Chapter 65: Developing A Relationship

February 2, 1984, McKinley, Ohio

On Thursday, I heard the refrain 'Happy birthday!' over and over, including over the phone, with calls from my parents, Liz, Tasha, both sets of grandparents, Jocelyn, and Dale. Both Jocelyn and Dale sent birthday cards, and Tasha had sent a gift. Turning twenty-one really didn't change much, except that I could legally buy any form of alcohol. Beyond that, my life would continue just as it had the day before.

After dinner that evening, just before study group, my friends surprised me with a sheet cake and a hearty rendition of Happy Birthday. After our evening studies, Kimiko asked to see me privately. She presented me with a poster, which was a print of Octopus and shell diver, and I thanked her by being the octopus for her.

February 11, 1984, Milford, Ohio

As I neared Milford, I tried to order the jumbled thoughts I'd had during the drive. Mostly, they were about Clarissa. We hadn't moved past a single French kiss before falling asleep with me in my pyjama bottoms and her in her nightgown. I hadn't tried to advance things, and she hadn't encouraged me to do so. I wasn't sure we'd ever 'hit a home run', and if that was the case, I would never voice a complaint, or really, even think one. I loved Clarissa FAR too much to do anything like that.

Sophia and I were doing a slow dance towards what seemed to me like an inevitable end, and I was reasonably sure she felt the same way. Ultimately, it wasn't marrying a doctor or even marrying a clergyman, but the rigor associated with church that was going to stand in our way. Sophia was completely Orthodox, but her idea of how to practice the faith and mine diverged. Neither was right nor wrong, but they didn't line up. And that was a tension a marriage between two medical students or Residents simply didn't need.

There was also the issue of her feelings for Robby and his for her and whether or not anything would come of that. If it did, then I felt her decision was fairly simple, and it would be in favor of whatever kind of long-term, committed relationship they agreed on. Things were going to play out, but I was reasonably sure Sophia and I would agree to go our separate ways as close friends and colleagues.

Given how relatively calm things were, I wasn't interested in upending the apple cart, and it made sense to me to simply spend my time with Clarissa, take our trip with Jocelyn during Spring Break, see Maggie if it could be worked out, and have my Sunday afternoons with Tasha. That would give me plenty of time for studying, church, karate, and time with my friends. I'd also make my trip to visit Angie for Presidents' Day weekend and be able to focus properly on Lent and Holy Week.

June, on the other hand, would be a bit tumultuous with Jocelyn, Maggie, and Emmy all moving to McKinley, working at the Quick Mart, karate, and being Summer RA. Maggie and I would finally have a chance to spend some time together, and she could start going to church and decide if she could handle what was in store for me and my wife. If not, then I'd ask one of the girls from church on a date and take it from there.

I pulled into the parking lot next to Doctor Mercer's office on Route 28, parked, locked the car, and went inside. As I had the previous time, I found her sitting at her desk waiting for me. She waved me in, and I shut the office door behind me. I sat down and smiled at the hot mug of tea which was waiting for me.

"Tell me how you want me to handle my visit with Angie next weekend," I said after we greeted each other.

"Cutting to the chase?"

"Future ER doc," I chuckled. "I don't think they even say 'hello' to most patients!"

"I think you might be surprised by the kinds of things which show up in the ER. It's not all accidents, shootings, stabbings, and heart attacks. Your bedside manner will matter more than most people think."

"Noted."

"I think just like last time. Her friend Anna will be there, right?"

"I assume so, yes."

"I'd say you could spend as much as thirty minutes, though once you get past fifteen, watch VERY carefully."

"For what?"

"Any signs of agitation — fidgeting, changes in breathing, saying odd things; basically any kind of unease."

"Has her mental acuity improved?"

Doctor Mercer smiled, "Did you do some reading?"

"Clarissa and I went to the library at the medical school, and we looked up a bunch of stuff on Angie's condition and the side effects of the drugs."

"Yes. I think you'll find her a bit more animated and her voice a bit less flat. We've reduced the medication by a small amount, and she seems to be doing OK. After your visit, we'll reduce it a bit more. The goal is complete stability but with a vibrant personality. If we can get that, then coping mechanisms should let us get her off the drugs completely."

"How long?"

"I can't say, but if — and it's a very big 'if' — progress continues at this pace, somewhere between eighteen months and three years. But there can be setbacks or relapses or periods of no progress, so please don't hold me to those estimates."

"I won't. That was more out of curiosity than needing to meet a specific deadline."

"The way you said that sounds like you actually have a deadline."

"Sort of," I replied. "My bishop would like to ordain me a deacon soon after graduation."

"Your clergy are allowed to marry, right?"

"No. We ordain married men, but once you're ordained, your marital state is set. If you aren't married, you take a vow of chastity."

"What happens in the case of death or divorce?"

"You can't remarry. If you wished to, you would need to be laicized, and I've never heard of anyone who was laicized so they could marry being restored to their previous position."

"And you're OK with that?"

"So long as I'm married first!" I chuckled.

"I couldn't see you taking a vow of chastity. You're a Junior, right?"

"Yes."

"I didn't get the impression you were engaged or even dating steady."

"I'm not. There are a couple of girls I'm interested in who might be able to handle the challenges of being married to a medical student and a clergyman, but we're in what I'd call the exploratory phases. And there are girls at church who would jump at the chance."

Doctor Mercer laughed, "You have a high opinion of yourself!"

I chuckled, "No, it's more like the matchmakers do. If I let it be known I'm available, I guarantee they'll present a suitable match in the blink of an eye!"

Doctor Mercer nodded, "I know the type, as we discussed. You seem as if you would be OK with something like that."

"Given the long list of what amounts to non-negotiable items, a 'love match' is going to be highly unlikely."

"You could delay your ordination, right?"

"Of course. But there's a serious need, and I have a duty to fill it. And that's me talking, not my bishop or my grandfather."

"Your grandfather?"

"He's been working towards this from the time I was born! My uncle Aleksey was supposed to be the clergyman, but he wanted nothing to do with it. So I'm the surrogate. But it's what I want to do, so I don't feel pressured."

"So long as you have your eyes open, and you're not going against your nature, then as a psychologist, I'm ethically bound not to try to change your mind."

"Would you? I mean, without that ethical duty?"

"I've learned that there are an infinite number of personalities and, therefore, an infinite number of possible happy outcomes. You seem happy with this course of events and don't seem resigned or weighed down by them. You have a healthy attitude and a healthy view of life. If an arranged marriage is OK in your book, then it's OK in mine, so long as everyone involved consents."

"So, what do you want to talk about?" I asked.

"I didn't have a specific agenda except to get to know you better. If you're willing, we can talk about your feelings about Angie and how they changed and where they are now."

"She still wants to marry me, doesn't she?"

"Let me answer this way — she was fixated and obsessed with that idea before, and it's why you were her main stressor. Not because of you; because of her. If we go back to that implied post-fellatio kiss, sex got VERY real for her at that point. I mean to the point where she was obsessing about it, and not in a good way. It terrified her, and she basically became what they used to call 'frigid' but which we now call 'hypoactive sexual desire disorder'.

"That led to her first breakdown, but her therapist didn't fully understand what was going on because Angie had real problems expressing how she was feeling. And she showed signs of recovery and was functioning normally again pretty quickly. The problem was, she was obsessing about sex with you, and at that point, it was an obsession to have it. It was as if a switch flipped, and she went to the other extreme — hypersexuality, but her only desired outlet was you.

"She became more and more obsessed, which you saw as demands to have sex immediately. Kisses, petting, or even oral wouldn't satisfy the obsession. It HAD to be intercourse, and it HAD to be with you. But you showed good judgment and restraint and stuck to your guns. That pushed her over the edge and led to her running away. And Mike, you did the right thing in sticking to your guns."

"But I missed what was going on."

"So did her first therapist. A trained, licensed professional missed it. You're a Junior in college with one psychology class under your belt. How could you expect to see what a trained professional didn't see and I only uncovered AFTER Angie was medicated? Her psychiatrist sent her to me because I specialize in teenage sexuality, as well as counseling rape and incest victims. That's why I was called to help you. Learn the lesson here — it'll serve you well as a doctor. If you need a cardiologist, call one; if you need a surgeon, call one; if you need a psychiatrist or psychologist, call one. YOU will be the expert in emergency medicine, not those other disciplines."

"I still feel as if I could have done something."

"You did exactly the right thing, Mike. If you had gone to bed with her, the results could have been far, far worse. Despite certain alleged anecdotal evidence, sex is NOT a primary cure for sexual dysfunction!"

"There's a story there," I chuckled.

"The short version is a rape victim who felt that having sex with her male best friend was the way to resolve her psychological issues with regard to sex."

"And it worked?"

"She and her friend think so; I think it was a supremely bad idea and very risky, and I don't think it has played out just yet. They're both patients, and that means I'll have to deal with the fallout. They went directly against my advice, too. And that will happen with you — patients who go directly against your prescribed course of treatment. It will drive you crazy if you allow it to do so."

"So what do you do?"

"Have someone to talk to about it. In my case, it's a fellow psychologist who is under the same ethical guidelines and with whom I can discuss my own frustrations. Trust me, I have them in spades."

"I've picked up hints from things you've said, or rather when you quickly cut off lines of questioning."

"Part of that was YOUR motivation for asking!"

I chuckled, "The rules for 'Strip Chess'?"

"I told you the rules once you could handle them and not a moment before."

"In YOUR opinion!" I chuckled.

"Let me ask you this: in all seriousness, would you, at fifteen, have felt right using chess to manipulate a girl into having sex when she didn't really want to? Or use it to put a girl or guy off her game in a tournament?"

"Probably not, because I was too introverted to even think about doing something like that. I told you about losing my virginity."

"That your best friend in the entire world, who you knew from age five, who you shared everything with, had to basically walk you through it because you were scared of your own shadow with regard to sex."

"Pretty much. If I couldn't be comfortable with Jos, I can't IMAGINE doing those things you're talking about. I take it you're not just making up hypotheticals."

"I could tell you stories that would curl your hair."

"I take it you've seen some pretty outrageous things."

"I've treated patients similar to your neighbors, but who initiated the act with their parent and believed they had done nothing wrong. I've treated a fifteen-year-old prostitute who insisted she liked what she was doing. I've treated rape victims, incest victims, and gays and lesbians who were having trouble dealing with their sexuality. And I've treated a young man about your age who has had more than sixty sex partners and shows no signs of slowing down."

"Sixty?!" I gasped. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"I suppose I shouldn't really talk, though, given I've had quite a few in the last three years."

"Do you feel guilty about that?"

"A bit, but I've come to terms with my choices and understand my weakness, and I'm mostly able to control it."

"Mostly?"

"I'm not interested in being chaste, and because of some crazy turns my life has taken, I haven't been steady with anyone since my Senior year of High School."

"Do you have sex with every female who expresses interest?"

I shook my head, "No. I've turned down a number of opportunities."

"Why?"

"Because it didn't feel right, even though I wanted to."

"Then you're in control. Whatever the number is, and I'm guessing from everything you've said, it's in the neighborhood of a dozen, it doesn't seem out of line for your experience or for the times. I'd guess you have friends at college who have had more encounters than you have, as well as those who have had fewer."

"Yes."

"And do you feel inferior to any of them?"

"No. I totally understand the choices I've made, and honestly, my regrets have more to do with what happened after Jocelyn's accident than anything else. Yes, I felt somewhat guilty about seducing Kristin, the groupie, and I felt weird after my one experience with two girls, but I don't feel bad about it."

"I'd say you're reasonably well-adjusted."

"Back to Angie?"

"It's difficult to say what she's thinking in that regard, and as I said, until we get the medication to a point where the real Angie, whoever she is, appears, it's difficult to answer your question."

"Can you tell me what she's actually said?"

"Only because I have a release. She has, in her more lucid moments, claimed to love you. But it's not clear what that means, and you shouldn't take it to mean anything at this point. And that's why I asked you to be very careful about her saying things along those lines. If she does, please do NOT assume it means what it implies. Not yet, anyway."

"So what happens if she comes out of this in, say, three years, is still hopelessly in love with me, and discovers I'm engaged or married?"

"That is something we'll have to deal with. Do not put your life on hold because you're worried about her, or worse, waiting for her. There are no guarantees she'll be able to have the kind of intimate relationship I think you need, nor be the partner you'll need to get you through medical school and Residency. What I'm saying is, be her friend, but make sure you take care of your needs. Let me be blunt — she may NEVER recover."

"That's a depressing thought."

"It is, and if you two had been an actual couple and had a functioning romantic relationship, I might try a slightly different approach. But despite your spiritual and emotional intimacy, you never progressed to that stage. If you had, then I'd have to ask you if you were ready to care for her for the rest of your lives, knowing she might not recover."

"I suppose that would really depend on the relationship. I mean, if we had been married, I think the answer would have to be 'yes'. I don't know what the answer would be otherwise."

"There are some people who could handle their spouse having this kind of illness. Maybe you're that kind of person. In fact, I suspect you are. The problem is, you have no ability to care for her the way she'd need to be cared for while going to medical school and doing your Residency. I don't think you were ever in love with her, were you?"

"I don't think that question is easy to answer," I said carefully. "In one sense, I was, and am; in another, no, I wasn't. I cared deeply for her, and I still care deeply for her, but I don't think I'm in a position that would allow me to be what she would need me to be. Or rather, what her illness would require me to be. How will you deal with what I hypothesized?"

"There are so many variables I can't say for sure. Right now, our focus is to get her to a point where she can work full-time, support herself, and hopefully even live on her own. That's a supreme challenge."

"Is she working?"

"Yes. She has a part-time job processing claims for an insurance company. It's half days, and she enters data from claim forms into a computer terminal. It's a very simple job and requires very little interaction with other people. The important things are that it gets her out of the house, gives her something to focus on for part of the day, and helps her self-confidence."

"She'll never be a teacher, will she?"

"I won't say never, but I will say it would be a stretch for her to be able to achieve that. It COULD happen, but even talking about that is putting the cart before the horse."

"And you still have no idea what the root cause of her illness might be?"

"Beyond speculation? No. As I said, we may never know, and even if we did know, it might not help."

"What does your gut tell you?"

"That she witnessed a traumatic event, or, as you speculated, she read a private suicide note from her friend. But it could be something of which we're totally unaware. We're reasonably sure she was never molested, but we can't know for sure because she could be blocking that memory."

"I thought that whole 'repressed memory' thing was pseudoscience."

"It's a tricky thing. Some mental illnesses, such as multiple personality disorder, can interfere with memory, but short of a certain set of diagnosable illnesses, such as what the military would call 'shell shock', I tend to agree with you. But that doesn't mean Angie is able to express what happened, especially if it happened at a very young age."

"Seeing her parents have sex?"

"A bit disconcerting for most, but not usually traumatic. Remember, until somewhat recently in history, and this is still true in many places in the world, people lived in one-room houses or houses which only had the most basic of room dividers, and children often slept in a crib or trundle bed next to their parents' marriage bed."