“So what shall we begin with?” Trish, the counsellor asked. “It
doesn’t have to be in any particular order, just so long as we get the subjects
down.” She sat with pencil poised.
I needed a moment to collect my thoughts. I glanced through
the window. The nurse was leading the elderly gentleman back into the building.
She had her arm round his shoulders, comforting him. My mind started to clear.
“One of the things that bothers me most,” I said, “is the amount of time I have
to spend on my own.”
Trish put the number one
in the left-hand column. “Lonely,” she said, writing the word down.
“I hate being on my own. I think it has something to do with
the amount of time I spent on my own when I travelled the world on business.”
“Let’s not get into details at this stage. Let’s make the
list first.”
“Okay. I’m not sure whether the next thing on the list
should be guilt, or depression. I wake up feeling depressed every morning.”
“That sounds interesting. Shall we put depression as number
two, and guilt as number three? Although from what I’ve heard, you have little
to feel guilty about. ”
“You’d be surprised what I feel guilty about. And the fourth would be my feeling of impending doom,
which is getting worse by the day. It’s like a black cloud hanging over me. It
never goes away.”
“That’s a recognisable medical condition. Winston Churchill
had it. He called it his black dog. He said it sat on his shoulder. Anything
else?”
There was something else, and it was one of my most pressing
problems. But I wasn’t sure I was ready to talk about it.
“What is it?” Trish said, as if reading my mind.
“I’m not sure I want to talk about it,” I said.
“I can’t help you if I don’t know what the problem is.”
“It makes me feel as guilty as hell even thinking about it.”
“Would it have something to do with the way you’ve been
looking at me?” Trish enquired.
I hadn’t realised I was being so obvious. “I’m sorry if I’ve
made you feel uncomfortable,” I said. “And, yes it would.”
“There’s no need to apologise. You’re not the first man to
be sitting there looking at me like that, and I’m sure you won’t be the last.
And let’s clear one thing up before we go any further. I’m not available. I’m a
happily married woman. Since this is clearly a pressing problem, why don’t we
start with this one? You’re starved of
… shall we call it affection,
aren’t you?”
Extract from my book WILL YOU TELL HER, OR SHALL I? A true
story. My story. The story of how I lived with the ten-year terminal illness of
my wife. Available on www.booksthepublishersmissed.com
Twitter: Maximillian19
FB: facebook.com/Booksthepublishersmissedcom
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