How can psychologists help?

My experience thus far...diagnosed 2016...bilateral mastectomy with all the works but no radiotherapy due to another medical condition which removed that as an option is this. I think I have been far more psycologically wounded, scarred affected...whatever, by the people treating me, than by the disease itself. My oncologist is, shall we say, definitely on the spectrum. I call her The Ice Princess. I was in and out of hospital 56 days during my six months of chemo, due to severe side effects from the chemo, as well as having other co morbid conditions. She would swan into my room, with her retinue of acolytes and look, not at me, but to a spot somewhere behind my left shoulder. She would then deliver her schpiel along the lines of "Here we have a 58 year old woman with xyx (regarding my cancer) as well as abc...which makes her rather an interesting case". Towards the end of my chemo, I asked to see her registrar to get something for an excruciating frozen shoulder which was absolute agony. He never showed. I did see her later that day (after my chemo) at a preset appointment with her, Her response to me was, and I quote, "I'm really not interested in your boo hoo poor little me tale of woe regarding your shoulder...it has nothing to do with your cancer, and I am a very busy person with lots of very sick patients to see to". Swallowing my rage, I told her that that was the reason I had asked to see her registrar upon my arrival. Her reply to me was "Well I also don't have dozens of registrars available at your beck and call". Terrible but true. I can fill another twenty pages of mistreatment by persons all along the healthcare spectrum, who have caused me great pain on this magnificent "journey" I'm on. I've been treated as an "interesting case", the "bilateral mastectomy in bed 22" and been called by my first name by nurses far younger than my own children. I'm by no means an old stick in the mud, but I feel that this is just another aspect of a lack of respect. I'm sick of people rolling their eyes at me, and having had my body poisoned, sliced and diced, treated like a sausage on the conveyor belt and just a number, makes me rather reticent to have someone poking around inside me head too.