Lundyn Bridges Read Free Page B

her.”
    Waiting for the elevator, my first response was to resign. Perhaps this wasn’t the right job for me. Although I really wanted to help women with drug and alcohol issues, I surmised the task might overwhelm me. It was something I always said I would do, but my first meeting with Francine indicated she didn’t want my help. I was unprepared for the rejection and had not learned it wasn’t personal.
    On Friday afternoon, I attended my first group session. I was assigned to Jamel Adams, the Clinical Supervisor of the Adolescent Obesity Program. Jamel welcomed me as his assistant, however, it was clearfrom my observation he didn’t need assistance. His six foot two inch frame towered over the children. The bass in his voice commanded respect but was beset by the depth of his smile. He was firm but consistent, and his young clients seemed to like him. I welcomed the opportunity to work under his tutelage.
    At the conclusion of the group, I accompanied Jamel to his office for a review of each child's file. The group, which began with eighteen, now had eleven members.
    "These are the ones who will make it," Jamel said smiling. "They are committed to their weight loss, and their families are supportive."
    Jamel explained the fundamentals of successful weight loss for children which involved a lifestyle change for the family. "It's not just what they are eating; it's also what they are not doing. Their lives were very sedentary." Jamel passed me another file. "Look at Jessica," he said motioning for me to open the file. "Her parents drove her to the school bus because it stopped three blocks away. They had her doctor excuse her from gym, and her favorite activity was watching movies while snacking on ice cream and cookies." He shook his head. "Life-long health is proactive. Many people don't think about their health until there is an unwelcomed weight gain or preventable illness."
    Two hours later, I thanked Jamel for the insights and headed home. Although it was typically a ten minute drive, I seemed to catch every red light on Ellsworth Avenue. The week had been challenging and I was looking forward to curling up on my couch in front of the television. It was almost paradoxical – teaching children to stay active while I cherished the moments in my living room with a good book or movie.
    My apartment was my haven where I spent hours sipping raspberry tea while looking out my third floor window. My kitchen window looked out over Ellsworth Avenue and the corner convenience store that kept a steady stream of traffic. The telephone pole to the right of the door became the resting place for every dog whose owner ran into the store to make a purchase.
    My bedroom window captured the bustle of Negley Avenue, especially on Friday and Saturday nights when the restaurants were open late and offered Salsa dancing and jazz. The constant stream of headlights flashed through my blinds as people jockeyed for parking spaces to avoid having to feed the meters on Walnut Street.
    As I settled on the couch with my remote, I put my head back and reflected on my first week – it was intensive, exhausting and extremely demanding. With the exception of my experience with the adolescent obesity group, it left me feeling inept. My time had been spent being tortured by Francine’s arrogant refusal to be compliant, and nothing therapeutic transpired. The experience left me flustered and without a sense of control. I was the therapist. I was supposed to be in control of our sessions.
    On Saturday morning I seriously contemplated a career change. In spite of the hours I spent on the Internet researching addiction and depression, shadowing psychologists, and reading the medical histories of at least one hundred patients, there was nothing in all that information to help me with Francine. This feeling of no control frightened me. Emotionally, I was an eight year old not knowing who, where, why or what.
    Later that evening, I