The Gatekeeper

Part III Love Child Chapter 11

11

GREENRIDGE WAS THE HOSPITAL Lauren decided to try first. An appointment was made. 

Since her return, I wondered and hoped that perhaps she was near recovery from her incapacitating panic attacks of the previous spring. When we arrived at the hospital the dreaded disorder sprang up again during the intake meeting. 

"I have the commitment papers here for you to sign. Take your time. Look them over and whenever you're ready sign them please," the doctor requested as he apprehensively sat back in his chair. 

The word commitment disturbed one of Lauren's alters.

"What do you mean by commitment," Lauren asked as her mood and manner noticeably shifted.

"Well, it's just a formality really, but in the event that you become a danger to yourself or others this document gives us the authority to confine you until you're feeling better," answered the doctor who sensed enough about Lauren to choose his words very carefully.

"I'm sorry . . . I'm afraid I've made a mistake and wasted your time. I won't be able to sign these papers, today or any other day." 

With that Lauren waved me over. 

"Erik, get me out of here. They want to lock me up, I just feel it. Let's go . . . NOW!" 

Irrational and unreasonable, a growing paranoia overcame any effort to her help at the hospital. The doctor was patient and accommodating, suggesting outpatient therapy for Lauren and recommended a colleague with experience in the area of incest. 

As I escorted my beleaguered companion to the car, I realized there would be no quick fix to this problem. One hopefully good thing came of the edgy evening's end—the doctor suggested the name of a female psychologist. 

MY HOPE WAS TO eliminate the possibility of some destructive personal infatuation developing between Lauren and her therapist. Strangely enough, even a woman, I would learn, could be vulnerable to fall under Lauren's spellbinding siren’s aura.

In the beginning, the therapist seemed a godsend. She was patient, experienced, and provided an above-and-beyond commitment to Lauren's recovery, often placing Lauren's needs above those of her other patients. Lauren had access to her 24 hours a day. They would have extended sessions at the clinic and crisis-resolving phone conversations at all hours of the night. 

Once again, Lauren was receiving much more care than she was paying for . . . with money.

During a therapy session, while in an information-accessing process known as co-consciousness, Lauren painfully began to isolate and dredge up memories of childhood trauma. The therapist had wedged open an outlet from which other pent-up memories, like steam from a cracked boiler, came spewing forth in the form of scalding flashbacks. 

As each repressed memory was released, the pressure that had been building in Lauren's mind was ever so slightly eased. The healing process had begun. Things would get much worse before significant improvements were achieved.

MY FIRST EXPOSTURE TO one of her devastating flashback episodes took place over the phone. I was contacted because Lauren, feeling a panic attacking coming on, couldn't reach Kurt. Hyperventilating, she described her symptoms and pleaded with me to come and get her. When I arrived she was rocking back and forth in the fetal position sitting in a corner of a closet.

The door was opening slowly, then, slamming shut, but not by Lauren’s hand as I approached closer.

"Try to calm down, Lauren. Breath deeply now," I advised not really knowing what to do or say.