The DTs
by Phil Temples
“It’s
over!” sobbed the patient.
She grabbed a
wad of Kleenex from the psychiatrist and
proceeded to blow. The loud, trumpeting noise
sounded quite comical. He kept the smile off his
face and tried to reassure her.
“Have you
and Harry discussed this?” he asked.
“I’ve
tried, but he ignores me,” she replied.
“It’s as though I no longer exist to
him.”
“I see.”
She continued.
“Harry has gone through some big changes in
the past few months. First, there was the therapy,
then--drug rehab. He attends an AA meeting nearly
every night of the week. He’s really turned
his life around for the better. But... but...”
The sniffles
gave way to another full-blown cry.
“...There
doesn’t seem to be room for me in his life
anymore!”
The therapist
pondered this last statement for a moment. He
chose his words carefully.
“Sometimes
people just... change. Their attitudes about
themselves and about others--even their life
goals can abruptly take a different course. You
haven’t done anything wrong. It’s not
your fault. I hope you see this, yes?”
“I guess
so.”
She blew into
a big wad of tissues again. This time, the noise
was so loud it caused him to wince. He reached
for another box of Kleenex to replace the one she
had decimated in the short time of their session.
“Harry
seems so happy these days. He’s sober now.
He no longer has the DTs.”
“You need
to consider the idea that you might no longer be
a part of Harry’s life.” The therapist
made this statement in a soft, soothing manner.
More upbeat, he added, “We should talk about
you--about your life, and your goals. Right?”
“Yes. I
guess so,” she said, meekly.
“Good.”
The physician
reached down into his desk drawer and drew out a
bottle of Scotch. He replenished his glass. The
liquid splashed over the ice, making a comforting
sound. He gulped a large mouthful. It went down
nice and smooth. The Scotch soothed his jittery
nerves.
“Oh,
I’m sorry—that was thoughtless of me.
Would you like a drink, too?” asked the
psychiatrist.
“No
thanks.”
The smallish,
petite, pink pachyderm added, “I never touch
the stuff, myself.”
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