Yesterday morning, the psychiatrist greeted me normally as if nothing had happened between us the day before. Or maybe I just remembered our previous session incorrectly.
I was anxious all day about it, the prospect of being alone with him. What would I say? I would have to explain my behavior.
Finally, around four o' clock, he flagged me down in the hallway, and we met privately in the conference room.
"What happened yesterday?" He remarked casually with little affect. "Why did you leave?" It was as though this was a simple business matter to get out of the way.
"I didn't want you to see me cry."
"Why were you crying?"
"I just had hoped...we...would have had..."I balked. "More progress during this admission before the discharge date...I know we talked about Friday or Monday..."
"Well, that's where we left it yesterday, but it doesn't have to be a hard fast rule...we can think on it, and see how things go. Maybe decide more early next week?" He looks at me with compassion. He had obviously thought about this, and figured out this was what I wanted--more time in the hospital.
"I know that [the psychologist] wanted to work with me on Friday, and I didn't want to miss that if at all possible."
"Yeah, yeah, definitely."
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