, such as chronic diseases, children in intensive care units, or infertility. This means that therapists, who do NOT go to medical school, do not put their hands in cadavers, do not do grueling internships or residencies, and do not get paid large salaries when it is all over, get to wander around the hospital wearing a badge and talking to people about what is wrong with them. Like a doctor would. And some of us get PhD's, so they have to call us doctor.

The funny thing is, my profession grew out of a reaction against the way doctors (psychiatrists who, according to most of the medical community, are not really doctors either) treated patients with mental health issues (meaning schizophrenia). So, for a long time, even though MFT founders were trying to create something very different from the medical profession, they were all trained as doctors, so they still thought like doctors (patients, treatment, diagnoses, etc.). Recently, there has been a postmodern movement to see the clients as collaborators in the therapeutic process, and to step down from the expert role. And while I think the majority of therapists I know espouse those ideals, and believe that their clients come in with strengths and collaborate on their treatment, I think we all want to feel special.

What's the point of all this? I just started my new job at the Employee Assistance Program at Texas Tech. Actually, this job is at the Texas Tech Health Sciences Center, which means that, if you REALLY want to get technical, I am working at the hospital. I mean, the building I work in is huge, and the hospital is on the very east end of the building behind some heavy metal double doors, whereas I am on the very west end of the building, but still. Many of my clients work at the Health Sciences Center, as well as at the hospital. Here are some other things that make me wonder if I am beginning to think like a doctor:

• I now have a pager, which the receptionists (who wear scrubs) in the psychiatric unit (the word "unit" isn't helping my identity crisis) page me on when I have a client.

• Occasionally, I am "on call" which means that if a client has an emergency, I have to deal with it.

• I have a parking sticker, which allows me to park in the same parking lot as Layne, an actual doctor. I kind of hope that bugs him.

• Today, I had an urge to wear a surgical mask and goggles to protect my mouth and nose from dust blowing past me at 40 miles an hour.

All of these, individually, do not mean much. Actually, they probably don't mean much together, either. However, it has made me think a lot about what I do, and why I do it. I became a therapist because I wanted to help people have better relationships. I did not become a doctor because I get queasy at the sight of blood. And needles. And tissues. And I'm pretty sure I would never want to see fat or bones, either. I love my job. I get to spend an hour a week with people who allow me into their lives. Doctors don't get that. But did I become a therapist because I couldn't be a doctor? I don't know. I'll be thinking about it while I am buying scrubs and a white lab coat, which, I have decided I need to start wearing.