“Now, look, I know you’re dealing with a lot of new things right now, so I don’t want to spring any more big changes on you,” she reassured him, allowing him to take a calming breath. “I’m going to refill the prescription, for now, but that being said… if you feel so inclined to try sleeping without it…,” she trailed off with another casual shrug as she quickly filled out his prescription sheets and ripped them out for him.
He nodded hesitantly.
She gathered the papers together on her lap, grabbing a big, manila envelope from the bookshelf against the wall beside her and stuffing them inside. She handed it over to him with a smile, and he returned her grin politely, in spite of his anxiety over the thought of stopping his medication and potentially inviting those horrid nightmares back into his life.
“I really think, given the other medications you’re on and all the progress you’ve made in getting past your PTSD, you’ll be just fine without them,” she encouraged. “But we’ll revisit that at the end of the year, once you’ve had a chance to get settled here and gotten through your first semester.”
Jacob took in a deep breath. “Sounds good,” he fibbed.
“Well, alrighty, then,” she stated, punctuating the statement by slapping her palms lightly on her lap. “It was wonderful to meet you today, Jacob. Do you have any other questions or concerns for me before I send you on your way?”
“Uh,” he paused, racking his brain. “Not that I can think of, no.”
“Sounds good,” she smiled. “Oh! One more thing,” she recalled, grabbing a business card from a small, cat-shaped holder on the bookshelf and handing it over to him. “This card has all of my contact information, including a work cell phone for any emergencies that may occur outside of office hours,” she explained.
He nodded, looking over the card.
“Emphasis on the word ‘emergency,’” she stated with polite severity. “I would appreciate your respect on that.”
“Of course,” he nodded, slipping the card into the file with his prescriptions for safe keeping. “Thank you.”
“And I don’t see a phone number here in your forms. Is there a way I can contact you if need be?” she asked, clicking her pen open to jot down his information.
“Oh, um…,” he trailed off, pondering that for a moment. “Actually, I don’t have a phone right now.”
“Okay,” she nodded, unfazed. “How about an email address?”
“Uh… I don’t have one of those either,” he said. She pursed her lips at the predicament. “But I can set one up when I get back to school,” he offered.
She smiled. “That would be great. And when you do, why don’t you send me a quick message so I have it for my records?” she suggested.
“Yeah, of course. Will do,” he promised.
“Perfect,” the doctor replied, rising and placing her notebook on the chair behind her. Jacob followed as she led him to the door. “It was really great to meet you, Jacob,” she offered her hand for a shake.
“Yeah, you too,” Jacob answered.
“We’ll see you next week,” she said.
He gave her a wave, nodded to the receptionist on his way out the door, and made his way to the bus stop with a smile on his face and his head held high. A weight was lifted off his shoulders after such a lovely first meeting with his doctor. He had been anxiously anticipating all of the worst scenarios that could arise, but she exceeded his expectations. In light of that, he walked into the office of his parole officer with newfound confidence. He vowed to stop expecting the worst and allowed himself a bit of hope, for once, that things would go smoothly.
He checked in with the receptionist and waited a good twenty minutes in the lobby before she called him back. Stepping into the dimly lit hallway, his heartrate started to accelerate as she directed him to the door at the end of the hall. The name plate on the door read “Officer Johnathan Millburn.” Unlike with his therapist, he didn’t have any prior experience to fall back on when it came to parole. He had no idea what to expect, aside from the stories he had heard from his fellow patients at Bellevue. So, with a deep, calming breath, he reminded himself to hope for the best. He twisted the old, squeaky doorknob and put on his most confident face as he stepped into the small office.
A gruff, unsmiling older gentleman sat at the desk in the center of the room. He flipped casually through papers, scowling at them from behind the tiny, rectangular reading glasses that rested on the tip of his nose. Not looking up upon Jacob’s entrance, he held out a hand and requested, “Urine sample,” in a tired, monotone voice.
Jacob’s face fell. “Um… I don’t…,” he began, looking around the room, unsure of how to respond to such a request.
The man peeked up at him over the top of his glasses. “She didn’t give you a cup for a urine sample?” he asked bluntly.
“Uh, no,” Jacob shook his head.
The man let out an exasperated sigh. He shut the file on his desk, tossed his glasses on top of it, and hoisted himself from his seat. He walked straight past Jacob into the hallway, closing the door behind him without a word.
Jacob stood uncomfortably in the empty room, his confidence extinguished by the awkward first impression. He shoved his hands in his pockets and tapped his foot on the brown, industrial carpet. He looked around the room while he waited, appraising the dust-laden bookshelves and the stacks of loose papers spread across the desk, some covered in coffee stains and others crumpled into a pile.
A few minutes later, the door opened abruptly, making Jacob jump at the sudden movement. The grey-haired man returned, tugging his pants up by his seemingly ineffective belt as he returned to his seat. He replaced his glasses on his nose and sifted through the files on his desk top, pulling one out and opening it to the first page. He licked his thumb and sifted through the pages for a minute before looking up at Jacob over the rim of his spectacles, narrowing his eyes at the way he stood by the door, anxiously shifting his feet.
“Have a seat,” he directed.
“Oh, sorry,” Jacob replied, quickly following the order and taking the seat opposite the officer. He cleared his dry throat, rubbing his palms together. They were beginning to sweat, reminding him of his nerves, so he wiped them on his pant legs and set them at his sides, forcing himself to sit up straight and feign some semblance of poise.
“She’ll give you the test on your way out,” the officer assured him. “Now, let’s take a look-see here,” he said, turning his attention back to the file in his hands. He took a sip of his coffee, spilling a few drops on some nearby paperwork when he set his cup down.
Jacob sat in silence as the officer read through his file. He scanned the words on the page as if it was his first time seeing them, muttering to himself as he read. Jacob couldn’t stop himself from tapping his fingers on his knees as he waited for the man’s response to his story. The dim, yellowish light mixed with the smell of old books and the uncomfortable anticipation in his gut reminded him of the many times he sat across from the principal of his high school. He always felt that same sense of dread until the principal informed him of the reason he had been called into her office, which was always something to do with his sister’s behavior, never his own.