I raised my eyebrows at that. “Is that right?” Did he know I was planning for our session to take place somewhere else? Or that I thought about referring him to someone else?
“No, ma’am.” He said very formally. “I just need you to sign off to clear me for active duty, and I can get back to work.”
“But I only met you…” I looked at my watch. “Seven minutes ago.” I pointed out. He wasn’t the first person to walk in thinking all I had to do was sign a form and they were done.
“Doesn’t matter.” He continued. “I’m perfectly fine. As a doctor myself, I can tell you I am not suffering from PTSD, or any other ailments that require me to see you.”
“Is that right?” I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair. A soft smile covered my face. He was that kind of guy.
“Are you a therapist?” I asked.
“No, ma’am.”
“Psychologist?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Studied psychology in college and then did a mental health rotation during your residency?”
“No.” His smile had dropped with each answer. “I didn’t do a formal residency.”
“I see.”
“But just because I haven’t done work as a therapist or psychologist that doesn’t mean I haven’t seen patients who have PTSD.” His jaw tightened as he said the words.
“I’m sure you have.” I sat back up straight. “How many hours did you sleep last night?”
He drew his brow together. “Excuse me?”
“Sleep.” I repeated. “Did you get a good night’s sleep last night?”
“I’m not having nightmares.” He replied instead of giving me a direct answer.
“Get a nutritious breakfast?” I asked.
“What?”
“Did you have a good breakfast?” I questioned. “Eggs? Sausage? Fruit? Or are you more of an oatmeal and a protein smoothie dude?” His arms certainly looked as if he spent hours in the gym.
“I don’t really do breakfast.”
“Really?” I shook my head. “You’re a doctor. You know breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
“There is no factual science to back that up.” He moved his chin just a touch so his head tipped.
“There’s plenty of evidence.” I reached into one of my drawers and pulled out an energy protein bar to toss his way. “You got a gym bag in your car?” I stood.
Steward caught the bar easily. “What?”
“Gym bag?” I shook my head and let out a quick gust of laughter. “As in a change of clothes.” There was nothing wrong with the jeans and button down he was wearing, but it wouldn’t do for today.
“Um, yeah.”
“Great.” I walked over and pulled the basketball off the shelf. “Follow me.”
“What?” he repeated as he walked out of my office behind me. “Where are we going?”
“To have your first session.” I told him. “Don’t forget to close my door.”
