Chapter 21 – Guide

After paying the driver, I emerged from the taxi and from the pavement stared at the modern looking building. It was mostly brick, with touches of glass and stainless steel, the sort of thing you'd see in an architecture design contest. I entered the lobby and found the directory. There. I found her name. Dr. Sara Campbell – Floor 3, Suite C.

Going up in the lift I found myself biting the inside of my cheek, something I tended to do when I was very nervous; and I was – nervous. At the door to suite C I took a deep breath and tried the handle. It was locked. I knocked on it as well.

I examined the crumpled paper in my first. Yes, this was the address. I checked the time and it had been over a half hour since I'd left Ruth's house. I rattled the handle. Definitely locked, and it appeared that no one was here, so I turned towards the lift. Right then the lift doors snicked open and a dark-skinned, raven-haired woman looked out of it. She was quite pretty – a West Indian.

She smiled at me. "Hello. I assume that you are Ruth's friend?"

Her accent had just a trace of the Caribbean. Jamaican? Dominican? No matter. Her face was filled with openness. She was plump, but about as tall as me. She moved her head and her long hair swayed in beautiful waves, for it nearly reached her waist. I could never be bothered with long hair – it took far too much time to wash and dry. She looked to be in her late thirties, only a few years older than me.

"Yes, I am. Rachel Timoney. And you must be Dr. Campbell."

She opened a large and expensive-looking Prada handbag, took out a ring of keys and jingled them. "I'll just unlock my office, shall I?"

I stepped aside as she worked at the door and it swung open on well-oiled hinges. "Please come in," she said, smiling.

Her reception area was nicely decorated in early Swedish modern, all teak and glass. It put my shabby office to shame.

Dr. Campbell switched on the lights, closed the door behind us, and then shepherded me to her inner office. It too was bright and modern; sparse, clean, and well put together, not unlike it's mistress. I stood in the center of the room, trying to focus on why I was here, and not to feel too inadequate.

She dropped her handbag on her desk, took her coat off (it too looked expensive and the pale orange dress she wore beneath it was very High Street, along with posh boots), and turned to me holding out her hand. "I'm Dr. Campbell. How can I be of aid to you?" Her bright and welcoming face told me she was fully engaged and ready to listen – to be here for me.

So can she settle my damaged heart and mind? I took her hand. Damaged? That's too harsh. Perhaps I was only a little bent; as well as scarred. "I… I'm a psychiatrist as well."

She smiled. "Yes."

"And you don't find that unusual?"

She shook her head and her dark eyes danced. "Not at all." She dropped my hand. "Sorry that I was running late, my kids… you see they're young, and their dad had an early meeting so I had to drop them off on a neighbor until he can get home." She looked at me closely. "So… may we begin?"

I saw the way she glanced at an overstuffed chair, so I unbuttoned my coat, and sat down in it. It was a great chair and despite being nervous I started to relax a teeny bit.

She nodded to me. "Dr. Ellingham indicated that you are having… difficulty. With what exactly?"

Oh God yes.

Before I could answer, she pressed her hands together for a moment and then held them out to me palms up. "Ruth would not have sent you to me with no good reason." She smiled reassuringly. "So, let me be your guide. When you are ready."

She sat on a wooden chair, turned it so she faced me, picked up a pad and pen and when she was clearly ready to listen, I started to tell her about it. "I had a romantic relationship, and that resulted in my getting pregnant, and I didn't know it. It was an ectopic pregnancy, and there were complications." I paused for air, but I pressed on. "There was surgery, peritonitis and sepsis. I survived. I lost an ovary."

She winced. "And you lost the baby. Go on," she added softly.

"And now… now I don't know where I stand with Ben – that's the man – and I don't know if he's my boyfriend anymore – hasn't taken my calls for days – and now…"

"Now?" she prodded.

The image of the girl by the river flashed into my mind. "I'm frightened. Of what happened, and… of what might come next. You will diagnose anxiety, depression…" Tears began to slide down my face but I kept talking. "And fear. Stark raving fear that I may not ever be a mother; again, that is. I mean, I was but then… I wasn't. But at the same time… I'm afraid that if I got pregnant again, if I could get pregnant – I have only one ovary now, right? But if I tried to have a baby what would happen? What if?" In my memory the girl by the Thames turned and smiled at me. Yes, that was her, the child I did have, and might have once more. I looked lovingly at her in my head and tried to relax.

Dr. Campbell made a note. "You did not mean to get pregnant."

"No. But now I keep thinking about it. And Ben."

"Is he with you?"

"No. We're not married. Ben's working out of the country. Government employee." I shook my head. "I have no idea where that's going. Him and me, I mean." I shrugged.

She gave me a tissue and I dabbed my face, then she waited until I composed myself. "A bit of a mess," I added.

Dr. Campbell shook her head. "So now you are left to work out your grief alone."

Grief? I took a deep breath. Yes, that was the pain in my chest. "Yes," I hissed, trying to hold the pain back. "Almost like it never happened."

"Oh?"

I shrugged. "Oh, I have the physical scars – emergency surgery will do that."

She nodded once. "A miscarriage can feel like that. A story that you cannot easily discuss with family or friends. But unlike the death of a child which has been born there is no funeral." She leaned towards me. "A terrible loss all the same. I am sorry you lost the baby."

"Thank you."

"Such grief can become debilitating in some cases. Are you working? Seeing patients?"

My hands had curled into fists and my nails were digging into my palms. Oddly that felt good for it meant I still felt something. "Yeah, I am doing so."

"And how is that going?"

I shrugged. "Fine."

"Right." She pursed her lips. "I think I can help guide you through this."

I laughed. "No magic fixes in this business are there?"

She smiled knowingly. "Unfortunately, no." She scribbled for a few seconds on her pad. "Dr. Timoney…"

"Call me Rachel."

"Then you may call me Sara. Now, let's start at the beginning. Tell me about Ben, how you met."

So I did.