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“I’m waiting for my doctor to call back.”
“I’m waiting for my doctor to renew my prescription.”
“I’m waiting for the pharmacy to restock.”
“The insurance won’t approve my prescription.”
“I’m waiting for my anti-anxiety meds to kick in.”
These phrases litter my social media feeds, and having had to scramble for renewals, approvals, and appointments, I empathize. People needing immediate relief from their anxiety or depression or brain-injury effects must wait until the doctor can see them or renew their prescription. They worry about shortages, or insurance not approving. Since many medications require daily or multiple-times-a-day use, every potential day without creates anxiety. If you have anxiety, that exacerbates it.
I’m grateful to the two psychologists who liberated me.
Pharmaceutical companies make them and control their numbers, cost, and distribution; doctors decide whether or not their patients will receive them; insurers decide whether or not they’ll pay for them; and pharmacy owners decide how and how frequently patients will receive them — medications are at-home treatments — so the only thing we patients control is whether we follow the prescription or not.
But these two psychologists shifted control over my at-home treatment from doctors, pharmacies, insurers, and pharmaceutical companies to me.
My at-home treatment is a device.
I had a one-time issue of insurance coverage. What a relief not to have to repeat that procedure. And because the device lasts years and I can use it as frequently as and whenever I want to treat my brain injury or attain relief from the anxiety brain injury creates, I don’t need to call a doctor’s office repeatedly to arrange renewal. Nor do I spend time attending med checks instead of writing, reading, or walking. And no pharmaceutical company or pharmacy owner decides if I will receive my treatment on time and where I must purchase my prescription.
Since one device with different sessions addresses my needs without side effects, I’m also liberated from side effects requiring other medications to alleviate with their potential for cross-effects.
I benefit at any time. The device not only has no restrictions on driving, it energizes me, which enhances my productivity unlike some medications that reduce working ability and hours.
And I receive relief quicker than medication because audiovisual entrainment effects begin about six minutes into the session unlike the average of 30 minutes for a pill to be digested and enter the bloodstream and eventually the brain.
The first psychologist I saw after my brain injury introduced me to the audiovisual entrainment (AVE) device at his office. The second psychologist I saw, five-and-a-half years later, recommended an at-home AVE. Having benefited dramatically from the one my first psychologist used, I wasted no time in purchasing one:
“August 25 via FedEx the black box Lynda had told me to get arrived….I fished the manual out of the black carry bag the unit came in and stared at it hard through my usual mental cotton wool to spot anything familiar. SMR. I thought that Lynda had mentioned that. My psychologist too had said “SMR” a long time ago. I read and reread the description. “Sensory Motor Rhythm (SMR) with HRV,” whatever that was, “Use to achieve relaxed attention.” Attention. Yes, I needed to focus.
That sounded good.
I sat down. I slipped the large shades called the Tru-Vu Omniscreen on and fought with the headphones not to slide off my hair. I pressed the On button. Lights flashed into my eyes. Too bright! Pulses thrummed into my ears. Too loud! I fumbled with the brightness and volume levels. Ah. Better. For twenty-four minutes, I lay there. Did I make the right decision? The thought faded as sleep began to overtake me.
The lights and sound powered off.
I struggled out of the chair and stumbled to my bedroom. I fell across my bed and slept.
For one-and-a-half hours I slept the sleep of a person who hadn’t slept in five-and-a-half years.
I woke up not feeling like a zombie.
I blinked. I looked around. Yes, I could see clearer, just like after my appointments with my psychologist. I effortfully raised myself. I was thirsty as heck. I craved water. My mind felt…like some cotton wool had been cleared out. By 2:00 p.m., I was fully awake. Really awake.
I had to do this again! I must remember to drink water after each session. But I couldn’t wait until the next day to try another session.” 1
I’ve lost many health care professionals since my brain injury. Some to illness; some to death; some to incompetence; some were short-term only; some reached the end of their knowledge; some had artificial deadlines imposed by insurers or hospital administration; and some I couldn’t afford any more. At-home treatments I control fully was key to my survival.
The pandemic created doctor shortages and stopped in-person clinic appointments. I lost a key physician. If I’d been taking medications instead of using devices, I wouldn’t have found another with his knowledge to renew my prescriptions and monitor me. Panic would’ve consumed me and trashed my productivity.
But my at-home AVE buffered me. Because I also have an at-home low-intensity laser or photobiomodulation therapy device and both devices have sessions to address many issues, I was able to use both to compensate for the losses, not just continue my normal at-home treatment routine. Gratitude overwhelms me.
Having suffered years depending on health care availability and insurer approval — with all the attendant time and energy consumption needed to make the appointments, calls, emails, and treatment plans — I’m most grateful to the two psychologists and the photobiomodulation therapy doctor who liberated me from that dependence and gave me the reins. I’m thankful that these devices let me function in daily life, continue to improve, and be as productive as I can be within the deleterious, fatiguing limitations of diffuse axonal injury.
Copyright ©2024 Shireen Anne Jeejeebhoy
References
1 From Concussion Is Brain Injury: Treating the Neurons and Me.
