Miko pulled the leash and rattled me out of my thoughts.
We went back home. Miko ran to his water bowl and gulped it down exuberantly, and I stared at the empty apartment. I, too, wanted to leap onto a bowl of some liquid substance. To give me strength. But yet again I didn’t succumb to my bodily needs, to this instinct of life. Instead I brushed my teeth, changed into faded pajamas and went to sleep.
At 9:00 the next morning I was supposed to see the therapist that Dad had sent me to.
My arguing hadn’t done any good, nor did my explanations and evasions. Dad wouldn’t let it go, as usual. He had repeatedly called and talked to me about it at every opportunity. For a week, he showed up at my apartment every day, unannounced, until the cat was finally let out of the bag − so to speak.
“I’ve had enough, Dani. Ever since Grandpa died, everyone’s been asking why you’re so thin and why you’re not doing anything with yourself. I even overheard people talking among themselves, saying that even though I’m a doctor, I still can’t see that my daughter is about to die. Yes! Can you believe it?!”
He continued, revving himself up as though someone were arguing with him. “So there you go. I’m not going to stand by and let the entire world talk about how I’m letting my daughter die. Yesterday I heard Fisher talking in the doctors’ lounge about some therapist who really helped his son. With his drug problem, you know.”
He then suddenly resumed talking about me. “So there you have it. I even spoke to her on your behalf. She wants you to call her yourself, because I mean, you’re 25 years old. Wow, 25 already! Who would have believed it? You look so tiny, Dani Dear. Maybe you take something to eat?”
I kept quiet.
“Come on, Dani. Promise me that you’ll call her. Maybe she can help you,” he looked at me.
“I don’t need help, Dad,” I tried, noticing that he was nearing his boiling point.
Maybe you should take yourself to therapy and leave me alone already . . . I wish I could have told him that. Instead, I remained silent. I couldn’t fight him, but I could stay silent and hope that he’d leave me alone. But the attempt was to no avail. Dad grabbed the note he had given me a few minutes earlier, picked up my cell phone from the corner table and dialled. I froze. A few seconds went by and I suddenly found myself quickly trying to pull out words within a conversation I hadn’t myself initiated.
“Her name is Rotem, I think,” he whispered too loudly.
Rotem
Last rays of daylight permeated the semi-transparent curtain. Outside the window, reddish-orange autumn leaves peeked through. The days were getting shorter, it wasn’t yet four o’clock and the light was already fading. I sat down to update Jasmine’s medical file. I was typing sparingly, making sure not to overly detail yet still capture the essence, when the phone’s screen flickered with an unknown number. I had once again forgotten to turn my ringtone back on after the session.
“Hello. Yes, this is Rotem - not Doctor Rotem, just Rotem. No, I’m not a psychologist, I’m a social worker.”
“How many diplomas do you have and where did you do your residency?” he asked, instead of just saying since when do social workers do therapy. Shouldn’t you be at the social services office handing out coupons?
Eventually, he felt safe enough to tell me about Daniella, Dani. “She’s not handling things, not doing well. It’s always been hard for her, and when she was 12 it got worse, I don’t know why. At first I thought it was just adolescence, obsessing about her appearance and her weight, but it didn’t improve. She was hospitalized during the army and then got out for health reasons. But if you ask me, it’s all a façade. We pampered her too much to make up for not having time for them as well as a career. You don’t just suddenly become the head of a hospital department you know.”
Yes, I know, you’re not just any old social worker. You’ll still need to let go a little bit, I thought to myself.
“Do you have experience with this type of thing?” he asked.
Experience with what, I asked myself? With girls who got pampered too much and are now acting out?
The conversation was stirring up a sense of unease within me that I didn’t entirely understand. “Listen, Dr. Freedman,” I finally said. “I suggest that I meet with your daughter and see if this can work. After all, it’s all a matter of chemistry.”
He didn’t sound appeased. He probably thought to himself, what does chemistry have to do with it? either you’re a professional or you’re not.
“Yes, of course. I realize that you’re concerned. No, I won’t meet with you before meeting with her. Yes, you’re right, it really is worrisome that your daughter has stopped eating. You said that she’s 25? Then give her my number and we’ll make an appointment. We’ll check to see if this can suit her and if I’ll be able to help.”
I returned to Jasmine’s medical file on the computer, with only 15 minutes left until I had to go pick up Yotam from pre-school. I typed quickly. “Jasmine Levin, low spirits, reports sadness and troubling thoughts about the future. Shares her dreams and then doubts her ability to fulfill them. Wants to be a stand-up comedian but feels depressed and nothing makes her laugh. I suggested that she write about psychiatrists’ questions.” That would make others laugh just as much as she did. The phone call from
