The Fixer
Chapter Thirteen
Lydia Corriger got to work early the day before Thanksgiving. She defied the rainy gloom by clicking on two table lamps and settling behind her desk with her coffee and newspaper. The front page led with the city council’s debate regarding earthquake standards for homes. A photo of local food pantry volunteers filling charity bags reminded readers there was still time to donate. Lydia made a mental note to take the game hen she purchased for her own Thursday dinner out of the freezer.
The national section had an article on the latest finger-pointing in Congress. Lydia shook her head at a silly photograph of the president pardoning a turkey and moved on to an article about a significant donation to the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. An anonymous donor had given half a million dollars to the organization. No strings attached, according to the beaming chief executive.
She finished the paper and checked her schedule. She was booked every hour, straight through to Savannah Samuels at six. She unlocked her office at 7:55 and her first patient walked through the door three minutes later.
Mary Sullivan was 54 years old. Overweight. Greasy hair. Baggy sweat pants and a dirty red down vest. Mary’s employer had contacted Lydia. Despite her talent with children, parents were complaining and Mary was in danger of losing her job as a pre-school teacher.
Mary didn’t bathe.
She didn’t shower. She didn’t brush her teeth. She didn’t shampoo and she didn’t wash her clothes.
Mary stank.
Lydia ushered her into the office. Mary chose the sofa and Lydia was glad it was leather. She watched Mary pull folders out of a large canvas bag and set them on the coffee table.
“I made copies for you,” Mary said. “Here’s my chart from Dr. Roth. He’s my prescribing doctor. I’ve been seeing him for nine years. There’s an updated list of my medications on the inside flap.” Mary pulled a three-ring binder out of her bag. “This is a copy of my chart from Dr. Reschke. He was my talking doctor. I only saw him for three years.” Mary looked up at Lydia with rheumy brown eyes. “I wore him out. He didn’t know what to do with me.”
Lydia took her seat across from the malodorous woman. She counted seven files and binders on the table. And Mary’s bag wasn’t yet empty.
“I’ll begin with an overview of my mother.” Mary pulled out an expandable legal folder. “All the doctors agree she’s the root of my problem.” She snapped the elastic band open. “Now, my earliest memory is..”
“Stop.” Lydia held her hand up. “Just stop.”
Mary froze mid-movement.
“Put the folders down, Mary.” Lydia kept her voice quiet and firm.
“I want to tell you about my mother,” Mary said.
“And I want to hear it. But not today. Today we’re going to talk about why you’re here.”
Mary blinked several times. “But you’ll need to understand about my mother.”
Lydia leaned back. “How did you get here today, Mary? Not why, but how.”
Mary balked. “I drove. I don’t see the importance of…”
“A car?” Lydia interrupted. “You drove yourself here in a car?”
“Of course.” Mary set the folder aside. “Where are you going with this?”
“Mary, do you understand the physics behind an internal combustion engine?” Lydia feigned amazement. “I mean, think about it. There’s a fire going on inside your car’s engine. Doesn’t that freak you out? A fire… inside your engine.”
Mary’s eyebrows shot up.
Lydia leaned forward. “I’ll bet you don’t understand internal combustion. I know I don’t. And yet you were able to manage your car sufficiently to get here, is that right?”
“I…I don’t know what you want me to say.”
Lydia smiled. “I don’t want you to say anything, Mary.” She pointed to the stack of files and binders overwhelming the coffee table. “Look at this stuff. You’ve been trying to understand yourself for years.”
Mary nodded. “I’ve been in therapy since I was 22.”
“Then let’s stop doing what hasn’t been working.” Lydia tossed the folders off the coffee table, leaned back, and replaced them with her feet. “Now tell me. Are you afraid of water, Mary?”
“But my mother used to..”
Lydia interrupted again. “We’re not talking about your mother today. Answer my question. Are you afraid of water?”
“No. No, it’s my lack of motivation. My mother always said…”
“Soap?” Lydia tilted her head to one side. “Shampoo? Deodorant? Afraid of those?”
Mary shook her head. “Of course not. I have lots of potions and lotions.”
“Great.” Lydia swung her feet off the table and grabbed her notebook. “Then let’s set up a schedule for the rest of your morning.” She smiled at her confused patient. “Mary, you’re going to take a shower today. And you’re going to call me when you’re done.”
“But my mother…” Mary’s voice lost its volume.
Lydia interrupted with a gentle insistence. “Your mother’s not here. And you’re about to lose your job.” She leaned closer. “I will never lie to you. Nor will I sugarcoat things. Mary, you stink. And we’re going to fix that today.”
“Just like that?” Mary’s smile was tentative.
Lydia held her gaze. “Just like that. Now I know you’re on suspension. So,” Lydia began writing. “If you left here at nine and drove straight home…”
“With my internal combustion engine.” Mary interjected.
“That’s right.” Lydia gave her a big smile. “What time would you get home?”
“About nine forty, I assume.” Mary’s voice hinted at co-conspiracy.
“Great.” Lydia allowed her enthusiasm to build. “You go straight to your bathroom. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Strip off your clothes and you’re in the shower by ten til ten.” She glanced up at her patient. “Your bathroom’s clean enough for this?”
Mary nodded. “It’s just me who’s dirty.”
“Bingo. We’re going to fix this, Mary.” Lydia returned her attention to the notebook. “First you’ll shampoo. And when the bottle says ‘lather, rinse, repeat’, I want you to do that twice, okay?”
Mary smiled again. “You’re not the typical shrink, are you?”
Lydia winked. “Mary, you’re not going to talk your way out of this pickle. You’re not going to think your way out or understand your way out. You’re going to do your way out of this. Right?”
Mary stared at Lydia for several heartbeats. Lydia held her gaze. Mary let out a hearty laugh.
“No one’s ever done this,” she said. “Do you know how many doctors I’ve been to? Not one of them has told me I stink and need to go home and take a bath.”
Lydia leaned back and smiled. “I don’t like to dally, Mary. If there’s a way to fix something, I don’t like to waste time. Are you with me?”
Mary chuckled and a boa of fat jiggled beneath her dingy sweatshirt. “I’ve got some really fancy face cleanser I’ve been dying to try,”
“Brilliant. Next comes the body wash…”
Lydia’s day marched forward in one hour segments. John McKenna wanted help finding meaning in the recent cancer death of his nineteen year old son. Alexander Quinton couldn’t shake his conviction he would die in an airplane crash before his fiftieth birthday. Marilyn Martinella discovered when her youngest daughter left for college that she hated her husband.
Her four o’clock was Jackie Vincent, a single mother of a 17 year-old gangster wanna-be. This was her
