Gina walked through her condo, checking door and window locks, looking in the closets and under the bed. When finally she felt her home was safe, she breathed deeply and repeated her simple grounding words and phrases until a sense of calm embraced her mind. She sat still allowing that sense of urgency and panic to recede completely then she crossed the room, took her yoga mat out of the closet and began some simple yoga exercises to further ground herself in the moment.
She made a cup of tea and called her friend Katherine. “Hey, hi there stranger, how goes it in the NICU?” Katherine asked. She and Gina first met at the Lake View Presbyterian Church the first day that Gina arrived for choir practice. Katherine and her family were long time members of the church and she had been singing in the choir since she was 15. She and Gina soon were singing duets and becoming fast friends; Sunday became their day. After church they went for a walk or went shopping and Sunday dinner was always at Katherine’s parent’s house. Mrs. Winslow was a good old fashioned cook, specializing in the usual homey fare of beef stew, meatloaf and roast chicken. She always sent Gina home with ‘care packages’ that provided Gina with several meals.
Katherine Winslow worked as a buyer at Lord and Taylor and lived with her parents while her fiancée completed his internship in psychology. “Oh, the NICU is like usual,” Gina said, not wanting to get into anything heavy. “How’s Greg? Will he be coming back for the holidays?”
“Yes indeed,” Katherine replied, “and I can’t wait! Between my parents and my store managers I’m going nuts!”
Gina laughed, “You can always bunk over here with me. This sofa pulls out to make a double bed and there’s not a better view in the whole city!”
“I know, you lucky dog! What are you doing for the holidays?” Katherine asked.
Gina said “Tanya and her kids and I are going away some of the time and it’s a busy time at the hospital, you know with the holidays and all.”
“Well if you’re in town you should plan to come over to our house, Tanya and her kids too. You know my Mom cooks up a storm and she’d be delighted to have a big crowd for the holidays. We always gather around the piano and sing all night,” Katherine sang a little melody and
Gina harmonized till they ended up laughing, “That sounds great, Kat, I’ll ask Tanya about it.”
After hanging up, Gina pulled out her laptop. There were two infants she was very concerned about and needed to research their conditions before morning rounds. She had spent about an hour surfing various medical sites when traumatic memories began drifting into her mind. They had meandered unnoticed, piling up, threatening to fall over and smother her. More details had surfaced since her last therapy session. More feelings… memories … Her therapist had suggested she write things down when they came to mind, so she created a Word document and started typing.
When she entered medical school, she had literally become Gina Reynolds, MD, a neonatologist dedicated to helping newborns. She had gone through several transitions to get here moving from one ‘being’ to another. Most of the time, she kept her traumas at bay. She felt best when she was busy, studying or practicing medicine. Reflexively rubbing her right tibia fingers circling one bumpy spot, she floated into a dreamy state, drifting further and further away. Images glided through her mind; terror… tumbling through space… pain. Papa wrapping her leg with heavy bandages he used on the cattle; his face angry, scolding words... tears…Then she remembered hobbling about with two large sticks she held under her arms. Papa yelling: “Watch where you’re going you'll fall!” Mama’s voice “He only yelled ‘atcha cause he loves ya. Now you stop your crying, you ain’t no little baby no more.” Bad feelings surged to the surface, guilt and fear and a terrible sense of aloneness. She felt nauseous. Gina jerked herself out of that dream-like state and shook her head, like a wet dog. Shifting around she gazed at her leg. Pulling up her pant leg she saw there was a slight bulge in her right tibia. Reaching down she felt the area around the bulge. She’d walked with a slight limp most of her life, but she had only a vague memory that her leg had been broken. That seemed odd that she didn’t know if it had happened or not. How could she forget something like that? She thought about it now and wondered if the nightmare was true. Had the thing she dreamed really happened?
She felt herself falling. She heard herself screaming. She hit the ground hard, body banging against solid earth. There was a sharp pain in her leg. She remembered looking up and seeing faces looking down at her. There were three of them… laughing and pointing. It was like a freak show, three gawking, laughing faces. She saw him point his finger at her and grin that sneering grin of his. “Not a word,” he warned. “Don’t you say a word,” he moved his forefinger across his throat in a cutting gesture.
