Personal Narrative: Dr. Veer's Office

“Think of it as a job.” The psychiatrist offered the tired metaphor as he leaned forward across the dull oak desk. All the furniture in the hospital was that same stale wood, save for the drab blue cushioning and one grim metal table in the far corner of the day room. The whole place looked appropriately dismal. Dr. Veer’s office was no exception, nor were the fusty tweed sport coats he wore like a uniform. Everything and everyone at Pine Brook Hospital conformed to the same dreary pallet. It made my eyes sore to just to be there. I supposed the hospital ambiance alone was enough to make someone depressed, but I couldn’t be certain in my theory. I was already depressed to begin with.
“It’s a lot like a job, if you think about it. It’s a job,
The snow outside had little contrast to the insipid pale drywall in the office. Dr. Veer’s words faded into their own white noise. He had given me his attempt at a motivational speech many times before and it was hard to focus when I already knew what he was going to say. I assumed he must have recycled the script with every patient and couldn’t recall which of us had already heard it. We were only case numbers after all, a stack of files with different names and diagnoses.
“I wanted to speak with you about your date of release.” This was a new addition to Dr. Veer’s speech, or more accurately, he hadn’t recycled it with me until now. He nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose to keep them from slipping, but as he moved his hand away they descended once more.
“When is it?” I sat up a little straighter. For the first time since my arrival, I finally had an honest interest in what Dr. Veer had to say.
“I wanted to discuss it with you.” He stated matter-of-factly.
“I was hoping for next Monday.” I was so shocked that I even had any say in my release date, I hadn't thought about it much. I just knew I wanted out before
Try to convince me to discharge you on Tuesday.”
“I don’t see why outpatient care and therapy visits can't track the rest of my recovery.” I started speaking his language, medical terms and all. It was like my own version of his trick to pretend we were old friends.
Dr. Veer paused, staring at me for a moment. His eyes narrowed. “I’ll think about it. Come to my office again in a few hours.”
He dismissed me from the room and I spent the next three hours waiting for them to be over. They seemed to pass slower than the rest of my time at Pine Brook, which was already at half the speed of my life outside the hospital. I passed the time in a group therapy session, distracted by Dr. Veer’s impending decision.
When the therapy session finally came to a close, the patients all headed into the dining hall. I was almost too nervous to eat my dinner, but it wasn’t particularly appetizing to begin with. As I shoved the last bland bite into my mouth, I turned my silverware into the bucket and raced to Dr. Veer’s office. I knocked on the door and he prompted me to enter. I sat down anxiously in the chair across from him, awaiting his decision. He smiled a