Alex
Ipaced back and forth on the soft blue rug in the counselor’s office. Everything about the room was nonconfrontational. Soothing blue tones covered the walls. Pops of color made appearances in the sea-green decorative glass containers situated by height on the side table and in the geometric-influenced art. There was an actual leather couch, the kind people make fun of in stand-up comedy routines and on sitcoms.I had no desire to sit down and become a statistic.
My newly assigned counselor, Dylan, wore skinny gray pants, a white shirt, and purple socks that clashed horribly with his brown shoes. Or maybe he did that on purpose. The hipster look was beyond me, because it seemed to take up so much time.
Time was one thing I didn’t have. And I was wasting it being here. I didnotneed counseling.
“You can have a seat if you would like,” Dylan ventured, gesturing to the brown leather couch across from him.
Yeah, like I was going to lie down there and spill my life history. Myirrelevantlife history. What did it matter if my father was in my life or not? Or if I was hugged as a child? Those things were tiny in the overall universe, and I’d long since learned to not only survive but thrive in spite of them. “I feel more comfortable standing,” I replied shortly.
Dylan nodded his head. I got the sense he was trying to let me settle in like a tiger in a new exhibit at the zoo. Don’t push him too hard or he’ll charge the glass and scare the kids.
I wasn’t the enemy, and I wasn’t dangerous. And I certainly didn’t appreciate being watched like I was the product of a scientific study. “Let me be clear. I don’t want to be here and don’t think I need to be here. The only reason I’ll show up is that my job depends on it. So go ahead and do whatever you do, but please don’t try and make nice. I’m not here for a friend.”
I internally cringed at the harshness of my tone. I shouldn’t have said any of that. Maybe I was more like a caged animal than I thought. But I couldn’t get over the fact that I’d been forced into this situation.
Dylan calmly removed his black-rimmed glasses and set them on the table next to his high-back chair. “That’s all right. We don’t have to be best friends, but I do hope we can get to a point where you at least feel comfortable enough to sit down and have a place to relax. I personally think counseling is helpful for everyone. Life is hard, and we can never have too big of a support system.”
Relax? What was that? That word had never been part of my vocabulary. I was always on the go. And support system? I was always pretty much alone. “I don’t relax. With the job I have, I always have to be on my toes.”
“You’re a cardiothoracic surgeon, right?” Dylan glanced down at the tablet resting on his thighs.
I glared at it, wondering what other personal information was stored behind the shiny screen. “Yes, at Northwest Memorial, but you already know that.” I stopped pacing and stood with my feet apart. Not too close to his chair to be considered threatening, but close enough that we could have a conversation. This was small talk, but at least it wasn’t painful.
“It must be hard working those kinds of hours, always on call,” Dylan probed.
“Doesn’t bother me.” I flicked my hand and then refolded my arms. “I’ve been working these hours for years through med school and residency. This is normal for me now.”
“Do you like your job?”
I grinned triumphantly. He wasn’t going to get me on an easy hook like that. “I love it!” Just in case he didn’t believe me, I expounded. “I make a difference in someone’s life every day. The people I treat are at death’s door; some are knocking, while others are walking up the steps. What I do changes their trajectory, changes their lives, and it allows them more time with the people they care about. And then there’s the science. The human heart is fascinating. We’re constantly learning new treatments, new surgeries, new abilities it has to sustain life. It is very rewarding.”
“Not everyone can say they have passion for their work,” Dylan replied.
“That’s true.” I released my arms and tucked them into my pockets, shifting my weight to one leg. “I worked fast food in high school, and I vowed I would never do that again.”
“Why not?”
I laughed. “My brain was not built for repetitive tasks. It has to stay busy with complex cognitive puzzles and opportunities. If I’m not thinking, then I’m bored and restless.”
“That’s awesome that your brain can keep up that kind of pace. How do you recharge?” Dylan tapped on his screen and pulled the stylus out of the sleeve on the side. Thus poised, he was ready to record my answer.
Distracted, knowing my answer was going into that little black device, I stuttered. “I-I don’t understand what you mean.”
“We all need to do something that recharges our batteries, so to speak. If we don’t recharge, eventually we burn out.”
“Maybe some people do, but not me. My job actually charges my batteries, and I’m happy where I’m at.”
“All right.” Dylan put the stylus back in the sleeve. “If that is how you feel, that is okay. Since you like spending so much time at work, tell me about your relationship with your work family.”
Workfamily? Were we supposed to be a family? It didn’t feel that way. No hospital had ever felt that way. I’d made some friends here and there, a few good solid colleagues who respected my opinion, and I’d take their advice if needed. But afamily? I wasn’t sure how I’d fit into a dynamic like that. I’d thought we’d been having a nice conversation, but Dylan had been leading me along to this point without me even knowing it.
Sneaky.
Yet I didn’t feel manipulated. I just felt pressure to come up with the right answer. If there was one, it probably sounded like a trailer for the feel-good movie of the year starring Sandra Bullock or something. That wasn’t my life, so I went with the truth. “Well, I guess that’s my big problem, now, isn’t it?” My guard started to come back up again, and words tumbled out in defense. “We both know that is why I am here. Dr. Anderson wants me to learn to play nice, though I don’t think I’m playing mean at all. It feels like everyone wants me to change who I am, but I like who I am. I can’t help that people are offended by honesty.”
Dylan smiled. He had a peaceful countenance; I had to give him that. “Quite the opposite, Alex. Dr. Anderson didn’t tell me your history.I prefer it that way because I would rather hear it from you. What he did say is that you are a very talented surgeon with a bright future. He likes you. We just need to teach you how to communicate with your team, so that they can support you in reaching your potential.”
