“Did you know more people die every year rolling out of bed than from being struck by a falling object?” Dr. Adler paused for effect. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”
Jerry feigned a look of surprise. He was propped up in a maroon leather chair, sitting a few feet away from his new therapist, an older gentleman, with round black spectacles, a salt-and-pepper comb over, and a pointed goatee better suited for an evil sorcerer than a man of medicine.
The doctor glanced down at a pad of paper. “I understand this is your first experience with therapy?”
“Yeah, I’ve never been before,” Jerry replied. He found himself nervously pressing his fingers into the upholstery. “I had a pretty average childhood, the typical ups and downs. The only thing out of the ordinary was that my uncle shot himself in the head when I was seven. It happened in our guest room." He shifted in his chair. “But like I said on the phone, everything was fine until last week.”
Jerry thought he had arrived at a natural stopping point, but Dr. Adler remained quiet and upright, waiting patiently for him to proceed.
“—But I guess that’s how it goes, right? One day you’re fine, and the next you’re too paranoid to walk down the street to pick up an extra roll of toilet paper…”
Another silence ensued, but this time the doctor revived the conversation.
“Yes, sometimes that is ‘how it goes,’ but in my experience there’s usually something else lurking in the muck. And it’s my job to help you dredge it out.”
Another pause.
“I assume that you walked into this office with some preconceived ideas about how this was going to go?” Dr. Adler leaned back in his chair and stared back reassuringly. “It’s perfectly normal. Most first timers do. Hollywood makes us out to be a bunch of kooky baboons, sitting in our chairs as we play with our inkblots.”
“I guess I did expect a comfy couch and maybe a question or two about my breastfeeding history,” Jerry said slyly, “—but I certainly didn’t imagine your office would have this sort of…decoration.” He nodded in the direction of the graffiti mural, Tibetan prayer flags, and multi-panel surrealist landscapes hanging on the walls around him. “Not exactly what I pictured for a therapist’s office," he stopped for a second, "but I think you certainly look the role, doctor.”
“And what role is that?” he asked, staring into Jerry’s eyes with the innocence of a Labrador.
“Well, you have that Freudian-look going for you. Very wise and learned.”
The words hung lifelessly in the air.
“…And I’m grateful we were put in touch, because at this point, I’m out of ideas. I thought I’d be able to get past it, you know? Like one morning I’d just wake up normal again and continue on as if nothing happened. But, to be honest, the past few weeks have been just short of hell. I’m anxious as soon as I step outside, and the feeling creeps up even before I have my shoes on. The nerves have gotten so bad that I can barely keep food down.”
Jerry wondered if he had laid it on too thick, but he kept on talking anyway.
“I know you’ve cured people in the past, and I’m just hoping you can do the same for me.”
For a few seconds all you could hear was the quiet hum of an idling computer monitor. Dr. Adler abruptly pulled a handkerchief out of his coat pocket and started wiping the lenses of his glasses. He rested his spectacles back on the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath, and gave a wide, disarming grin.
“That’s interesting you say that, Jerry. Very interesting. Because many people step into this office thinking the same thing. That it is my job to ‘cure’ them of some ‘sickness.’ And while it is true that I can help you to cope with your paranoia,” he glanced at Jerry before continuing, “I’m not in the business of band aids and quick fixes. I tell all my clients the same thing: you want fast, temporary relief? Go to the pharmacy around the corner and pick up some Advil.”
A brief pause.
“Have you ever been mountain climbing, Jerry? Real mountain climbing?”
Jerry tried to conceal the bewilderment spreading across his face. He quickly shook his head.
“Well, it’s exhilarating, life changing even. I highly recommend it. However, it can be quite dangerous. But here’s the point: I wouldn’t have been able to reach the top of Mt. Lhotse, Tibet’s second highest peak, without my fearless Sherpa, Tonka. There were storms and broken cable lines and nights when we couldn’t start a fire or feed ourselves. But Tonka believed in me, and I believed in him, and together we triumphed. Conquering that mountain was one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. Notice these beads around my neck.”
The doctor pulled out a string of misshapen wooden spheres from under his white tailored shirt.
“Tonka’s son made these for me. They’ve been dyed in yak’s blood, as is the tradition. Now, whenever I feel weak or afraid, I hold them to my lips and whisper the auṃ maṇi padme hūṃ, and summon the female deity, and I am eased of my fears.”
Jerry’s silence encouraged the doctor to continue.
“I bring up this anecdote because it demonstrates the relationship between the seasoned guide and the brave adventurer. When there is trust between the two, they can reach new heights, higher than either could reach on his own.” He stared at Jerry as if trying to coax a response out of him. “And when you summit, when you reach that peak and see the whole world staring up at you, you will at once feel whole again.”
Jerry recognized it was his turn to talk.
“I don’t know what to say Dr. Adler—"
“Please, Jerry, call me Anton,” the doctor interjected with a grin.
“Okay, sure, Anton…I don’t know what else to say besides that I am a willing adventurer. And I hope that’s evident from me being here today. I know I haven’t shared this with you yet, but it wasn’t easy for me to admit I needed help. I’m still struggling with the idea, actually. It’s not exactly in my comfort zone, you know, being vulnerable. I’m sure I’m not the first person to say that in here.”
“You certainly aren’t,” Dr. Adler said reassuringly.
“And I do trust your methods—I trust the whole process for the matter, but I can’t go on like this. I need some help now. Like today. I’m anxious everywhere I go, and I hate myself for it. I hate that something so silly can derail everything. To be frank, I’m just—ashamed.”
Dr. Adler was touched by his new patient's candor. Maybe this man could be helped. Jerry prattled on.
“—This past week I’ve had to make all types of pathetic excuses to avoid going out. Would you believe that I can’t even walk to work? I hail a taxi—it costs me seventy-five dollars to get back and forth from my office. And when I do venture out every trip takes me three times as long because I avoid all the scaffolding and the ladders and the open windows. I have neck pain from all the looking up!”
Dr. Adler resisted the urge to diagnose his new patient prematurely, but Jerry’s story was oddly familiar to another who he had counseled just a few months before.
“…I know you don’t offer immediate relief, Dr. Adler—err, I mean Anton,” his voice softening, “but is there anything you can do for me? Can you talk me out of it? I’m practically begging here.”
Dr. Adler closed his eyes and sat in silence, the only perceptible movement being the slight quiver of his nostrils as he inhaled.
“Jerry, as much as I would love to be able to wave my magic wand or pray to my blood-soaked beads, there’s no way I can just ‘talk you out of it.’ Because it’s not the talking that does the healing,” he said, shifting in his chair, “nor is it the psychotherapy. What we do here is build connections: a connection between you and me, between you and yourself, between yourself and the universe—and these connections take time to develop; time and copious amounts of self-awareness and introspection.”
“But I don’t have ti—” he blurted out.
“Jerry, I hear you, not only with my ears, but with my heart and with my soul. I think I can provide what it is you seek. But we have to start at the beginning. Can you recall the first time you experienced the fear?”
“I’m actually embarrassed to say this Anton, but I never really thought about it before. I’ve been so caught up in the whole thing that I forgot to ask myself when it all began. God, I must be really losing it.”
“You aren’t losing it at all, Jerry; I think you’re on your way to finding it.”
Jerry closed his eyes and furrowed his brow as he struggled to drag up the memory. “Okay, let me think…It wasn’t that long ago. Maybe Monday? I remember we were going out to celebrate a big sale.” He hesitated. “Wait, no, no…it was Tuesday. We locked the deal on Monday and decided to do some partying that following afternoon. Okay, yes, last Tuesday. It’s all coming back now,” he said with relief.
Dr. Adler gave no reaction, prompting him to continue.
“We went to an Irish pub a few blocks away from the office. We left after lunchtime; I think there were seven or eight of us.”
Although Dr. Adler remained quiet, Jerry sensed he was thoroughly analyzing every sentence, but his dark eyes expressed not a hint of what thoughts flickered behind them.
“A couple hours went by; I had a few drinks,” Jerry stopped for a second, “and I’ll be the first to admit that I was sporting a strong buzz. We ordered some food for the table: onion rings, potato skins, sliders; ate—ordered another round of beers…Am I getting off track here?”
“Every minor brushstroke is necessary to complete the picture.”
“Okay. So, yeah, we ordered some more food, had some more beers, watched the first couple innings of the game…and then we paid the bill and went our separate ways. I remember it was still daylight when I stepped outside.”
“And then what happened?” the doctor asked.
Again, Jerry needed time to think. “Well, I’m not totally sure. Here’s where it gets blurry. It’s a thirty-minute walk from the bar back to my apartment. I was moving slower than usual but didn’t notice anything noteworthy.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Jeez, I don’t think so. There was one old guy sprawled out on the pavement next to the movie theater. He looked to be in pretty bad shape. I remember wanting to help him, but what can one drunk do for another? But now that I think about it, he might’ve been unconscious…”
“Did the image remind you of anything?”
“Not especially. Maybe a corpse.”
The doctor nodded approvingly, but kept silent.
“After that…I just kept making my way home. I was a few blocks away from my apartment when I saw it happen.”
“Saw what happen?”
Now he felt like he was on the witness stand. “The accident,” he replied.
“Do you feel comfortable describing it?” Dr. Adler asked in a tone that was soft and sympathetic.
Jerry readjusted himself in his chair. The inevitable question.
“I guess this is all part of the deal; I need to trust you or else this won’t work,” he replied.
With a nod and a small smile, Dr. Adler prompted his patient to continue.
“It all happened fast; it felt like seconds, really. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something big fall through the air. A moment later there was a horrible shriek. A woman was screaming for help, for someone to call 9-1-1. I was pretty sober by then, but the situation was just pure chaos. I had no idea what was going on.”
“Did you call?”
“No, I guess I was in shock. Because after the lady screamed, I looked over and saw—,” he paused, searching for the right words, “…the, um, the aftermath. It was a mess. I’ve never seen anything like it. Blood and shards of skull scattered everywhere, like someone had smashed a huge orange all over the sidewalk.” Jerry redirected his attention toward the doctor: “Have you ever witnessed anything like that?”
Dr. Adler gave Jerry a consolatory look. “I can’t say I have, at least not in that fashion. One summer, when I was a young man, I was spending time on the beach when an older woman had a stroke and drowned. I remember her body being pulled out from the ocean, but the lifeguards couldn’t bring her back. It doesn’t compare to your experience but the image has stayed with me to this day.”
Jerry nodded. “Yeah, it’s a hard thing to forget. A part of me feels guilty about the whole thing.”
“And why is that?”
“Well, I never looked away; I just kept staring until a police officer ushered me out of there. And even then, I was curious: When do they scrape the blood and bone off the pavement? Whose AC unit was it? How do they identify the body? And as these thoughts crossed my mind, I suddenly became very anxious. Then nauseated.”
“And you believe this nausea blossomed into paranoia?” Dr. Adler interrupted politely.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
Jerry’s mouth was dry. He had spoken more than he anticipated—were the shards of bone a necessary addition? But the hard part was over. The facial muscles around his cheeks and forehead relaxed and his heartbeat returned to its normal steady rhythm. He noticed the puddle of perspiration that had built beneath his armpits.
At some point during his retelling of the incident, Dr. Adler had grabbed a pad of paper and was scribbling vigorously. This went on for a few more moments; Jerry sat patiently as the doctor made his notes, as if he was a boy on the boardwalk watching a caricaturist doodle his portrait.
“I had a patient six months ago who came in with a very similar story,” Dr. Adler said without looking up. “He too became deeply paranoid after witnessing a traumatic incident… I only mention it because I envision a similar healing path.”
“What happened to him?” Jerry asked.