A flash of terror jettisoned through her body as chaos reigned inside her mind. Traumatic memories came flooding back, cascading through her mind like molten lava from a volcano, a full visual image of a series of events. She was in full panic mode now movie film frames clicked past in her mind. Panting, she got up and paced around her condo. Again she checked the locks on the door and window. She checked under her bed, pillow and inside her night stand drawer, she peered out the bedroom blinds at the front street. She used the coping techniques she had been taught and began to calm down. She had forced herself not to think about the past. Those years were over. She had a new life now. She was free from the burden of the past - or at least she hoped she was.
She tried to regain her composure. She marched around her condo, letting her feet stomp on the carpet. Calmer she decided it would help if she called a friend. Tanya answered with a cheerful “What’s up girlfriend?” That was enough to help Gina ground herself in real time. They chatted about Tanya’s kids, discussed the newest admission to the unit and gossiped about two staff members who were secretly dating. Gina felt better when she said good night fifteen minutes later. I’ll just log my news sites before I go to sleep, she thought. That was a mistake. Scrolling through headlines her eye spied a line of text about a kidnapping in West Virginia. Anxiety pulsing she scanned the article; flashes like lightning bolts whizzed across her mind. The images were almost microscopic but her recognition was enough to terrify her. Two fitful hours later, Gina dozed off; her last waking image was of three ruddy, cackling faces staring down and Jake dragging his index finger across his throat in a slashing gesture...
CHAPTER 7
SAFE HAVEN
Glaring sunlight blinded her, as she sped out of the Metro Station emerging onto busy W. Monroe Street. She raced across the street toward the Great Lakes Bank Building. Horns blared, tires screeched. The sounds and smells of the big city assaulted her as she charged into traffic … ‘You’re late, you’re late,’ anxiety pounded inside her head. ‘Hurry up…faster!’ she thought as she tore down the sidewalk and across another street jam packed with pedestrians, buses, taxis, and delivery trucks. Masses of people, all colors, shapes and sizes, from all walks of life rushed about carrying packages and shopping bags, talking into their cell phones. Stunning women strolled along - Prada bags slung over their shoulders. Vagrants, filthy and downtrodden, pushed their shopping carts, business men with dapper haircuts carried expensive briefcases alongside unisex young people, texting, in their upscale raggedy jeans and declarative T shirts. She wove through them all, aware only of her running legs and those awful thoughts pounding in her head. Past Panda Express, she glanced at her watch to see how late she was. With rapid staccato thrusts she pressed the ‘up’ button shifting impatiently, ready to rush in the moment the doors opened. ‘Hurry, hurry, hurry…,’ she thought. ‘Stop it, just calm down!’ she demanded.
The elevator doors parted and she rushed in pressing ‘3’ repeatedly, ignoring the others who had stepped on and were also pushing buttons for their floors. “You should have taken the steps,’ she lectured herself. Heart pounding and forehead veins throbbing, she raced down the blue carpeted hallway until she arrived at a door on which a rectangular brass name plate w
as mounted. The plate read: Elisabeth A. Reinhardt, PhD. She pushed into an empty waiting room and knocked on a partially opened office door, “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting,” she said. “I hope it’s alright that I’m a little late. Is it alright if I come in?” An older woman, blonde hair streaked with grey, wearing a flowing peach jacket, crossed the room to greet her “Of course, come in,” Dr. Reinhardt invited with a wave of her arm. The new arrival waited a beat before entering and moving toward an overstuffed easy chair. Calm hazel eyes watched her patient settle herself wordlessly. The room was spacious and smelled of flowers and furniture polish. It was decorated with antiques of Viennese descent, carved mahogany furniture, a set of jade figurines. The walls displayed muted wallpaper and rich oil paintings in ornate frames. A faded red and gold oriental carpet covered the floor; areca palms shared the window with heavy brocade curtains.
