Control

22

The office of Dr. Walter Hannam was not what I was expecting when Adyson and I walked through the glass doors and into the main waiting room. I expected the typical doctor‟s office, with pale walls, elevator music piped into the room, dated magazines from the late „80‟s scattered on old wooden tables, and lines of uncomfortable chairs set in rows.

What we got instead was a warm, comfortable setting, with taupe painted walls surrounding large, bright windows. Tall potted trees in every corner, giving the room a live feeling. A high counter skirted the far wall, behind which a young woman sat, her hair pulled tightly back into a bun at the nape of her neck, her makeup impeccable. She had an earpiece in her ear, and was clicking away on the computer in front of her. There was no music, but instead the sounds of flowing water, streams, and waterfalls waved gently through the room. The only thing that fit into the stereotype of a typical doctors office were those damn uncomfortable chairs, although not as many as I had expected.

Stepping up to the desk, the woman turned her attention away from her computer, smiling at us.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice thick with an English accent.

"We have an appointment with Dr. Hannam." I said, feeling nervous and foolish.

"Name?" the woman asked, and I noticed the nametag on her well developed chest read „Alyssa‟. Her attention turned again to the computer on her desk, and her fingers flew across the keys as she pulled up the appropriate screen.

"Roberts." I said, my voice low. I knew no one here would know me, or know why I was here, but for some reason I still felt like I had to be discrete. I still felt stupid coming here, seeing a doctor for something that I knew full well he would have no answers for. This combined with my thirty years of practice in secrecy and self preservation had caused me to have many back and forth arguments with Adyson over the last three weeks.

I had been healthy as a horse since my episode, with not so much as a splinter. I knew she was right and it was only a matter of time before something else happened, but I just couldn‟t seem to come to terms with the fact that something may actually be wrong with me when I generally felt perfectly fine.

Alyssa‟s fingers flew across the keyboard, as she typed in my name, pulling up my information. She turned in her chair, gathering a pen and clipboard from a pile on her desk before handing it to me.

"Please fill this out to the best of your ability, and Dr. Hannam will be with you shortly." She said, her smile sticky sweet.

I took the clipboard offered to me, thanked her, and retreated with Adyson to a set of chairs against the adjacent wall, flanked by windows.

The first section of the form was easy. Name, birthdate, address. Typical doctor info stuff. As I neared the bottom of the first page, however, things got a little odd.

„Do you ever have hallucinations?‟, „ Do you hear voices from people you cannot see?‟, „Do you believe you have psychokinetic abilities?‟

I was a little taken back from the line of questioning, wondering if I was in a neurologists office, or a psychiatrist. I answered as best I could, becoming relieved as I turned the page to find more of the typical health questions on the back. Medical history, family history, blah, blah, blah.

At the bottom of the backside of the form, there was a space left to provide a narrative. The question was „Why did you choose to seek our help?‟ I was tempted to write „because my wife made me‟ but I figured that would be defeating the whole purpose of this exercise. But I honestly didn‟t know what to write. Was I expected to be brutally honest? If so, I would have to write „because I can manipulate people with my mind and freeze time, and lately I‟ve been having blackouts and doing it unintentionally.‟ Professional or not, one read of that and the doctor would be calling in the padded wagon.