Other Shoes, Other Feet

by David Howells

Open Another

  A week later, they came for their first appointment. Normally, getting a first visit scheduled with Dr. Harvey S. Grossman, PhD, took two months at least. LCSW Singh’s pre-emptive phone call managed to pare that wait-time considerably.

  Dr. Grossman was a conservative man when it came to expenditures. His ‘receptionist/assistant’ was an intern who was able to pad his or her resume with Grossman’s name at the cost of playing the role of office staff as well. The Intern of the Semester was currently Abigail Richards, who was gunning for the final stages of her LCSW certification program at the Putnam County Community College. She had a strong interest in hypnotherapy and it was said that Grossman was the man to beat in that arena.

  “Hello, I’m Abigail Richards, Dr. Grossman’s assistant. We have the information you filled out and faxed to the office. May I have your insurance cards for us to scan copies of?” Two cards were offered, scanned both sides of, and returned.

  “Thank you. Dr. Grossman will be right with you. Can I get you anything? We have regular and herb tea, coffee (powdered, I’m afraid) regular and decaf.”

  The husband responded, “I’d like some decaf, black with one sugar, if you don’t mind. Thank you. Joyce?”

  “Same order, but regular coffee, please. Something about the decaffeinating process leaves a residue that gives me a headache.”

  The husband added, “I’m glad we found that steam-decaf coffee for you. Ms. Richards, if you ever have someone sensitive to the chemical residues of the decaf process, try out EarthStore Health Foods. It’s been the only one Joyce has been able to tolerate. Maybe it can help one of your patients, sometime.”

  The wife offered, “Charles has a great awareness of alternative medicines, like herbs and pressure points and things. He’s helped a lot of people.”

  Abigail saw the husband look down and smile, and almost blush. This was the couple Wu Singh was afraid to get in the middle of? This was the young version of Ward and June Cleaver, for they both seemed ‘old-fashioned’. Maybe she could center her final thesis on them, if there was any truth to the report Wu sent. Abigail suggested earlier ‘manic depressive’ to Dr. Grossman, but that was hard to apply to two people at the same time. Maybe a new term would arise, like ‘combat cuddly’.

  The couple sat down, and the former tension noted in the hallway remained dissipated…something Joyce and Charles noted when they entered the waiting room. Had it been the enclosed hallway space, both wondered? Were they claustrophobic? They’d bring that up to the doctor when they saw him.

  Abigail sat at a tiny desk. Anything larger might crowd out the room that barely let three chairs and the plant co-exist in the waiting room. Dr. Goodman may be brilliant, she thought, but Lord was he cheap. The Scotts could learn a thing or two on penny pinching from the good doctor.

  A minute later, there was a light on the console that clued Abigail to initiate the next step. “Dr. Goodman will see you, now. I’ll be listening in, if you don’t mind. This is part of my internship for Certified Social Worker.”

  Husband and wife both readily and graciously agreed, almost thankfully. The husband said, “We’ll take help from any quarter. Who knows, but maybe you hear new things that people practicing for a long time haven’t been exposed to yet.”

  The wife extended her hand. “I’m not sure if it’s proper in this office, but you can call me Joyce, and my husband Charles. If that’s ok with everyone.”

  This was the reputed Punch and Judy? Maybe Dr. Jekyll had some descendents. When would their ‘Hydes’ come to the surface? Abigail was starting to feel a little nervous, as they walked into the main office. “Dr. Goodman, Charles and Joyce Baxter. Their files are on your screen. I entered their HMO information and downloaded it to Ms. Lister’s office. Please, Charles and Joyce, make yourselves comfortable. Those two chairs with the arms are the best for back support, by the way.”

  Dr. Grossman looked to be in his late fifties to early sixties. He was slender, but not enough to be thought of as wiry. His face seemed to have wrinkles emphasizing a combination of inquiring and sympathetic thought. The hair was once dark brown, but grey streaks peppered the professorial pate. His mannerisms were simple, but eloquent. Looking up from the laptop screen, the good doctor removed his reading glasses and looked right into the patients’ eyes. That was followed by an honest but modest smile, like something you would see if a child told a reasonably funny knock-knock joke to someone.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Baxter, thank you for coming. Let’s set some ground rules, which will make things go smoother for us and increase the likelihood for your success. First of all, the problem is yours, not mine. I’ll give you all I have to help you, but the answers have to come from you, as must the solutions. My task is to help you aim your own flashlights into the shadows that keep you from understanding what is real.

  “Second, this is my office, not yours. I run the show. The rules I give have been hard learned over the past forty-plus years of being in this profession they are the foundation where the most progress can be built upon.

  “Third, I’m not able to read your minds. That’s my wife’s job. She can see the first five minutes of any movie of any genre and tell you who’s going to die, who’s the real villain, and who becomes the romantic interest. This is why I will no longer go to the cinema with her. My strong point is seeing what you two will put before me. That means you have to put all your thoughts and feelings (pointing to a space a foot in front of his eyes) right here where I can see them and hear them.

  “Fourth, you want to yell, then yell at me, not at each other. My skin is too thick for you to hurt me. You have some flash of insight and I’m talking? Raise your hand, and I’ll finish my sentence and let you speak. But you get three interruptions allowed per session, maximum. Anything more, jot it down and send me an e mail later.

  “Finally, I give you no guarantees. We have had wonderful success with some of the most perplexing problems here. We have also had people and families where one could suggest that they were worse off after we had finished. Most fall into the first category, I’m pleased to say.

  “Now, are you ready to begin?”

  Both the Baxters nodded, crossing the line from applicants to clients without realizing it. The process is the process, whether the client is aware of it or not.

  “Well, you’re too late. You began when you agreed to come here. You began when you filled out and sent in your information, hoping it would make a difference. You began when you met the receptionist and walked the hall to my office. Every step, every choice, every effort you expend is a beginning. Keep aiming each word and step to the best goal you can imagine, and you’ll begin to make sense of things.

  “I have one last point to make and then I get to play doctor. I believe in God. I don’t care if you two do or not. That’s your business. Just know that I believe that God didn’t make you to be hateful, sick or crazy. Something you are unaware of is causing you to behave unlike who you really are. It’s like someone put a computer virus in your PC brain’s motherboard and it’s scrambling your perception and response circuits. This is not you, and it is not normal. We will now continue our beginnings to identify this faulty code and debug it. Let us…begin.”