Supermarket - Bobby Hall Page 0,26
people, no matter how many years they’ve been doing it.
My doctor had a warm energy that seemed to convey the latter.
“Hi there, Flynn,” he said. “So, it would appear you have had a panic attack. Do you know what that is?”
“I mean, I’ve heard about them, but no, not really,” I said.
“Now tell me—are you prone to anxiety?”
I had to gather my thoughts.
“Uummmm, I don’t think so,” I replied.
“Bullshit!” Mia snapped. “Yes, doctor, he has severe anxiety,” she said with a half smile. “Flynn, all that shit you’ve told me about your life? You’ve got serious issues, boy. I mean, don’t get me wrong. You got issues I can handle,” she said with a wink, “but issues nonetheless.”
The doctor gave me a warm smile.
“Wait . . . what’s wrong with me?” I asked.
“Well, nothing is ‘wrong’ with you, Flynn. You just have a hyperattentive mind.” I stared at him for a moment.
“Sooooooo, what . . . I have ADHD or something?”
The doctor laughed.
“No, Flynn. I didn’t say hyperactive, I said hyperattentive. My guess is you are constantly thinking, you rarely take a break,” he said, then lightly tapped his ballpoint pen to his temple. “And you are always on the go upstairs. Mia says you put a lot of pressure on yourself to succeed. And the pressure is synonymous with worry . . . anxiety. It’s incredibly common. People just don’t talk about it openly enough.” He gave me another kind smile. “I think you need a few days to yourself, and I recommend you see a therapist.”
My eyes went wide. “A therapist?! I’m not crazy!”
The doctor sat in the chair next to my bed. “No one is saying you’re crazy, Flynn. But panic attacks are serious. They affect a lot of people without them knowing it or addressing it. They’re something that should be looked into. In order to treat them, we must find the source. Treatment can come in many forms. There’s cognitive behavioral therapy, mindfulness exercises, sleep, and excer—”
“Why do you keep saying panic attack? What the hell is that?” I interrupted.
“Well,” the doctor explained, “a panic attack is an involuntary occurrence that happens in the mind. It’s—”
“Wait a second,” I said, cutting him off. “This wasn’t a mind thing, Doc. This was a physical thing. Like, this was my legs giving out, and I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see straight. This is a feels like I’m dying, life-threatening event here!”
The doctor looked at me for a moment, his hand placed over his mouth. Then he removed it and spoke. “The mind is a very powerful thing, Flynn. If you don’t control it, it will control you.”
I immediately remembered my conversation with Frank, regarding the attention I was giving Mia and not him. The thought of Frank increased the anxiety I was feeling. Frank always blathered on some Waking Life–type shit about the power of the mind to create and destroy. “What you believe to be completely physical is actually stemming from your mind. It’s a concentrated episode of acute anxiety that manifests itself physically. But it is not life-threatening. A panic attack cannot kill you. This is what you experienced,” the doctor continued. “I’ve got the test results to prove it.” He lifted up his clipboard, and pointed at it, as if that were proof. “Look, Flynn . . . just take a few days to yourself. Get your head right and see a doctor sometime. A therapist. It will be good to talk to somebody. In the meantime, I’m going to prescribe Ativan and a—”
“Oh, no no no, Doc,” I interrupted. “I don’t do pills.”
“Well, then you’ll have to white-knuckle through your anxiety, but I’m still suggesting you go to therapy. You can leave here whenever you feel ready.”
Then, just as quickly as he had arrived, the doctor was gone.
“What’s wrong?” Mia said to me. I knew it was the look on my face that gave me away. Like I was pondering something fierce.
“Honestly?” I said. “I just hope this doesn’t blow my shot at getting with you.”
“Getting with me?” Mia chuckled. “What are we, in seventh grade?” She moved over and sat next to me in the hospital bed. “You wanna get with me, Flynn?”
“Well,” I stumbled. “I mean, like . . .”
“Flynn, I’m here, aren’t I?” she interrupted. “If you want to get with me . . . then get with me.”
She put her hand on my leg, moving in for a kiss.
It was absolutely incredible—her lips were soft as silk. It felt electric.