Actually footage of my trying to do CAMHS.
I am still surprisingly into it! I am waiting for this to wear off and my prior ennui to resume.

I’m going to exclusively use Pingu gifs to communicate my career (dis)satisfaction.
Me, diligently reading up on ADHD:

Me, when a patient wants something other than methylphenidate:

Me, when I have to do physical health:

Me, trying to demonstrate some self-discipline and not go to the Costa every single day just because it’s a two minute walk from my office:

Me, trying to build rapport with a six year old:

Me, really really trying to resist the Costa:

Me, failing to build rapport with the six year old:

Six year old, attempting to sit still for their assessment:

Six year old, being bribed to sit still for their assessment:

Six year old, after they have finished their bribe:

Sixteen year old, joining me on a video call to start their CBT for OCD:

Sixteen year old, having to do their first exposure therapy task:

Sixteen year old, thriving, smashing yet another exposure therapy task:

Me, rewarding myself for the sixteen year old’s hard work, with a Costa*:
*drink, panini, and cookie, because EOTHO is still on

Me, when one of the lovely admin ladies asks me a “quick question” so she doesn’t have to go to her GP:

Watching a parent-child interaction through the two-way mirror and wondering how I’m going to diplomatically describe this in the letter:

Me, back at Costa, because that was a stressful observation:

The fourteen year old I just asked to “draw me a picture” because I completely forgot what an age appropriate distraction was:

Me, making my own vegan cookies, because Costa have really had enough of my money at this point:

The sixteen year old, who had CBT, absolutely thriving in their follow up:

The twelve year old, who has somehow got to this age without methylphenidate, during their assessment:

The six year old, who managed to find something in the consultation room that is definitely not a toy:

Me, regretting showing the ten year old with freshly diagnosed Oppositional Defiant Disorder where the toilet is:

The six year old, having found another not-smol-person-appropriate thing to play with in the consultation room:

Me, learning that CAMHS’ favourite drug is really melatonin not methylphenidate:

That fourteen year old, still sarcastically doing a drawing for me:

What the fourteen year old wants to be doing:

Me, living that transference counter-transference life:

Me, getting the Costa in, to cope with the emotions:

Me, regretting spending half my salary in Costa in such a short space of time:

Me, again, wondering how I am going to phrase this parent-child interaction in the letter:

Me, trying to remember which psychotropics are licensed for the smaller people:

Parents, just super happy about that melatonin the new SHO prescribed them:

But the primary caregiver trying to counteract the appetite suppression from the methylphenidate the new SHO prescribed. Be kind to the new doctor she only knows two drugs:

My clinical supervisor, giving me any type of validation in supervision:

Free food in the admin office:

When you really messed up the risk assessment, and didn’t include fire setting:

My supervisor, reassuring me that we all make mistakes and nobody was harmed:

Me, getting the Costa in nonetheless, because tough day:

Sox year old patient, demonstrating a melt down, incase I didn’t believe the parent’s reporting:

Me and the lovely admin lady just having a bit of a lark about:

Me talking my clinical supervisor into a Costa:

Me, spotting the patient who just had a meltdown has been appeased:

Me, delighted to be living my best Costa life:

My supervisor and me, realising we have lost track of time, and have five minutes until clinic starts again:

Me explaining medication options to parents, because I’ve learnt the alternatives to methylphenidate:

Me, trying to better rain the other three siblings that have been brought along to the clinic appointment:

Me, trying to clean up after the siblings, because I didn’t have the nerve to ask them to clean up after themselves:

Me, somehow managing to lock myself in yet another clinic room.

Me, bringing in baked goods, to try to butter up the lovely admin ladies:

The lovey admin ladies just delighted I’ve learnt to book my own clinic rooms, even if I subsequently lock myself in them:

The lovely admin ladies bringing snacks in to try to reinforce me learning to do things for myself:

Me, making my lunches at home, to try to resist the Costa:

Me, broadcasting to Twitter how much I’m enjoying CAMHS:

Me, telling my pals in real life how much I’m enjoying CAMHS:

Lovely admin lady, informing me that my patient is here:

Six year old, who has received a considerably bigger bribe to come to see me today, but is still unimpressed:

Six year old, who doesn’t require further Tier 3 input, sliding out of CAMHS like:

Me, wondering if I should build* CAMHS into my career goals:
*allow me this pun at this hour

Me, walking to the Costa, but resisting:

Me, wondering if these tweets are too unprofessional:

Me, continuing anyway:

Me, waiting for my DNA to arrive:

Me, cheering myself up following my DNA by eating the food I brought in from home, rather than going to Costa:

Saying bye to everyone in an overly chipper fashion as I leave work, because it’s great:

Me, trying to wake up tomorrow, because I’ve spent the early hours of the morning tweeting CAMHS-related Pingu-gifs: