Page 13 of Puck Me

I check with the nurses, who tell me that Chester has been in his room the whole day, refusing food and not going to any of the groups. I want to see him, to explain myself, but what can I say? Anything I could say at this point would only make things worse.

It’s not like I’m at liberty to tell him that I’m actually crazily attracted to him and I really want to kiss him. That would be a violation of boundaries and I won’t do it.

All I could do is offer platitudes and empty reassurances, which won’t help him. Time and space is what he needs now. I have faith in modern medicine. The medications he’s on will start to help him. He just needs to give them some time to do so.

The next day, Chester fails to come to my office at our appointment time.

Melody sticks her head in. “I’m sorry, Dr. Harris, but Chester is refusing to leave his bed. Do you want us to get an orderly to get him in here?”

“No, that’s okay, Melody. I’ll go to him.”

The last thing Chester needs is an orderly hauling him in here against his will. I got to his room and knock on the door. After a moment of no response, I open the door and step inside.

Chester is lying on his side, facing away from me.

“Hello, Chester,” I say quietly.

He doesn’t respond.

I cross around to the other side of the bed so that Chester is facing me. He cuts his eyes to the floor, looking determinedly away from me. He looks like he wants to turn around but can’t summon the energy, so he’s settling for looking away.

My heart squeezes in sympathy. I know how paralyzing depression can be, and my rejection yesterday can’t have helped Chester’s recovery at all—though it certainly hurt less than the alternative would have.

“How are you feeling, Chester?”

“Go away. I don’t want to see you.”

I would have preferred it if he was angry. Instead, he just sounds… lifeless.

“I’m not going away, Chester. I care about you and I want to help you get better.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I know you find it difficult to believe right now, and I honestly don’t blame you for that. Please try to understand that you are my patient, and I would never take advantage of you like that. It would be wrong.”

“How about you actually treat me like an adult who knows what they want? I’m not a child, Dr. Harris!”

“I know you’re not, but you are ill, just like someone who has a fever or a head injury. I know you don’t want to hear this, but what you think you want may not be what you’d want if you were in a better headspace.”

“Just go ahead and say it. I’m pathetic. That’s why you don’t want me. Who would want to be with someone this messed up?”

“Chester, no. That’s not it at all. I don’t think you’re pathetic.”

Chester watches me through narrowed eyes, clearly wondering whether to believe me. I look back at him, offering him only open sincerity.

He shrugs. “Whatever. I don’t care.”

I know very well that he cares quite a lot, but I’m not going to point that out right now. “Why don’t you tell me a bit more about how you’re feeling?”

“I feel like crap,” Chester spits. “What’s new?”

“Have you had any more suicidal thoughts?”

“No,” Chester says, a little too quickly. He clenches his jaw and suddenly won’t look at me.

“I see.” We’re not getting anywhere like this. Maybe I need to try a new approach. Perhaps if I show some vulnerability with Chester, he will do the same with me. It’s unorthodox, but it’s worth a shot.

“Well, I’ve had a pretty bad day as well. Three suicidal patients, one relapse and a severely debilitating case of OCD came in. I can’t always help everyone even though I want to. Pretty exhausting stuff.”

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