I watched my newest patient, Lara Knox, fidget, her left foot tapping rapidly against the floor as she chewed her nails. She was only twelve but already carrying a burden too heavy for her small shoulders.
“It's not critical,” I whispered.
She glanced up, mouth slightly open, her fingers wet with saliva. “You don't know that,” she replied, eyeing me. Then she resumed fidgeting.
My colleague had referred her for two consultation sessions so I could write a diagnosis. Her mother was wealthy and careful about appearances. A mentally disturbed daughter won't enhance her image in certain circles.
Lara stayed silent all through the first session, staring at my three-inch stiletto while chewing at her nails.
I re-read the short note on her file. Her twin had drowned. She was declared 'critical' in the emergency unit and then minutes later, dead. Lara never got over her death.
An idea came to me.
“Lara. Do you want to play a game with me?”
Her blue eyes lifted from my shoes to my face and my heart lurched. “A game?”
I sat straighter in my chair. “Yes, a game. You in?” She nodded, still chewing her nails but the tapping stopped.
“Imagine you have a box in front of you,” I said, “and you're placing your thoughts into that box. What kind of things would be inside it?”
Lara gazed at me in silence as the air conditioner hummed, the only sound in the room.
“My sister…I want my sister back.” Her eyes glazed over as she chewed at her nails, rocking back and forth.
I sighed. This was harder than I'd imagined.
I hope you enjoyed reading this short piece. It's inspired by the Freewrite #dailyprompt phrase "it's not critical".
Thank you for visiting my blog.
Image credit: Open Hearts Project
