The Girl Without a Name Read Free Page A

T.E.D. stockings, which travel well above her thighs like a bad Pippi Longstocking costume. She blinks and twitches her nose like a bunny. Dr. Berringer lifts her arm up again, and again it stays there, a macabre party trick, until he gently pushes it back down.
    “No change, huh?” he says, disappointed.
    “No. But we did get some results at least,” I answer, lifting her growing plastic chart out of the rack.
    “Okay, what do we got?”
    “MRI was normal.”
    “How about the LP?”
    “Just done.”
    He folds his arms. “Any stains sent out?”
    “A few things,” I answer. “RPR, India ink, HSV, cytology. That’ll take probably a week, but I can keep bugging the lab.”
    “Yeah, do that, would you?” he says. “Tox screen was negative, right?”
    “Negative,” I confirm. We stand there watching her. “I was thinking, what about a trial of benzodiazepines?” I ask.
    “Which one?”
    “Ativan, or Valium maybe? There have been reports on both.”
    He drops his stethoscope into his bag. “What do you think, Jason?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe we should wait for the LP.”
    Dr. Berringer lifts his hands, his fingers interlaced with his pointer fingers straight up against his lips like he’s shushing someone. We wait for his decision. “Jason’s right. I’m going to say hold off on the benzos for now. Let’s wait on the LP and see what a tincture of time does for our Jane. Jason, got anyone else?”
    “Actually, the rest of mine have all been discharged,” he answers.
    “Okay, good. I’ll catch up with you later then. Zoe, can I have a quick word? If you don’t mind?”
    “Of course.” My stomach does a somersault. I’ve been asked for a “quick word” many times in my life, and it’s never a good thing. First off, it’s never quick, and it’s certainly never someone wanting to take a little time out just to tell you what a damn good job you’re doing.
    He motions toward the family conference room. He shuts the door behind us. Photos of baby animals of every ilk (puppies, kittens, baby seals, lion cubs, etc.) hang crookedly in cheap metal frames. The room smells musty, like it was just vacuumed with a bag that needs a change. We sit down side by side at the long table, my heart prancing in my chest.
    “Just let me say, you’re not in trouble or anything,” he starts. “I just want to check in with you. See what’s going on.”
    “Okay,” I say. There is a pause, but I’m unsure how much more to offer. Two psychiatrists reflectively listening to each other doesn’t make for a sparkling tête-à-tête.
    “ Is there anything going on?” he asks.
    “In terms of?”
    “In terms of you. Your focus. You just don’t seem…I don’t know…all there lately. We all have off days. And you’re post-call, I know. Maybe that’s all this is. But if there’s more, or if there’s something I can help you out with, I want to know about it.” He leans back in his wooden chair, twisting the ring on his finger.
    “I have ADHD,” I announce. I hadn’t really planned on sharing, but my brain apparently had.
    He nods slowly with a concerned smile. A possibly practiced concerned smile.
    “It’s been a bit of a problem lately. I’m working on it with…well, with my psychiatrist. I know I’ve been off lately, as you noticed. Just so you’re aware. I’m aware of it.” I sound like an ass. Any more aware s and I’ll be clanging.
    He crosses his long legs and leans back farther in his chair, staring at the ceiling tiles. “I’m glad you told me, Zoe. I’m glad you were comfortable enough to do that.”
    I nod, not sure what to say to this canned psychiatrist line.
    “Life throws you curveballs sometimes. I know your mom died recently, and that’s been tough, I’m sure.”
    “Yes. It has.”
    “I know how you feel. When my mom died…” He looks down at the table and doesn’t finish the sentence.
    “It was hard?” I offer. I can’t help it; I’m a psychiatrist.
    “Yeah, it