Western Medicine or Crack?? Choices, choices . . .

I called my doctor by her first name
when she finally (over an hour wait)
entered the exam room.

She quickly, yet indriectly, corrected me
by introducing herself as "Dr. ___"--
why'd I do that??

In a flutter, I spilled my guts.
But when the moment came,
I really didn't have much to spill . . .

Within 5 minutes, she had perscribed Lexapro.
She looked in my ears
[no infection to explain the dizziness/vertigo, oops],
listended to my heart/lungs,
felt my tummy, and was finished. On to the next patient.
I have an order for blood work,
and if the Lexapro doesn't do its magic
with the physical manifestations of my anxiety,
well then,
it's off for an MRI of my brain.

All of my squirrelymojo secrects will be divulged.
Which is what I think They are after.

But I'm bothered:
why do physicians (she was the third)
spend 5 minutes looking at me
and "see it all over me"? It being anxiety and/or depression.
I'm disappointed and, gulp, my feelings are hurt
that she didn't want to talk to me.

I know that's stupid for a gazillion reasons,
but still.

I have a headache and I need a nap.
She did actually say she wanted to get me started on the Lexapro
because she didn't know where to begin, or how to sort out my symptoms.

And she's the professional.