“He witnessed something in the park. A small dog had got off its leash and ran toward a group of landscapers mowing the grounds…He saw the whole thing from beginning to end. He came into my office very shaken. Any buzzing sound, anything reminiscent of a lawnmower, set him into a panic.”
“Did he ever get better?”
“Yes, his recovery was quite miraculous, actually. He spent a week at home, reciting different chants and meditations. I prescribed him a collection of herbs: mugwort for digestion and warding off evil spirits; cuckoos’ bread for spiritual rejuvenation; chamomile for peace and sleep quality. He came back two weeks later a new man. Many people initially scoff at these ancient healing practices, but then they see the results.”
Dr. Adler’s watch started to beep. He silenced it nonchalantly.
“It looks like our time together is coming to a close, Jerry. But we’ve made some extraordinary progress today. You should be very proud.”
But Jerry didn’t feel proud. It was an abrupt conclusion without resolution. A hot frustration bubbled from his belly out through his extremities. The ninety-minutes had evaporated, and he was nowhere better than when he started. The doctor’s words were optimistic, but they were just words, empty words.
“What? Already? We were just getting started. And what am I supposed to do now?” Jerry asked frantically, his emotions in full bloom. “Over the phone you said you would be able to help me.”
Dr. Adler remained stoic and unmoved. A very common occurrence in his line of work this was. His patients quickly developed a paternal-like attachment to him. In this room, he was their protector, their steward, their defense against the horrid unpredictably of the outside world.
“Don’t worry, Jerry. Everything is developing as it should. Together we have traversed the stages of examination and diagnosis; the next two phases are intervention and rehabilitation. And that is where the healing begins.”
“Doctor—I mean Anton—with all due respect,” Jerry interrupted, “I need something more than a promise. There has to be something you can do for me today.”
All was quiet for a moment except for that pesky computer monitor. Then Dr. Adler stood up and walked around behind his handsome mahogany desk. He opened the top drawer and removed a thick pad of paper. Jerry didn’t say anything, but looked onward with interest.
“This is what I’m going to do for you, Jerry,” Dr. Adler said, wiggling his pen across the desk, “because I also think our session ended a little prematurely. And I want you to continue building on your progress.”
He finished writing and sat back down across from Jerry.
“I believe it is important you spend time in the safety and comfort of your home—not focused on work, or friends, or any other distraction.” He handed Jerry the perforated sheet of muted purple paper. “This is a note for your employer. It is my recommendation that you take a few days off from work to focus on your wellbeing.”
Jerry gingerly took the note in his hand, careful not to smudge the fresh layer of ink. It was a simple message, scrawled in that rugged style unique to those in the medical profession. But it carried such authority. A simple piece of paper…
“My office will send you a follow up email this evening,” he continued in a manner a bit more professional. “And please promise to read the darn thing. I’m not your school teacher, and I don’t want this to feel like homework, but it’s important to familiarize yourself with the foundations of the Tibetan healing practices—or else you won’t be able to realize the full spectrum of benefits.”
Dr. Adler stood up and casually grabbed his slim tweed sport coat off the back of his chair and threw it over his shoulder before motioning to Jerry to follow him out.
“Consider this week a spiritual vacation,” he said to Jerry with a smile. “Hopefully you’ll come back for your appointment next week renewed and refreshed.
Jerry stood up tall and couldn’t help but grin as the two of them shuffled to the door.
“Anton, I can’t thank you enough. I really can’t. I’ve never been one for this type of therapy, or any therapy for that matter, but your approach—I don’t know—it just makes sense to me,” he chuckled. “And, honestly, I already feel a whole lot better.”
“And you will only continue to feel better,” Dr. Adler said as he opened the door and waved Jerry into the lobby, a small but cozy room that looked more like a Buddhist monastery than a doctor’s office, with warm faded-red floor pillows, colorful tapestries, and walls painted a rich turmeric that glowed like the sun. It was all at once cozy, garish, and nerve wracking, complete with a charming receptionist sitting at the front desk.
