“I um, worked within his schedule.”
My eyes fall to the floor uncomfortably as John leans back in his chair and stares quietly at me.
“Katrina, I’m not only your supervisor, but I’d like to think we’re friends. I’ve seen your updated client schedule and the list of people who Fatima checks in at the front desk. I know that Mr. Warner has been in the office numerous times at odd hours and now you’re getting caught by the paparazzi outside of his home? I need to know the truth. Is there something romantic going on between you two?”
“It didn’t start out that way,” I make excuses. “But yes, in between actual working sessions, we’ve been seeing each other.”
“There’s a reason why there is a clinical structure in how we do things in this practice. It provides boundaries and protects the relationship between you and the client. I blame myself for allowing you to use your avant garde methods of therapy.”
“There’s nothing wrong with taking a football player to a stadium to face his trauma. I’m being asked to make an assessment about whether he’s ready to go back out to the football field and not have some sort of mental breakdown. Taking him to a football field to watch his reaction seemed like a great place to start.”
“Well Minds has a talk therapy model. We are not experts in, nor do we endorse, immersion therapy, Kat. You’re forcing the patient to confront feelings he may not be ready for by taking him to that stadium. Plus, you weren’t taking him there during game time, with a crowd of people, and pressure for him to perform. I don’t know that your visit accomplished anything but blurring boundaries between you and him. Now look. We cannot sleep with our clients, Kat. It erodes trust. Period.”
“Let’s eliminate the fact that we have feelings for each other and take a look at his progress... He’s doing so well,” I interject, desperation veiled beneath my professional veneer. “I think he’s ready to play again. He’ll be fine.”
“And I may have accepted that conclusion a week ago, but now that your relationship has been essentially outed, it changes everything. I cannot in good conscience allow you to give an objective assessment of Mr. Warner any longer.”
“Why, Dr. John? I’m still doing my job. I’m still a competent therapist.” My voice rises in intensity. “I thought our primary concern should be the client’s welfare. What will happen if my assessment is rejected by the league? Will they allow him to play? Will he have to go to another therapist and start this process all over again? The season is a finite about of time and this is his livelihood we’re talking about.”
“And this is my business’s reputation we’re talking about,” Dr. John shoots back, his calm demeanor flickering. “I haven’t worked all my life to build up this practice and have it basically annihilated because of one rogue therapist.”
“Rogue?” I retort, my eyes blazing. “Who are we to crush his dreams when he’s shown every sign of readiness? Just because you’re afraid of a little bad publicity?”
“That’s a rather immature way to view your responsibility as a clinician in this practice, Katrina,” he counters, leaning back in his chair, his fingers steepled. “Is he the only person you care about in this scenario? What do you think your other clients are going to think?”
“Think of what?” My voice tremble, but my resolve remains unwavering.
Dr. John pauses, studying me for a moment. “You’re sleeping with your client and the world knows it. Do you think they’ll continue to respect your working relationship?”
My heart pounds as I reply to his condescending question. “First of all, have you considered client confidentiality at all, Dr. John? There was a video of me posted sitting in a car with a man who plays football. Clients of this practice may or may not know that he comes to this practice. I’d say most don’t know. So what’s really the worst case scenario here? That a few people recognize me and think I’m dating a football player?”
“Katrina...” Dr. John’s voice softens. “We can’t allow personal feelings to interfere with our professional judgement and now we’re in a tight spot. A representative from the NFL called me first thing this morning about this. He said verbatim that he no longer believes in the integrity of the assessment from our office and feels we should put on paper that Mr. Warner is not ready for play.”
My eyes well up with unshed tears as I absorb the enormity of what Dr. John is telling me, but I maintain my posture. “My judgement is not clouded, Dr. John. I believe in Dak. And I believe he’s ready. And I won’t sit by and collude with the NFL to ruin his career.”
For a moment, silence hangs heavy between us, the tension palpable. Dr. John looks at me, his face unreadable.
“I’m not sure that you’ve left me with any choice, Kat,” he finally says. “Obviously, you haven’t broken any laws, but you’ve put me and this practice in a difficult position.”
“I understand,” I reply, my voice just above a whisper. “And I’m sorry for that, but I stand by my decision. I will not submit and sign something that I cannot stand by.”
“Then I think we both have some thinking to do. Take some time off. I’ll have Fatima reschedule your clients this week.”
“Dr. John, why should my clients suffer because of a piece of gossip that people are going to forget about in the next twenty-four hours?”
“You should have thought about your other clients when you decided to get involved with Mr. Warner, Katrina. My decision is final. I’ll give you some time to think about what we’ve discussed today and call you in a week to see where we are.”
With that, I stand up, leaving Dr. John’s office, my heart heavy but my resolve unbroken. I was ready to fight. For Dak, for myself, for my other clients, and for what was right.
No matter the cost.
dak
It’s beena wild 48 hours.
I’m in the middle of exchanging texts with Katrina, setting up a time to meet and make sure she still even wants to be in my life, when Cap gives me a call that changes everything.
“Hey, man.”
