Not terribly long ago, a woman came into my office for an appointment. This woman was not striking in any particular way. She was pleasant looking, neither beautiful nor unattractive. She was, as I would learn, far from wealthy but by no means without resources. She was not famous. As she explained to me, the closest she came to fame was being runner-up to the prom queen in high school. She did not hold public office. She was not involved in a prominent business. She was, actually, a woman indistinguishable from most any other woman who you might meet. I will call her Jane although that is not, of course, her real name. As is my custom when I first meet a patient, I had invited Jane into my office so that we could speak and I could get to know and understand her a little bit. "You’re married?" She nodded her head. "Yes." She paused. "Twenty-seven years." I glanced down at the file on my desk. According to the information she’d provided, she was forty-eight years old. She’d married young. "Children?" "Three," she said. "A boy and two girls." Then she sighed. "Actually, a man and two young women," she added, lowering her eyes as she considered her children’s ages. "My son is twenty-five — almost twenty-six. My two girls are twenty-two and nineteen." She shook her head. "I can hardly believe it. How did I get to be the mother of a twenty-five year old?" she asked. "I still feel like I’m eighteen years old myself — most days," she went on, punctuating her comment with a self-depreciating laugh. I smiled. I liked Jane. She was personable. Open. Thoughtful. She clasped her hands together on her lap. She was wearing an attractive, conservatively cut suit. Red. Not a bright, flashy red. A deep, rich red. I took note of this just as I always took note of how my patients dress when they come to see me. Often, it will be their dress — and even the color of their clothes — that will give me a clear insight into them. Jane was wearing very simple jewelry. A wedding band. A solitary diamond on her other hand. A gold chain with a single pearl around her neck. Delicate pearl earrings. Her brown hair, only slightly highlighted by gray, was brushed in a gentle cascade across her forehead. She was quick to smile — a bit anxiously it seemed to me. "Isn’t that odd?" she asked. "A grown woman like me thinking she’s eighteen still?" "I don’t think so," I replied. "Not at all." "Not that eighteen was such a bed of roses, mind you," she went on. Then she was quiet, thoughtful. She leaned toward me. "I want some of that back, doctor," she said. |
    
As is my custom when I first meet a patient, I had invited Jane into my office so that we could speak and I could get to know and understand her a little bit. |
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