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I had called the psychiatrist’s number that Patrick gave me this morning after the gym and I was surprised that they had room to fit me in this afternoon. The physical therapist was more booked and I won’t be able to go see them until late next week.
“I can drive you,” Corrine offers, but I shake my head.
“It’s just around the corner. I’ll be fine.”
She frowns but lets me go. I try to smile at her as I grab the car keys and head out the door, my cane tapping on the ground and reminding me of a clock. It’s reminding me that my time with her is almost up.
The psychiatrist’s office really is just right around the corner and I park right out front. It takes me a few moments to work up the nerve to get out of the car and go in.
I’m not sure how I feel about talking to a complete stranger about my deepest, darkest secrets and issues, but I don’t want to let Corrine or Patrick down.
This is going to be good for me.
I head inside and let out a sigh of relief when I see that I’m the only one here. I force a smile at the receptionist and sign in before I make my way over to a chair in the corner.
My brain is scrambling as I try to think about what to say in my appointment and how to get Corrine to stay.
Could I find her a job here?
Are they going to make me talk about the accident at our first meeting?
“Mr. Arbor?”
I look up and take in the patient older man standing in the open doorway. He’s wearing a gray cardigan and reminds me of Mr. Rogers. He gives me a kind smile and I stand, following after him silently down the short hallway and into a spacious room.
His desk is set up on the back wall, but the majority of the room is set up kind of like a living room. There’s a sofa and armchair facing each other, a large rug in between them, and an end table next to the armchair and left side of the sofa.
“Please, have a seat,” he says. “I’m Dr. Armstrong.”
“Heath,” I reply as I take a seat in the middle of the couch.
“What brings you in today, Heath?”
I open my mouth and I swear that I’m about to tell him about the panic attacks but instead what comes out is, “I think that I’m in love with my home caregiver and she’s leaving soon and I can’t let her go.”
That seems to shock him because his bushy eyebrows rise.
“I see.”
“We haven’t known each other long, so I feel like I can’t ask her to stay. I mean, it’s her job, so she would be giving that up to stay here with me,” I go on.
“And you don’t think that you’re worth someone sticking around?” he asks.
“I… it’s not that, really.”
“Then what is it?”
“I just… I don’t want to be rejected.”
“Ah, I see. Well, that’s normal. A lot of people have that fear.”
“And how do they get over it?”
“Well, I think that you need to ask yourself what you’re more afraid of. Her leaving or maybe being rejected?”
I know the answer right away. I need to at least try to tell her how I feel and get her to stay. If she still decides to leave, then at least I know that I tried.
“Her leaving,” I tell him and he nods.
