What Looks Like Crazy Read Free

Some of my young patients preferred talking to me through Bubba. The wear and tear on his fur was proof that he made the little ones feel safe and secure in my office.
    â€œBubba, Dr. Holly isn’t feeling well today,” Mona said. “Could you please help her?” She put the bear right up to my face.
    I sighed and closed my eyes, but it did not deter Mona. She changed her voice and pretended to be Bubba.
    â€œOh no, we have to help Dr. Kate,” the squeaky Bubba voice said. “Tell her she should get a manicure.”
    I smacked my forehead. “Now, why didn’t I think of that? You just solved all my problems, Bubba-Bear.”
    Bubba went on. “Uh-oh, Dr. Kate is not playing nice today. She is being rude. She does not appreciate that her friend Mona could be out having a good time instead of answering Dr. Kate’s phone and putting up with her nutso patients.”
    I gave a sigh. Mona was not only mouthy but as politically incorrect as they came. I had told her time and again not to refer to my patients as nutso, wacko, or screwball, and not to call the reception area the Asylum Holding Room. Mona always said it was done in fun and, besides, she’d had enough therapy in her life that she’d earned the right to tell it like it was.
    What could I do? Mona answered my phone for free. I’d tried to return the favor by teaching her to use a computer, and Mona was now able to shop online.
    â€œOkay, Bubba,” I said, taking him from Mona. “Tell Mona that Dr. Kate is sorry for being grumpy. Tell her that Dr. Kate is just stressed-out because she doesn’t like having patients who try to jump off buildings. And Dr. Kate does not enjoy talking about men’s penises, because she hasn’t had sex in a very long time.”
    â€œExcuse me?” A voice sounded from the doorway. I looked around Bubba and found a mousy woman with brown hair and clunky eyeglasses standing at the door. I was certain she’d heard every word.
    â€œWho are you?” Mona blurted.
    â€œAlice Smithers,” she said. She pushed her glasses high on her nose and looked from Mona to Bubba to me. “I have a one o’clock appointment to see Dr. Holly. I’m early. Am I in the wrong office?”
    I wanted to put Bubba over my face and smother myself. Instead I raised my hand. “I’m Dr. Holly.”
    Â 
    I had almost recovered from my embarrassment by the time Mona buzzed me to say that Alice Smithers had filled out her preliminary paperwork. As I invited Alice inside my office, I noted that she looked anxious. I didn’t know whether it was a simple case of new-patient jitters, or whether she was second-guessing her choice of therapists, or both.
    She sat on the sofa and clasped her hands together so tightly that her knuckles turned white. I attached her information sheet to my clipboard and took the chair beside her. I smiled and made eye contact, which wasn’t easy considering that she knew how long it had been since I’d been laid.
    Alice’s gaze darted about the room before landing on my coffee table, where I kept a short stack of magazines, a bowl of potpourri-scented seashells, and a box of tissues.
    â€œI’m Kate,” I said, offering my hand. “Is it okay if I call you Alice?” She gave a quick nod, unleashed her right hand from the left, and shook mine.
    A lot of therapists spend the initial visit getting a patient’s complete history, beginning from the moment they slipped from their mother’s womb. I don’t do that. I have a short attention span, and my eyes glaze over by the time they reach third grade.
    I do like to know whether patients are taking psychiatric medication, though. There are certain drugs that are attention-grabbers, and if a patient is taking one of them, I can pretty much bet I’m dealing with a psychotic. I want to make sure those puppies are currently on their meds.
    Fortunately Alice