“Sam?”
she asked in a strong, clear voice.
I
nodded.
“Hello,
it’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Dr. Cynthia Veritus, but please
call me Thia.”
“Hi
Thia, it’s nice to meet you, too. I have heard great things about you;
I’m hoping they’re all true.”
She
laughed at my joke, which set me at ease.
“Come
in, Sam—let’s get this over with.”
I
followed her into the adjoining office, confused by her choice of words.
It wasn’t the most encouraging opening statement, but perhaps I had
misheard. I sat down on the comfortable, tan love seat and noted that her
office matched the style of the waiting room. Thia sat across from me in a navy
wingback armchair and offered me a kind smile. I returned her smile and
waited for her to begin. She continued to smile at me but said nothing,
which was becoming exceedingly uncomfortable. My own smile began to fall
and she smirked knowingly. I rededicated myself to what was apparently a
staring/smiling contest, determined to emerge victorious. She smiled even
wider and I caught a glimmer of laughter in her eyes, but she was rock solid
and unwavering.
Son
of a bitch! I was going to lose this contest…I’m not even sure what that
meant, but it couldn’t be a good sign.
“Fine,
I give,” I acquiesced with a sigh.
Thia
smiled before raising her hand to muffle what I can only imagine would have
been a chuckle if permitted to escape.
What
the heck? She was laughing at me…how unprofessional!
“What
gives? Aren’t you supposed to be asking me what brings me here? The
details of what I experienced? What dysfunctional ways I have coped with
everything thus far?”
“Is
that what you want to talk about?”
“Hell
no! That is the last thing I want to relive for the umpteenth time,” I
virtually shouted.
“You
don’t want to talk about what is past and I’m not asking. So what is the
problem?”
Well
that took the wind right out of my sails. I had no idea how to respond,
so I resumed our staring contest. It was juvenile, I know, but it felt
really good being defiant.
This
time she did laugh aloud and I glared back at her. Was I actually paying
her to laugh in my face?
“Okay,
so what is your biggest concern right now?”
She
finally asked a question…thank God!
“I’m
not sure. I’ve been back almost two months and I think I have kept it
together—for the most part. I’ve been having night terrors
occasionally. I’m still a little uncomfortable out in public when alone
and I find myself looking over my shoulder. The deep breathing exercises
help to center me, but I wish I could get rid of the paranoia completely.”
“It
definitely is normal after what you have experienced, but I think you
are ready to conquer this particular fear.”
“Okay,
what do I do?”
“We
will get to that in a little bit, it’s a part of your homework assignment.”
“Homework?”
She
nodded in reply. Dammit, I thought I was done with homework. Oh
well, I would try anything once.
“What
else?” she prompted.
“My
parents have requested I come to dinner next week.”
“And?”
“I
don’t want to?” I asked, as if it may be the wrong answer.
“Why
not?”
“Because
they never make time to see me. They only came to visit me in the
hospital once after the attack—and I wasn’t even conscious! They never
bothered to visit me when I was at The Phoenix Centre and I haven’t actually
spoken to either of them in over six months, since before the attack. The
only communication I received was an email from my father’s secretary reminding
me to use the Platinum Amex for any medical expenses. Trust me, whatever
they want, it’s not going to make me happy.”
“Are
you certain? Maybe they had an epiphany after almost losing you and want
to work on improving your relationship.”
“Spoken
like a rational person who has an empathetic bone in their body. There’s
a reason I am an only child, Thia. My parents thought having a kid would
be a great addition to the illusion of their Rockwell portrait life. Once
I arrived, they handed me to the nearest nanny and resumed business as usual.
My mother was horrified by the effects pregnancy had on her previously
impeccable body, and spent well over a hundred grand to repair the damage I
caused. Ultimately my cost exceeded my value, so they determined children
were a bad investment and a hindrance to their quality of life. These are
not the type of people who have sudden moments of introspection—nothing good
will come of this dinner,” I finished with conviction.
“Well,
I’m convinced. Next?”
“Are
you mocking me?” I asked, confused by her quick dismissal of my mommy and daddy
issues.
“Not
at all. You seem to comprehend that their issues are theirs, not
yours. While you’re understandably apprehensive about the dinner, you
aren’t harboring any unrealistic expectations and have already developed
healthy coping strategies to process your feelings concerning your
parents. Unless you begin to exhibit inappropriate emotional responses to
their behaviors or indulge in self-destructive coping mechanisms, I see no
reason for us to explore this any further. Do you want to analyze the
minute details of every disappointment you have ever suffered at their
hands? We can do that, but I’ll need to grab my calendar to schedule all
the additional weekly visits.”
“Sarcasm
much?”
“I
am happy to waste your time and money by exploring every little facet of your
past and psychoanalyzing the myriad ways each has shaped your psyche…if that
would make you feel better,” she deadpanned.
“You
should grab coffee with Everleigh some time—you two would have a blast
out-snarking one another.”
“Since
Everleigh is your best friend, I will take that as a compliment,” she
countered, successfully turning my poke around.
“Two
peas in a freakin’ pod,” I muttered.
“Next?”
“Geeze,
I might as well be waiting my turn at the supermarket deli counter holding a
little ticket with a number on it.”
“Sarcasm
much?” she parroted my earlier barb.
“I’m
not sure if you are the best therapist ever or the worst.”
“I
get that a lot,” she offered without concern, causing me to laugh. “Don’t
worry, I’ll grow on you.”
“If
you have a magic solution to cure my night terrors, I will commit to providing
you an organ of your choice should a transplant ever become necessary.”
“Now
that is a tantalizing offer. Unfortunately, there is no magic pill you
can swallow…just kidding. Of course I could prescribe a sleep aid if you
don’t currently have one, but that would not be my suggested course.”
“What
do you suggest?”
“Homework.”
“Such
a dirty word to be throwing around so casually. Okay, lay it on me.”
“I
want you to find a part-time job in an environment you feel safe to help
increase your comfort level in public—consider it exposure therapy. Plus,
you need something to do besides shopping,” she said as she eyed my outfit,
correctly pegging my current method of passing time. “You should attend
the dinner at your parents’ next week. At the very least it will clear
them off your list of worries. I also want you to establish a regular
exercise routine. Sign up at a gym and use it. It will aid your
sleep and possibly help reduce the number of night terrors you have been
experiencing. Not to mention, it’s another public venue for you to build
comfort and confidence.”
“I
can handle those assignments.”
“Oh,
one more—eat! The Italian in me is dying to shove heaping piles of carbohydrates
into that scrawny little body of yours.”
I
laughed at her exclamation; it was clear she wasn’t exaggerating for effect.
“Will
do, Chef Boyardee,” I teased, glad to be ending on a positive note and with
several manageable tasks to focus on. “It’s been…strange, but good…I
think.”
“Excellent.
You handled me better than most do on their first visit.”
I
didn’t think she was kidding, which gave me an odd sort of pride at the
unexpected accomplishment. As I departed, I couldn’t help but wonder if I
had just found a guide through the minefield of recovery or if I was being
“Punk’d” by Ashton Kutcher—if it was the latter, this would have made for some
great TV programming. I glanced around to make sure there were no
cameramen hiding in the bushes. Nope. Thia was a therapist unlike
any I had encountered thus far. I resolved to follow her directives and
get a jump on my homework assignments.
