Steve paced nervously outside the door to the doctor's office. For a moment, he wished he had taken Kayla up on her offer to accompany him to the appointment. He could use a little of her strength right about now. In fact, the only thing keeping him from turning around and leaving was the knowledge that Kayla was counting on him to at least give this new therapy a try. He owed it to her to follow through on his commitment.
Steve stopped pacing as he heard the intercom on the receptionist's desk buzz. He watched as she picked up the phone, spoke briefly, then hung up. Looking up, she smiled at Steve and said, "Dr. Friedman will see you now. Please go right in."
Steve did not move. Instead, he stared at the door, feeling like his body was frozen in place. "Mr. Johnson?" he heard the receptionist say. "You can go in now, sir."
Finally, Steve willed his body to move and walked to the door. He took a deep breath, opened the door, and walked inside.
Dr. Friedman was sitting behind the desk. He stood up and walked around the desk as Steve walked into the office. Dr. Friedman looked to be about fifty years old, with graying hair and a neatly trimmed goatee.
"Mr. Johnson? I'm Dr. Jacob Friedman." He held out his hand to Steve.
"Steve Johnson," Steve said as he shook the doctor's hand.
Dr. Friedman waved his hand towards a chair beside the desk. "Please have a seat."
Steve nodded and moved toward the chair, saying, "I thought I was supposed to lay on the couch or something."
Dr. Friedman smiled slightly. "That's a common misconception about psychotherapy. Not that you might not be laying on the couch someday, but for these initial meetings, I think it works better this way."
Steve just nodded again and sat down. He ran his hand across his face and adjusted his patch, then stopped as he noticed Dr. Friedman watching him. He gave an embarrassed smile and put his hands in his lap.
Dr. Friedman sat down behind his desk and looked down at some papers in front of him. Then he looked up at Steve. "Dr. Evans indicated that you were interested in pursuing EMDR to help with PTSD."
"EMDR. PTSD. Do you have abbreviations for everything?"
Dr. Friedman chuckled. "EMDR stands for 'Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing.' That's the eye therapy that's been developed for treatment of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. That is what you're here for, isn't it?"
Steve nodded, but remained silent.
"I can tell you that the therapy has shown some good success in patients with PTSD, so I'm happy to discuss it with you. But I'm curious about something. Has another doctor diagnosed you with the disorder? Dr. Evans did not mention any previous treatment."
Steve shook his head. "It's . . . uh . . . kind of a long story." He wiped his hands nervously on his jeans. "I was working with Kimberly Brady until recently. She's the one who said that I probably had PTSD.
Dr. Friedman nodded and made a notation on his file. "And you're not working with Ms. Brady anymore?"
Steve shook his head. "We . . . umm . . . both decided that it wasn't going to work anymore."
Again, Dr. Friedman nodded and made a note. Steve wondered if he was going to write down everything Steve said.
Dr. Friedman leaned back in his chair and looked Steve in the eye. "I'll be blunt, Mr. Johnson. I've read the newspaper report about your rescue and return to Salem. From what I read about the conditions under which you were held, I can certainly see how that would be a traumatic experience."
Steve shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He hated that Jack's article had let the entire world know at least part of what he had been through. Although Steve had to admit that there was a small benefit; the article kept him from having to explain the whole thing to Dr. Friedman.
Dr. Friedman continued to look at him, his gaze moving to Steve's patch. "Can I ask you . . . was the injury to your eye related to that same event?"
Steve self-consciously moved his hand to his patch, adjusting it slightly. Shaking his head, he said, "No. That injury occurred a long time ago. It's been over ten years now."
Dr. Friedman nodded and made another note. "Mr. Johnson, can you tell me why Ms. Brady believed you had PTSD?"
Steve shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure, but I guess it was because of my nightmares and . . . flashbacks I guess you call them."
"Tell me about your nightmares and flashbacks," Dr. Friedman said. "How often do you have them?"
Steve wiped his hands on his jeans again and told Dr. Friedman about how the nightmares had decreased then increased in frequency. He also told him about feeling unsafe at the apartment and needing to constantly check the security of his home.
"That feeling of being unsafe is called hypervigilance," Dr. Friedman told Steve. "It's a common behavior in people with PTSD. That kind of behavior helps us diagnose a patient as having PTSD."
Well at least it has a name, Steve thought to himself.
"Now . . . you also mentioned flashbacks. Can you tell me about those?" Dr. Friedman asked.
Steve took a deep breath. "Not really. I . . . I know I have them, but I don't really remember them. I only really know because other people tell me."
"Do you have any idea what triggers the flashback when you have them?"
Steve looked at his hands and the scars on his wrists. "I think it has something to do with my wrists. I know . . . well, I think that some of them have been triggered by somebody grabbing my wrist."
Dr. Friedman nodded. "Is that the only thing that triggers them?"
Steve shook his head. "Sometimes they start to come on when I'm remembering what happened while I was in that compound. But I can usually feel those coming and stop them."
The room fell silent at Dr. Friedman wrote steadily on his file. Finally, he leaned back in his chair and gave Steve a friendly smile.
"Well Mr. Johnson, based on the information you've provided, I would concur with Ms. Brady's diagnosis of PTSD. I think there is a good chance that the eye therapy can help you learn to deal with your memories."
Steve let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Dr. Friedman. And please, call me Steve."
"Don't thank me just yet, Steve." Dr. Friedman's expression grew serious. "This therapy can be very intense. I'm going to be asking you to relive these memories over and over again."
"I thought the therapy involved something with my eye?" Steve asked, confused.
"It does," Dr. Friedman said. "The studies show that by asking the patient to focus on an object, usually a finger, while remembering the traumatic event, we can cause the eyes to mimic the movements associated with memory in a way that desensitizes the patient to the traumatic memories."
Steve shook his head, even more confused. "So you wave your finger in front of my eye while I talk about what happened and that will fix whatever is going in my head? That seems a little . . . out there."
Dr. Friedman smiled again. "It may be 'out there,' Steve, but it has been shown to be quite successful." He paused and then asked, "Are you willing to give it a try?"
Steve was quiet. Somewhere, deep down, he had hoped that this therapy would simply involve some eye movements without requiring him to revisit everything that had happened in that compound. He knew it was naïve to think it would be that easy. So, the question was, could he share those experiences with Dr. Friedman? As he pondered that question, a picture of Kayla and Stephanie floated through his mind. That was all the answer he needed.
Steve nodded. "I'll give a try. I . . . I . . . know I need to do something."
"Good," Dr. Friedman replied. "I'd like to get started as quickly as possible, so you can make an appointment for the end of the week with my receptionist."
Steve nodded and stood, holding out his hand. "Thanks again for seeing me so quickly."
"You're welcome, Steve." Dr. Friedman shook Steve's hand. I'll see you in a few days."
Steve turned and headed out of the office. He stopped outside and a made an appointment for Friday afternoon. Checking his watch, he noticed that it was nearly noon. Just in time for Kayla's lunch break. A small smile crossed his face as he remembered their conversation from the previous week. I guess I'll find out if she was serious about that supply closet, he thought silently as he took off in search of his wife.