These pains are very regular.
When he returns, another intense pain flares across my abdomen, and realization dawns.
“Ohhhh, you son of a—” I hunch over, breathing heavily through my nose.
“Are Braxton-Hicks usually like this?” Tate asks worriedly.
“They.” I inhale a lungful of air. “Are. Not.”
SIXTY-FOUR
WARREN
Six months ago,walking into this office felt like a prison sentence.
At first, it was just a way to return to my job, and now, it’s a necessity to my wellbeing and recovery.
I understand what Kevin meant now when he explained therapy is about healing, not fixing. Healing requires time and patience. I’d covered up my scars and bruises poorly, never giving them the care and attention they truly required.
There are days I still feel like a patchwork quilt of emotions, but the stitching is stronger, the edges less frayed.
We’ve spent the last three sessions discussing the days leading up to the explosion and afterward. It was difficult to relay everything at first, but with the weight of my past no longer sitting on top of me, I’m learning to accept it for what it is.
“How’s Harriet?” Kevin asks. We only have a few minutes remaining.
“Very pregnant and not staying off her feet.” I huff in feigned annoyance. “She’ll be thirty-eight weeks tomorrow.Her last checkup showed the baby is growing nicely, so it could be any day now.”
She scoffs whenever I tell her how beautiful she is, arguing that trapped wind and acid reflux are the opposite of beautiful. We agree to disagree.
“Are you ready? And I mean in general, not as a therapist.”
“Yes? She’s calm as anything, which helps me remain levelheaded.” It’s true. There are days she panics about not being prepared or going into labor early, but otherwise Harriet has handled every stage of her pregnancy with grace and peacefulness few people possess.
“That’s good.” He looks at the clock and taps the edge of his notepad. “You better get going. Good luck at the firehouse. What you’re doing is admirable, and if it doesn’t go as planned with the department board, there are plenty of mental health organizations I can put you in touch with.”
I rise, returning his smile. As I’m about to turn away, I stop. “Thanks for not giving up on me. I wasn’t the easiest patient.”
“Easy isn’t why I do it, Warren.” He blinks in surprise. “Thank you for not giving up on yourself.”
“You’re sure?”Marcus asks for the tenth time.
“I’m positive.” I can see how my decision might seem hasty, considering how frustrated I was during desk-duties, but deep down, he knows this is the right move.
Forcing myself to stay in this job is slowly killing me, and if I’m serious about treatment for my PTSD, something has to change.
He raps his knuckles on his desk. “You know I’m fucking proud of you?”
I shift in my seat. “Don’t get mushy on me.” The sarcasmdoes nothing to stop the mist hazing my vision. “But yeah, I know. Couldn’t have done it without you.”
He halts his argument when I raise a hand.
“You put up with my shit for longer than anyone should have to, and while I’m sorry for crashing on your sofa and making your job difficult, I’m grateful you never gave up on me.” It takes two attempts to clear my throat. “I’ll miss parts of the job, but I won’t miss the reminders of my darkest days. You can’t change that. Only I can.”
He sniffs. “I’ll do what I can to convince the board to keep you on as a trainer. Selling the mental health part is going to be tricky. The budget is tight this year.”
“If it doesn’t work out, there are other ways I can help first responders.” I’ve already begun volunteering at a local crisis hotline and plan on starting an online forum for men’s mental health where people can reach out anonymously.
We share a look, exchanging words neither of us is ready to speak aloud right now.
