She is sitting in a pale, dust-ridden chair, rocking herself to obtain a deeper sense of calm. Her Primary Care Physician believes she is showing signs of Bipolar Disorder. She wants to refer her to a therapist, someone she trusts. The air in the room is thick with guilt. A faulty door swings open and a nurse in tattered scrubs alerts the doctor to her next patient who has been waiting for fifteen minutes.
“Danielle, I have to go. I have another patient waiting. I will call Dr. Dominguez myself and schedule a consultation for you. Are Fridays still best?”
But, Danielle is drowning. The rocking chair is now a carousel and she cannot halt the spinning. There is no sound. The muffled words of Dr. Norman attack her ears but leave no depth. She is trapped within herself, bracing for glory that does not come.
“Danielle?! Are Fridays still best for you?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, Dr. Norman. I didn’t hear you. I was…”
“I know, you were not here. *sighs* We will get you better in due time. I will call Dr. Dominguez this evening. Make a follow up appointment with Clara at the checkout desk for three months. I want to check your iron and ferritin levels at that time. And… your weight.”
Danielle shifts on the plastic bed in the paper thin gown. She gathers her things one by one and returns her outfit to her body. Facing the world is never easy. At least today, someone listened.
Someone finally listened.