I Have Nine Minutes!

I was away for a few days, because choosing to post about my doctor visit was something I had to call into question for myself.  To determine whether or not to reveal my visit that day with my shrink was something that took some thought, but at this point, the embarrassment I save is nothing compared to the judgment I risk in even telling this story and that is something I am determined to do.

I was already so late having lost track of time from the library to the woman in the path along the quad to here.  I only had about ten minutes left to meet with Farber.  He was used to my being late.  Lateness, they say, is a sign of ego, of self-importance.  I just always seem to loose track of time and it is never anything I can explain away with an excuse, so I pretend it isn’t an issue.  So, to the person waiting, I am an egotist.

I am happy to be out of the cold but Farber’s windowless waiting room is only warm in temperature.  His ambiguous magazine display; Self Help, Psychology Today, Good Housekeeping, and Vanity Fair, seems disingenuous or trying to hard to be harmless and hip at the same time.  I push them all into the little plastic garbage bin by the end table.  My doctor would interpret this as an act of rebellion—hardly.  It’s informative commentary.  Don’t patronize your patients by trying to connect in the waiting room.

I should be thankful though, just for the sheer convenience of him.  Farber is a professor at the University who, as it happens, was my shrink before I was accepted here.  I question whether my Mom, having known this already, somehow guided my choice or if it was just fate.  I would have stopped going to him altogether if he was not conveniently located.

Farber comes out of his office and looks at his watch.  “I still have nine minutes.” I tell him.  “And you would not want to waste those—come in.”  I can’t tell if he’s sincere or sarcastic.  It must be some shrink ambiguity technique.  They’re like Jedis of double meaning.  He turns the lights low.  He knows me, and my sensitivity to the light.  He knows me and my struggle.  I decide he was sincere this time.

He gives me his, ‘you must see someone off-campus’ speech which I ignore.  I tell him about the library and the woman.  This is where he rules out the Hallucinosis, which I am at once grateful for and disturbed by.  I have no explanation now.  He wants me off the “Benzos.”  Good, but what the hell…? 

I tell him, I'm going home for Christmas break, Angela invited me to a party, and Mannesh asked me to speak before his class.  To him, these are good things.  To me they are a reason to panic, to scream in public.  “To drink?” he adds.  He reminds me that this is evidence of my leading a normal life.  “You’re an excellent student, making headway with a tough teacher, meeting friends and socializing, gong home to be with your family for the holidays.”  Normal should not make me regress.  He assures me I will not begin screaming in public, again.  He assures me it is a lot at once and to just do what I can to maintain.  He assures me the choices are mine and to keep making them.  He assures me that nothing is changed from two weeks ago, from two months ago.  He assures me that I am handling it just fine.  He assures me he is available.

I leave unassured.