Enough to Miss Christmas

We slunk back to Summerside and the world of soft beds and running water, body weary and grubby. We fought each other for hot showers and who'd help unpack the car, stack the piles of dirty clothes, water the moisture-starved plants, walk "Woof" and perform the myriad of tasks put on hold for two delightful weeks. But we were home, and, for the most part content. We each retreated to our quarters with our own gear, Paul, without a complaint, to the guest room.

To hasten our psychiatric chore, we'd placed a call from New Hampshire and secured appointments for both of Karen and I with Dr. Jacob Mason, at his Summerside office. I didn't protest when Paul had Thatcher Wright 'check him out'. The evaluation passed muster and we were scheduled for Monday at nine. It was a holiday, Labor Day, but Karen was to begin her very first day of normal people schooling the next day. The doctor had agreed to work on the holiday to accommodate my daughter's attendance at this important occasion.

Paul and I discussed the first meeting with the doctor and Paul agreed that as Karen and I were scheduled, his presence would only complicate matters. The two of us would see the doctor together and establish ground rules and then meet separately, each for an hour. After this initial get-to-know each-other visit the doctor would see us both weekly.

On Sunday night as Karen and I lay in my bed, I asked her how she felt about our upcoming meeting. Timmy hadn't helped by asking what time we were going to the 'Cuckoo' doctor.

"Scared," she said with stark honesty.

"Me, too. But I'll be glad when we've at least met him, and get a hint of what it's going to be like. What will tell your friends?"

"Nothing! I don't want them to think I'm crazy!"

"I'll give you a suggestion. If you don't tell them, and they find out; and in little Summerside, that's a real possibility, it would be much worse. Why don't you blame us? You can tell them your parents want you to see Dr. Mason because your mother died. That's the truth and the truth never hurt."

"Should I tell them she killed herself?"

I paused to consider. "That's up to you; your choice. But think about it first. You can always say you don't want to talk about it."

"Dad might get mad if I told anyone."

"I can't answer that. You could ask him. Personally, I wouldn't go around volunteering that information but I wouldn't lie either. Just think it through first."

"Are you going to tell Mrs. Peck who you're seeing; that he's a shrink?"