Five Minute Friday: Try

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July 2009

"No."

"Why not? Why not try it?"

I look around the office at the book case, the desk, the carpet and window and swallow. There is a fear stuck in my throat and I don't know if I can give voice to it. I look at Pendragon again.

"H-h-hospital. You said hospitalisation program..." I manage to stammer.

"Yes, it's the partial hospitalisation program, " he says. I look down at my lap.

"I don't want to go in the hospital.." I reply.

"It's not like a real hospital. It's an outpatient program. You go during the day and then you go home at night. Actually, it doesn't even look like a hospital." Pendragon tries to explain it more fully for me.

I am wary, skittish, and very afraid. It is early days in our therapeutic relationship and I'm still learning whether or not this man sitting across from me is trustworthy. And now he wants me to stick my neck out and try something new and scary? Something that probably won't work?

"No, I don't think so."  My answers are short and to the point, something that is very unlike me, but it is anxiety creeping in and an unspoken fear that this is something that he will somehow force me to try eventually.

But he doesn't. He nods. "Just think about it, okay? I really think if you give it a try, you'll benefit greatly from what that program has to offer. There's a great program therapist, Samantha. She's really great."

He's hit one of my hot buttons. I stare at him with daggers.

"She???" I query, wondering if I've heard him correctly. He knows how I feel about women and my past experiences.

"Yes, she. Actually, she's a lot like you," he says. Unlikely, I think, inwardly rolling my eyes. Despite my attempt to keep my disgust to myself, he senses it and continues, "No really, she is. Your personalities are very similar. I really think you'd like her a lot. And all that aside, the information is good stuff and I think would be very helpful to you."

I shift in my seat, glancing down at my hands, biting my lower lip as I think. "No, no, I really don't think so."

"Okay, okay, it was a thought. If you change your mind, and decide to give it a try, there's some fliers in the reception area about it and all you have to do is let me know," he answers and turns toward the computer on his desk. I can see by the clock on the wall that our time is almost up.

"Okay," I answer. We make another appointment for two weeks later and he ushers me out of the office.

In the reception area, I pass by the fliers in their little bins on the wall and wander over. My eyes flit over the various group therapy fliers and just as I'm about to walk toward the door, I happen to spy the one marked "Partial Hospitalisation Program."

I freeze for a moment, my breath catching in my throat. Then without another thought, I reach out, grasp one of the fliers and fold it in half with my appointment paper as I walk to the car. I don't know why I took one, but now it's burning a hole in my purse and I feel like I've made some kind of decision, although perhaps only subconsciously. I open the paper and read the information on it. My stomach is in knots and I am tempted to crumple it up and toss it out the window, but I don't. I keep that paper in my purse and look at it several times, reading the information over and over again.

A month later as I am sitting in Pendragon's office for another regular appointment, I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. I am sitting cross legged on the little sofa and am trying to think of how to respond to his usual opening question regarding how I am. With a tremor in my voice and feeling as though I am about to step off a ledge, the first thing that falls out of my mouth is, "Okay, so I've decided I want to try it..."

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