The young woman sat and stared out the window breathed heavily. She was flustered and upset. She didn’t like to start this way. She didn’t like being this way. She stared out the window at the busy street below her, crowds of people walking in all directions, people sipping Starbuck’s lattes pushed out the doors. “Sorry, I’m late,” she muttered still looking out the window. “Some things are unavoidable,” Dr. Reinhardt said shrugging. That yielded a momentary glance. The young woman twisted a thread dangling from the hem of her blue hospital scrubs. “I should have left earlier. I got caught up in things.” She explained. Her blue eyes looked at the other woman worriedly. “You’re here now. Let’s focus on what’s going on and dispense with the unnecessary apologies, Gina,” the woman suggested calmly. The peach colored sleeve moved a bit as she adjusted her glasses and relaxed more deeply into her chair. “I’m worried that you’re mad at me,” Gina continued. The therapist crossed her legs and looked at her patient. “Do you seriously think I’d be mad at you for being a few minutes late?” The young woman glanced in her direction. “I suppose not,” she made eye contact then turned back to the window.
Minutes passed. “Gina, if you want me to know what’s going on with you, you’ll have to tell me, because we both know that your lateness is not the issue.” said the older woman reasonably.
“I’m just so anxious and panicky. I had a nightmare last night. I’ve had it before. It stays with me after I’m awake. I can’t seem to shake it. It’s so real.”
The therapist nodded, watching various emotions flash across her patient’s face, “Nightmares can have that kind of impact.”
“I’m afraid I’m losing my mind. I’m confused. I don’t know what’s going on with me,” Gina confessed.
“What confuses you?” the therapist asked.
“I think crazy thoughts and I don’t feel like myself.” Looking at her therapist Gina rubbed her face with her hands, closing her eyes as if she had a migraine.
“What kind of thoughts?” the therapist asked.
“I feel like I’m in danger, real danger. I know that’s not real. How could I be in danger? I’m a doctor. I live a quiet life. I don’t engage in high risk behaviors. Like isn’t that crazy?” Gina asked.
“I’m not sure. I suppose both things could be real. A person could lead a quiet life and still be in danger for some reason. A person could have traumatic childhood experiences and feel that they are in danger when they are not. Let’s just try to understand what you’re going through without judging it. Describe what you are experiencing that will help us to be clear about what’s really happening.”
“I’ve been having these nightmares. I had another one last night. It was horrible.….”
The older woman nodded, “uh huh, was it the same scene as last time?”
“Yes, but it went further this time, they found me. They had pitchforks and I jumped out the high loft door, then I woke up. I was shaking and terrified. I didn’t feel safe. I felt like he was there in the room or that he was coming for me.”
“How did you manage when you woke up,” the therapist asked, “were you able to re-orient?”
“I tried,” Gina replied, “but it was hard, very hard. The feelings stayed with me for hours. I was panicky, paranoid and anxious all morning. My head doesn’t feel right today.”
“How do you mean?” The older woman asked.
“I feel like I’m yelling at myself. Like I have to do something extra in order to be safe, but its’ like I’m working against myself.” Gina said looking down at her hands.
“Say more about that. Working against yourself how?” the therapist prodded
Silence filled the space around and between them, the clock ticked.
“What aren’t you telling me, Gina?” Dr. Reinhardt prompted.
“I keep a knife under my pillow,” Gina finally said clearly afraid of the therapist’s response.
“I see,” said the therapist slowly, “how long have you been keeping a knife under your pillow?”
“A few days,” was the hesitant answer.
“Just a few days?” She waited for an answer saw a nod and continued. “Did something happen that made you feel more unsafe?”
“Yes,” Gina reflected, “I got an email from … well from a friend in my old hometown and I read about some crimes in my hometown paper that made me remember some things that happened to me.”
The therapist nodded, “Ok so it sounds like there are some current factors that are making you more anxious and you are having nightmares and memories about your childhood surfacing that remind you of the things you went through as a child, is that right?” Nod. “It sounds like you have two separate fear-inducing processes happening at the same time.”
