Free Life After by P.A Warren

go. She looks at my hands and grimaces. “Don’t make me go back in there, please?”
    Peeling my hands off her arm she looks down at me sympathetically. “I’m sorry sweetie you’ve got to go in.” Running her fingers through my hair, she says, “You have to do this. You are a strong young lady and you can do this.” She maneuvers me back towards the waiting room. Slowly with my head down and her hand now attached to my arm I reluctantly walk back into the waiting room, trying not to concentrate on the smell.
    We check in and find seats next to magazines only about a year old. I have this nervous energy around me that makes my leg tremble. Jenny puts her hand on my leg to stop it from tapping the floor. Looking over at her I mouth sorry and start to bite the skin on my thumb instead. Finally after what feels like forever the nurse calls my name and I go to the back room. The doctor walks in jovially, he’s an older man with very little hair and glasses perched precariously on the tip of his nose. He looks so creepy that I resist the urge to jump off the table. What is wrong with me? Geez get a grip.
    “Hello, Hadley, I’m Doctor Finley,” he says it in this gruff voice as he holds out his hand for me to shake.
    Taking his cold hand into mine I smile and nod silently. I’m way too nervous to talk it’s all I can do to get sick right here in front of the doctor. Swallowing uneasily I follow him with my eyes as I watch him picking up the chart and reading it over making hmming noises and writing some things down. Wishing I could see what he was writing I find myself leaning forward as if I could magically see what he has written. Finally he puts his pen down and really looks at me.
    “So how are you holding up?”
    That’s a great question, I think. Now do I be honest with him or do I fib and tell him I’m fine? I think back to my mom and how she said that it is better to tell a hundred truths than one lie and know what I have to do. No matter how badly it makes me feel.
    Looking down at my legs I fiddle with a loose thread on my skirt looking up I glance at the doctors name tag, looking at the block letters I start speaking softly, “I wish I knew how I felt about everything it’s  all so jumbled.” Not able to look him in the eye I look at a poster of the food pyramid on the wall. “My emotions feel like a jigsaw. I’m sad, happy, mad, and angry all the freaking time. I don’t understand why I’m still alive half the time and don’t feel like I should be.” I shouldn’t tell him that but the words just pour out like an avalanche. Taking a deep breath I finally look him in the eye.
    “My leg still hurts and I’m still taking the pain pills and sometimes the sleeping pills but I’m still having bad nightmares and I have issues with cars and panic attacks.” I throw it all out there my mouth scrambling to catch up with my brain.
    He starts scanning my chart again. He thoughtfully taps his cheek with his pen. “I want to go ahead and take out the stitches from your cheek and talk to your guardian about getting you set up with a Doctor and Physical Therapist for your knee. I also want you to stop the heavy pain pills and start using Tylenol and Motrin instead so I won’t write a new prescription for them. Once the stitches come out I don’t want you covering up the scar, it needs to heal . After a week or two you can use a cream to try and lessen the look of the scar if you want.” Just as I think he is done and I’m free to go he drops a bombshell on me. “I also want you to see a trauma psychologist.”
    Looking at him I’m aghast. “But I’m doing okay. I haven’t broken down. I.am.okay.” I say through gritted teeth.
    “Answer me honestly, don’t bullshit me Hadley.” Tilting my head at him, do doctor’s curse? Isn’t that against some sort of oath they take, that Hippocratic thing? Looking at me he replies, “I’m sure you are okay but after what you’ve told me I think you