Personal Narrative: Dr. Veer's Office

“Think of it as a job.” The psychiatrist offered the tired metaphor as he leaned forward across the dull oak desk. All the furniture in the hospital was that same stale wood, save for the drab blue cushioning and one grim metal table in the far corner of the day room. The whole place looked appropriately dismal. Dr. Veer’s office was no exception, nor were the fusty tweed sport coats he wore like a uniform. Everything and everyone at Pine Brook Hospital conformed to the same dreary pallet. It made my eyes sore to just to be there. I supposed the hospital ambiance alone was enough to make someone depressed, but I couldn’t be certain in my theory. I was already depressed to begin with.
“It’s a lot like a job, if you think about it. It’s a job,
Jordan.” Dr. Veer spoke again, but this time he tried to talk to me as though we were two good buddies having a casual chat. He seemed to think it was some sort of strategic way to get me to be honest with him. It never worked on me, but I had a reputation for noncompliance. Then again, I couldn’t imagine that his trick had a high success rate among the other patients either.
Dr. Veer peered at me through his thick spectacles, waiting for an affirmative reply. I nodded. It wasn’t as though I could honestly agree with him, I’d never had a job. “You’ll have to work on overcoming your struggle.” He explained. “This may take a lot of effort, but you’ll be better off because of it. If you try, you can beat it.” The aforementioned “struggle” was a delicate euphemism for the small compendium of diagnoses on my medical record. Hospital workers were always weaseling around conversations, using words such as “struggle” and “difficulty”. It was patronizing, but it was hard for anyone to be subtle under the circumstances.
I had yet to respond to Dr. Veer, but he didn’t seem to mind. He continued his droning lecture. “You have to put work into it. It’s like a job.” The psychiatrist repeated himself. The man couldn’t quit it with that worn out job spiel. It didn’t even make much sense. You at least have a say when it comes to your job. My ordeal was something that had happened when I wasn’t paying attention. Besides, I would have preferred a cubicle.
As I started to lose track of what he was saying, I began to stare out the tiny window behind his freckled bald head, but the view wasn’t much of anything.
The snow outside had little contrast to the insipid pale drywall in the office. Dr. Veer’s words faded into their own white noise. He had given me his attempt at a motivational speech many times before and it was hard to focus when I already knew what he was going to say. I assumed he must have recycled the script with every patient and couldn’t recall which of us had already heard it. We were only case numbers after all, a stack of files with different names and diagnoses.
“I wanted to speak with you about your date of release.” This was a new addition to Dr. Veer’s speech, or more accurately, he hadn’t recycled it with me until now. He nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose to keep them from slipping, but as he moved his hand away they descended once more.
“When is it?” I sat up a little straighter. For the first time since my arrival, I finally had an honest interest in what Dr. Veer had to say.
“I wanted to discuss it with you.” He stated matter-of-factly.
“I was hoping for next Monday.” I was so shocked that I even had any say in my release date, I hadn't thought about it much. I just knew I wanted out before
Christmas.
The psychiatrist opened the top drawer of his desk and withdrew a pocket agenda. He flipped the tiny pages all the way to the end and carefully examined December. “That’s the twenty-fourth.” He didn’t look up from the calendar. Even though he wasn’t looking at me, I nodded. His glance shifted towards later in the week. “I was thinking of releasing you on Wednesday.”
It took all my self-control not to flat out tell him I though he must be kidding me. I’d been at Pine Brook for two weeks and I couldn’t imagine two days making much of a difference. That’s when it occurred to me that Dr. Veer actually was kidding me. This was a test. He knew as well as I did that two days didn’t matter, but he had to make sure I wouldn’t completely lose it over something like this. Some patients definitely would, but I wasn’t that kind of sick. I was sick alright, just not the kind of sick to lose it since Dr. Veer put me on some medications. I wasn’t sure what the meds did, but I guess they seemed to be doing it alright.
“I’d like to get home before Christmas.” I don’t know why I felt like I had to say it. By the look on his face, I could tell Dr. Veer already knew. He didn’t seem convinced that it was a good enough reason to discharge me on Monday. I took a deep breath before I spoke again. “Would Tuesday work?”
Dr. Veer looked at me, a little surprised. “Why?”
“Does one day make a difference?”
“If one day doesn’t make a difference, why not Wednesday?”
“If one day doesn’t make a difference, why not Monday?”
“Monday is off the table.
Try to convince me to discharge you on Tuesday.”
“I don’t see why outpatient care and therapy visits can't track the rest of my recovery.” I started speaking his language, medical terms and all. It was like my own version of his trick to pretend we were old friends.
Dr. Veer paused, staring at me for a moment. His eyes narrowed. “I’ll think about it. Come to my office again in a few hours.”
He dismissed me from the room and I spent the next three hours waiting for them to be over. They seemed to pass slower than the rest of my time at Pine Brook, which was already at half the speed of my life outside the hospital. I passed the time in a group therapy session, distracted by Dr. Veer’s impending decision.
When the therapy session finally came to a close, the patients all headed into the dining hall. I was almost too nervous to eat my dinner, but it wasn’t particularly appetizing to begin with. As I shoved the last bland bite into my mouth, I turned my silverware into the bucket and raced to Dr. Veer’s office. I knocked on the door and he prompted me to enter. I sat down anxiously in the chair across from him, awaiting his decision. He smiled a
little.
“Tuesday it is.”