They spent the rest of the session talking about the nightmare. They looked at every new detail, examining its content and connecting it with other nightmares and memories that had emerged. They were careful not to reach conclusions and to differentiate between memories, ‘nightmare facts’ and ‘real facts’.
“One thing I’m aware of Gina,” said Dr. Reinhardt, “is that you feel the threat of your cousin coming after you is a real present threat. Is that true?” She watched her patient carefully as she pondered the question.
“Yes,” Gina admitted reluctantly, “I think he’s still after me and I think the fact that I think that is crazy.”
“It may be or it may not be. Do you have any reason in the present to think that?” the doctor asked.
“I’m not sure. He tried to track me down years ago, I know that. And I hear every time he and his friends come to town they ask people about me, you know if they know where I am and stuff. When we were children he was really crazy and he never left me alone. I worry that I’m making this bigger than it is but on the other hand, what if I’m not?”
“Exactly, minimizing a real reason to worry can be as much of a problem as overreacting to trauma-based thoughts and feelings, if not more so. That’s all the more reason to be clear about this. Right?” the therapist inquired.
That caught Gina up short. She hadn’t actually considered that she was not ‘crazy.’ She hadn’t expected her therapist to agree with her. She was automatically thinking that she was over-reacting and making this whole thing up. She frowned wondering why she tended to doubt herself.
Catching the look on her face, Dr. Reinhardt said, “If you’re really afraid perhaps you could go stay with a friend for a while.
Gina nodded slowly, “I could do that,” she mused slowly. “My friend Katherine has some extra bedrooms at her house.”
“OK, well that’s something to consider,” the therapist responded, “there’s no advantage to being alone and terrified. If something makes you feel better, do it.”
Their focus shifted to coping strategies as they reviewed grounding and cognitive techniques for managing anxiety symptoms.
After they said goodbye, Dr. Reinhardt stood at the window, reflecting as dusk settled on the busy street below. Then she walked to her elegant carved desk and sat down, swiveling to take a book from the shelf behind her. Opening the book, she began to s
can through the diagnostic criteria, making notes as she read. Twenty minutes later she sighed deeply, put down her pen and closed her book. She gazed across the room deep in thought. She had two divergent trains of thought, one dealing with her patient’s treatment issues, the other traveling a more clandestine route. This may change everything, she thought, historic trauma and a real and present danger. Her hand rose automatically to her neckline, she fingered the heavy 14K gold link chain that had once held her grandfather’s pocket watch and slowly extracted it. Absorbed in thought she fingered the objects dangling from the chain and considered her options.
Elizabeth A. Reinhardt, PhD
Great Lakes Bank Building
Suite 315
Chicago, Ill 60601
CLINICAL PROGRESS REPORT
Patient’s name: Gina R Date of Contact: 11/3/2012
Nature of contact: Office Visit __X__ Phone Call ______Email ______Other __________
Reason For Contact: Scheduled_____ Practical _____Update _____Emergency __X___ Other _______
Presentation: Normal _____Depressed/Low Energy _____ Upset/Agitated __X___ Frustrated/Angry ______ Dissociated/Detached ______ Anxious/Panicky __X___ Obsessive/Worried __X_____ Overwhelmed ___X___ Desperate/Dependent ______ Confused ______ Guarded/Defended ______ Aloof/Distant _____
Urgency: Suicidal _______ Self-Destructive ______ Homicidal ______Other ___X____
Requires hospitalization: a) Yes_____ specify plan b) No __X_____ if no specify reason___________________
Appearance: Neat ___X____ Disheveled _______ Inappropriate ______________________________________
Substance Use/Abuse: Yes ______ No __X_____ Specify ____________________________________________
Orientation: Oriented: _X_________ Disoriented: Time ________ Place ________Person _________
Areas of Concern: Self/Symptoms __X___ Personal Relationships __X______ Work __X____ Finances _____
Relentless (Elisabeth Reinhardt Book 1) Page 3
