The Cranium Gymnasium
I arrived promptly at my designated appointment time, 5pm. No one was in the reception area, nor inside the reception window. Only Musak and my own curious anticipation to occupy my thoughts. A few minutes later the Ph.D. in charge appeared in the receptionist office to riffle through some paper work. Following his apparent search he opened the door and stepped into the waiting area. “You must by E, I’m Dr. Fannin… sorry about the wait, my office assistant had to leave unexpectedly due to a family emergency.” I was impressed that he greeted me by name and finally felt that I was in the right place.
After only a few minutes, several patients exited the building followed by the doctor who invited me back. I was escorted into a conference room where a plastic brain sat on the middle of a large conference table. Lining the walls were various medical posters depicting the human neural system. The chairs were in disarray and the office appeared a bit scattered and disorganized.
I took a chair and propped my elbow upon the table. Dr. Fannin did the same. We sat there and stared at each other awaiting mutual response. The doctor finally offered his presentation, “I’m all yours.”
Expecting a formal presentation about the business/therapy, I was a bit caught off guard. I had expected some sort of formal presentation about the practice but instead got the doctors full attention for Q&A. Having recently read the book Symphony in the Brain, I was somewhat versed in the therapy and had plenty of questions ready anyway.
I started the discussion with my personal history of mental illness and then mentioned that my psychiatrist had referred me to the Center. The doctor complimented my pronunciation of Dr. Szprem saying that most people say it wrong. He also reinforced his own credentials by dropping a few names including personal endorsements by the Symphony author and doing work with West Point Military Academy and a few other high profile organizations investigating brain training. To my question of success rate he responded, 92%. My follow-up of why the 8% that didn’t respond to the treatment he cited outside influences in the patients’ life. He also said that it’s critical that people must want to change. That threw up a tiny red flag of placebo in my mind.
My next question was to find out what his critics thought of his practice. He responded with nothing really different from what I’d read in the book. Essentially that there had been no double-blind scientific studies of the therapy, but also said that it’s impossible to perform such a test with this type of therapy. I didn’t understand why, and still need to re-visit my definition of the scientific method to figure out what he meant.
Next he offered a tour of the facility, which constituted a walk through the office area. There was a large room surrounded by smaller offices. It seemed disorganized and perhaps cluttered, as if in mid-move. I didn’t put too much stock in that observation though, chalking it up to the lab of a mad scientist. I guess what bothered me is that I expected more of an orderly presentation of institutionally sanitary fixtures. Intead it looked like they’d raided the Salvation Army’s furniture department. An well-worn egg-shaped chair sat off the the side on one NF ’station’ that was begging for narrative. I’m pretty sure I’d seen the same chair advertised in a Sharper Image catalog as a stereo listening chair. I suppose like astronauts can be trained for gravity with playground equipment, neuronauts can be trained with cast off relics of the 70’s.
The doctor demonstrated a recording of a NF session. In the big room was a large, flat screen television opposite a computer station. He queued the recording and I watched as what appeared to be a game of Grand Theft Auto lit up the screen. The blocky image of the car would accelerate and decelerate with the impulses of the patients exercising of the parts of the brain that needed toning. There was no steering involved, only speed. I asked how he assumed that everyone wanted to go faster.
Now it was money time.
For $525 I could get an initial brain map. This is where the patient wears a skull cap with numerous electrodes attached to determine brain wave activity. Like an initial muscle assessment at a gym, this map would provide the trainer with some areas that could use re-wiring. The initial payment would be applied toward the standard treatment fee of $3,495 if it was agreed to proceed with therapy. This price applied to an average of 50 treatments from start to finish, although he said further training could be done if needed in batch rates.
The Symphony book claimed that insurance didn’t cover NF, but I was hoping that in the 10 years between the copyright date of the book and today, perhaps some inroads had been made… but apparently not. He said that it was hit or miss whether insurance would cover the treatment, and said with astonishment that Blue Cross Blue Shield had recently approved a brain mapping for a customer. I stared incredulously at the doctor and exclaimed, “That’s amazing! Those tightwads at BCBS deny everything!” He agreed to copy my current insurance card and have his assistant perform some due diligence to determine if I could get any coverage. (note, that was Wednesday and I have to assume that no news is bad news.)
So here I sit, wondering whether I should swallow the expensive pill of Neuro Feedback therapy. Not only will I need to pony-up 3.5 large, but I’d also need to figure out a schedule that would allow me two business hours per week for the next half year. The office is opposite ends of the metro area from my work and they are only open during usual business hours. I would think they would accommodate working folk better by providing evening hours, but I also learned that there are only 2 employees running the facility. I also asked if there were any financing options and the doctor responded with, “Make me an offer.”
I just don’t know. I’m intrigued but was underwhelmed by my ‘tour.’ I’m curious to get a brain map because from that they can identify brain wave signatures for Depression and ADD. It would be interesting to finally see some scientific validation for my ailments. For now I’ll wait and see what the insurance company says. I have new insurance that carries a $1,000 deductable and I’d be willing to pay that to start treatment, but I’m not sure about the 3.5G.
The good news is that I’m in no hurry. As long as the shrinker doctor can keep me supplied with the octane booster Adderall, I can continue to function. Like most things in life, as long as something is on my personal radar, and I have patience, the planets usually align at some point and everything works out.
In: Depression · Tagged with: ADD, bi-polar, Blue Cross Blue Shield, Depression, health insurance, psychiatrist