“Diane, please print Jerry a copy of his receipt."
“Of course,” she looked up at Jerry, “I just need a copy of your insurance card.”
Jerry hastily shoved his fingers into his back pocket and pulled out a beat-up leather wallet and rifled through the different folds, extracting a crisp, clean laminated insurance card.
“Thank you,” Diane said as she reached over.
Jerry suddenly had the urge to pee. “Hey Anton, is there a restroom I can use?”
“Of course! It’s over there,” he pointed toward a small corridor. “Just take a right at the bronze horse.”
The door to the bathroom was heavy and nontraditional, and he had to bend a bit to generate enough leverage to slide the thing open. Once inside he quickly locked it behind him and turned on the sink, waiting as the soft stream of water reached a pleasant temperature before splashing some on his face. The bathroom décor followed the same theme as the rest of the office: laughing buddha, ornate ceramic incense holder, brass singing bowl filled to the brim with q tips, etc.
Jerry sat on the toilet and took out his cell phone. He flicked his thumb over the screen and began to typing out a message:
Dude…you were right! It worked! I can’t believe it. Book that ticket, cause it looks like Jerry has the week off. Gotta clean my clubs when I get home. I’ll give you a call later to talk flights!!!
Jerry slipped his phone back into his pocket, stood up, and gave the toilet a ceremonial flush. He turned on the faucet and let the sound of rushing water fill the room. He used one of the heavy-knit paper towels and dried his hands. Again, he struggled with the door, but he eventually managed to slide it open. He walked down the narrow hallway where Dr. Adler and Diane were chatting. Diane handed him his insurance card.
“Here you are, Jerry. Is it okay to send the follow-up information to the email we have on file?”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” Jerry said, finally feeling relieved. “Is everything all set?”
Dr. Adler interjected. “Diane, did you schedule Jerry’s next appointment?”
“No, not yet.” She looked at Jerry. “Does a week from today work?”
Jerry stopped to think. “That should work, but can I call you guys later to confirm? I want to see how the next few days go.”
Dr. Adler gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Of course, Jerry. That’s a wise choice. I’ll walk out with you. I’ve got to run to the apothecary. Would you believe I’m already out of dandelion root?”
One more performance, Jerry thought to himself.
The two of them walked down a small flight of stairs and stepped outside. The late-afternoon sun glittered steadily, forcing Jerry into a squint. Dr. Adler unfolded a pair of sunglasses before leading the way down the front steps and onto the sidewalk. Jerry followed cautiously, taking his time descending each step.
“Which way are you headed?” Dr. Adler asked.
Such an important question. “I’m going this way," Jerry answered, hoping Anton would go the other direction, "I’ll try to hail a cab at the corner.”
Dr. Adler nodded. “Ahh, yes, of course.” He gave Jerry another firm handshake. “Feel free to give me a call if you have any questions about the practices. I’m sure you’ll figure them out on your own, but I want you to know that I’m always available if you need anything. Take care.”
And with that they both parted ways. But an uncomfortable feeling lingered, and Jerry couldn't shake the fear that the doctor was still evaluating him. As he walked, Jerry craned his neck so far back that his Adam’s apple bulged uncomfortably against the wall of his throat. He stared upward at the big blue sky and walked a couple of steps before turning around to check if Dr. Adler was still in view. He took a final step forward, veering slightly to his right.
“Ahh, shit!” Jerry howled as he stepped awkwardly off the ledge of the curb and onto the street. He hopped around for a bit, but eventually crumpled to the sidewalk. He rolled up his pant leg and saw that his ankle had already started to swell.
“Jerry! Jerry, what happened? Are you okay?” Dr. Adler was kneeling next to him. Jerry pointed to his ankle. “Oh, boy. I’ve seen plenty of those in my climbing day; it looks like a pretty serious sprain. You’re going to want to get that iced right away. Hopefully it’s not broken. I’ll call you an ambulance.” He looked into Jerry’s eyes. “I guess it’s a blessing you have the week off.” Jerry let out a groan.