Running on Insulin

Chapter 67

I sat in the waiting room while Samantha met with Dr. Freud.  She had wanted me to come in, I could tell from her face, but she was also determined to do this on her own. Part of me was really proud of her, part of me was worried that this independence was another attempt to leave. She was so worried about Stanley and trying to protect us, when it was our job to protect her. 

I sat in the waiting room, texting with Jenna, pretty much telling her what I was worried about. She texted back and talked me down. Texted me down? Eh, whatever. 

After almost an hour, the door to Dr. Freud's office opened and Samantha came out, her eyes red rimmed. 

"Sam, you  okay?" I asked. 

"She'll be okay," Dr. Freud said. "I was wondering if you could come in for a minute."

"Sure," I said, looking at Samantha, who kept her eyes averted.  The three of us went into the doctor's office. 

Samantha sat on the couch, and I sat beside her. Samantha looked down and wouldn't meet my eyes. What had she said to the doctor that she was afraid to look at me.

"So, I've gotten the results of all the testing I did with Samantha a few weeks ago," Dr. Freud said, pulling out a stack of papers. 

"I'm sorry," Samantha said quietly. 

"Sorry? What for?" I asked, looking at the doctor. He shrugged. 

"So, what do the results say?" I asked. 

"Well, we already knew Samantha is smart," the doctor said. "But in some areas, she's testing off the charts."

"What does that mean?" I asked. Samantha looked up. 

"Samantha has an incredible vocabulary. Well above the vocabulary of an average 13-year-old. She reads at a university level, and has reasoning skills befitting someone at least twice her age. She says that she doesn't do well in math, but her test results show that the reason she has problems in math isn't because she doesn't understand math. In fact, she understands it better. She just comes at it from a completely different angle. Something I will send to her school, so her math teacher will allow her to come to the answers her way. She isn't confused by the work, her brain just works differently.  Her reading comprehension is understandably off the charts, and her writing is also at a university level. 

I'd suggest skipping her a grade, but I don't think schools really do that anymore.  She's incredibly advanced academically for her age.  However, her emotional growth is stunted. I take that to be a result of her upbringing. 

What I can say, is I have seen incredible growth in the few weeks she's been living with you. She's open, she's honest, and sometimes, she is downright hilarious. She's doing very well with you and your wife. 

Clinically, Samantha has some depression and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which is not surprising, considering her upbringing. I would like to prescribe an antidepressant, and an anti-anxiety medication which should help her adjust better to her new surroundings. 

All in all, Samantha is absolutely a remarkable, talented and intelligent young woman. I think with your guidance and care, Samantha is going to surprise everyone."

I looked over at Samantha who was looking at her hands. 

"Samantha, this is good news," I said. 

"Yeah, but I'm still screwed up.  I have depression and PTSD. I'm not worth anything."

"Samantha, I have depression and anxiety. I take medications for it. Your worth is not based on whether or not you have a diagnosis of some sort. You are an amazing kid, even Dr. Freud says so. 

Samantha looked up at Dr. Freud. 

"Will the medications make the clouds go away?" she asked. 

"The clouds?" Dr. Freud asked. "Oh, you mean the clouds you sometimes feel hover over your head? Well, maybe not completely, but it'll definitely make them feel smaller, and we'll keep adjusting your medication until you feel like the clouds are either gone, or manageable. The medications won't be cure. But they will help keep you feeling better."

"Okay," she said, and finally looked up at me. 

I smiled at her. 

"You're going to be fine, baby girl," I said. "And we told you you were smart. You're off the charts smart!"

She smiled, just a little. 

"I'm still going to want to see you weekly for now, Samantha," Dr. Freud said to her. "But you're doing great."

"Ready to go?" I asked her. She smiled and nodded. 

We got up and headed down to the truck. 

"So, Sam," I said. "Sounds like you're practically a genius, according to Dr. Freud!"

"I'm not that smart," she said. 

"Well, Dr. Freud's tests seem to differ. You read that book you had to read for school in a day."

"It wasn't that long a book," she said. 

"Doesn't matter. You are completely caught up at school, you, when you do talk, you blow me away with the way you word things."

She shrugged again. 

"I want to hug  you so hard right now, but I don't want to hurt your ribs. So consider me hugging you really really hard right now. I'm so proud of you."

"Why? I'm not worth being proud of."

"Of course you are. We have so much to celebrate this weekend," I smiled. 

"What do you mean?"

"Josh organized a party this weekend and we have a bunch of friends coming out to meet you and celebrate our new family. And I think we need to celebrate your test results."

"A-a party?"

"It's small. I promise.  Just a couple of couples. Maybe three, I think? And maybe our friend Gerard."

"I-I don't like meeting new people," she said. "New people - scare  me."

"Hey, I don't think you've ever admitted that before. You're really starting to open up, kid. Again, I'm really proud of you. And I promise, I'll get Josh to get them to come over at different times, so that you can meet them separately and not all at once. How does that sound?"

"Why would you do that?" Sam asked. 

"Because, I care about you. And we want to celebrate you, but I don't want you to be uncomfortable. So how does it sound if we have everyone come one at a time, and you can meet them first, before they all come?"

"Um, okay. Maybe."

"And if you're uncomfortable at all, at any time, you just have to tell one of us, me, Jenna or Josh, and we'll go up to your room or something, so you can decompress. Fair?"

"Okay," Samantha said. 

I smiled and drove to the pharmacy where we filled Samantha's prescriptions and the pharmacist discussed the medication with her. I bought her a diet Dr. Pepper and the two of us went home.