Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 76717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
I jerk when Ralph stirs. His eyelids flutter open to reveal bloodshot eyes. He looks around dazedly before his gaze lands on me.
His eyes widen. “You,” he says.
“Hey, Ralph,” I say.
He narrows his eyes as much as his swelling allows. “Your boyfriend is going to rot in hell for this.”
Chapter Twelve
Jason
Dr. Carlos Engel’s office is nothing like I expected. I thought psychiatrists’ offices were supposed to be stuffy, filled with leatherbound books and old-fashioned furniture. But this place is different. It’s modern, minimalistic even, with a sleek glass desk, white leather chairs, and walls adorned with abstract paintings. On the desk sits a small Buddha statue and a bonsai tree. Interesting.
Dr. Engel greets me with a warm smile and firm handshake when I enter. “Dr. Lansing, welcome. Take a seat.” He gestures toward one of the chairs opposite his desk.
“Thanks for seeing me today.” I sink into the soft leather.
He nods warmly. “Don’t mention it. I’m happy to help. Dr. Steel spoke highly of you.”
“Did she?” I raise an eyebrow. “She hardly knows me.”
“Melanie Steel can get to know more about a person in five minutes than most can in a lifetime,” he says. “She’s that good.”
I frown. “What did she say about me?”
“She said you were highly intelligent…and highly skeptical about psychiatry.”
I can’t help a chuckle. “That’d be me.”
“So that’s an accurate representation?” Dr. Engel asks.
I think that’s what I just said. God, already he’s trying to analyze me.
“I would,” I say, admitting the obvious. “I’ve always been more on the side of logic and reason.”
Dr. Engel chuckles. “And you believe psychiatry lacks those attributes?”
“I wouldn’t say it lacks them,” I reply. “More like it’s not as concrete or precise as the other medical fields. The human mind is a complex thing.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Dr. Engel says. “The brain is the most complex supercomputer ever created. Even after centuries of study, we’re still finding out new things about it every day. We’re going to get things wrong from time to time. But then again”—he lifts his eyebrows—“so do physicians in all fields.”
He’s got me there. It’s a speech I have memorized for every new batch of medical students I teach. I gave it most recently to Angie’s class.
When I became a general surgery attending years ago, I had made many mistakes. All young surgeons have by the time they complete their residency. You will take a life. You won’t do it on purpose, of course, but one day, a mistake you make will take the life of another human being. You will have to live with that. You will have to learn from that.
When I don’t respond after a minute, Dr. Engel continues, “Now, let’s start with this surgery. I understand the board is concerned about your mental state due to the trauma of loss you’ve experienced.”
I cross my legs, sit back in the chair. “That’s what they say.”
He leans toward me, his expression unreadable. “But you’re not concerned.”
“Not really.”
“Dr. Steel also mentioned that you don’t have an adequate support system.”
“I believe she’s wrong about that.”
Except she’s not wrong. I’m an only child, my parents are both deceased, and I let all my friendships go after Julia and Lindsay died. It was easier that way. I couldn’t stand the pitiful glances.
“And you believe that’s why you’re here?” Dr. Engel asks, tilting his head slightly to one side.
“I believe I’m here because the board thinks I need help.” I meet his gaze squarely. “Maybe they’re right, and maybe they’re not. I guess that’s for you to decide.”
Dr. Engel doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he leans back in his chair. “Well, Dr. Lansing,” he says after a moment, “I think we can both agree that the human mind is indeed a complicated thing. And dealing with loss… Well, that’s one of the hardest things any human being can experience. Especially the loss of a spouse or a child.”
I narrow my eyes. “Are you saying that I’m not dealing with it?”
“Not at all,” he replies. “What I’m saying is that it’s okay to need help, even if you don’t think you do.”
The room falls silent again. I look away from Dr. Engel, my thoughts spinning with the possibility of what he’s trying to say.
“Maybe,” I begin, “but I’ve been coping just fine.”
“Have you?” Dr. Engel asks.
“I’m still here,” I say simply.
“Yes,” he says, “you are still here. But survival isn’t the same as living, Dr. Lansing. You could be surviving just fine while not really living your life.”
I blink at him. His words resonate with me, stirring up thoughts and feelings I’ve carefully kept buried.
“We’re getting off track,” I say briskly, eager to steer the conversation away from my personal life and maybe toward Lindsay. “The point of this session is for you to make sure I have adequate support and coping techniques to deal with a possible negative outcome of the surgery.”