The Disability Chat

Cricket

I saw a shadow of movement which might have been the needle going in. Alright. Things were going alright. We might have been nearly done. Oi my my, I was ready to be out of that place.

T.Mor:

...This was slow. We both just kinda sat there for a bit, and then one of the doctor guys pulled the needle out of Cricket's arm and replaced it with some weird flesh colored duct tape thing.

"... ...What's that...?" I asked.

" A band aid..."

"...oh..." I still had no idea what that was. ...oh well...?

After another minute or so, I also had a band aid. And then I pulled my sleeve back down over it and never thought about it again.

...And then I was being helped back into my chair. ...Oh. Right. ...They wanted to deal with the... duct tape for some reason... "I'm going to take you down to the ICU, and he'll be taking you down to lunch." The doctor explained, looking at each of us as he talked, to make sure we knew who was who.

I nodded... kind of apprehensive about whatever they didn't like about my patch job... but....they were professionals, right...?

Cricket

I nodded half-heartedly, absently picking at the sticky thing they insisted on slapping on my arm. Looked like some medical thing. But honestly, it's a cut the size of a pin. What, were they worried I'd bleed out?

I was a bit reluctant to let them take him on his own to...whatever they'd called it. The . . . I See You? Odd name, there. Sounded a bit creepy. But they seemed to know what they were doing, and nothing had hurt so far. I'd have to trust these guys at least a tad if anything was going to get better.

But did I have to trust them from all the way in the lunch room? Oi my my. Free food is lovely, but even I was starting to wonder how much food one guy could eat in a day. I was used to one, perhaps two meals on a good day. Sometimes things were spread thinner. And now they were giving me lunch. Alright. No complaints. But honestly.

They wheeled him away, and some guy led me to the cafeteria. It was a bit early for lunch apparently, so there was hardly anyone there and none were people I recognised.

T.Mor:

...Alright...so... if the normal part of this place is kinda scary and white... Then the ICU is scarier and whiter. Once we got down there, they made me change my clothes into some...weird... light blue... thing... that didn't close down the back properly...And it had short sleeves... And then I was kind of worried about where my clothes were going, because...I didn't have any more of my own clothes here... and... yeah...

I kind of wished that Cricket was here, because it was all really weird...and kinda scary... and I didn't quiiiite understand what all was happening... They put me through a few machines really fast, Or it seemed like really fast...I think one of them was an X-Ray thingy... because then I got to see pictures of inside myself... Which was...interesting. ...I was also kind of glad Cricket wasn't here, because since I didn't have my pants at the moment... all the like... tubes and stuff that ran down the side of my leg were all... visible... And that stuff was...private.

...But still though...I kinda wish he was here.

"...And what made you think it was a good idea to have your friends try to piece you back together with office supplies...?" Asked some other doctor guy...looking at my X-Ray.

"...It hurt...and...so...I mean... I... I dunno..." I mumbled. He asked a few more questions that I thought were kinda stupid... because like... how else do you hold things together...? Duct tape... and then he ended up putting me on another bed...on my stomach, and he tried to peel away some of the tape....only that...That didn't really...

...Dried blood and duct tape don't go well together... So... it was apparently peeling off my skin... a bit... ...uhm.

...And that was about when they asked me if I wanted them to knock me out so they could get it all sorted properly. ... ...Like that was even a question.

...They didn't even use a hammer.

Cricket

I picked at something or another that a lady had put on a tray for me, and was thinking of finding my way back to the room. I knew the general area and the general appearence of whatever numbers were by the door. But then something touched my shoulder-- would people stop doing that? Oi my my. You want my attention, step in front of me. Believe it or not, I have eyes.

I shook my head and found the crumpled magic paper and smoothed it out just enough to make out what the guy was trying to say. Something about another doctor...different type of doctor.

A few minutes later I found myself standing in the different type of doctor's doorway.

Dr.Mencha:

I'd gotten a call during my lunch hour about a gentleman with a trust issue making it difficult to complete a physical exam. ...Mind you, my lunch hour is really early for some reason... I always get shorted on the schedules that way.

Anyway. I'd gotten that call and been asked whether today or tomorrow were better for me to meet with him about it, because they wanted to book whichever day I didn't use for the otolaryntologist. Deaf, apparently.

...Because of course sending a deaf man to a talk therapist was a fantastically good idea. I'm sure we'd figure that out.

My door had been hanging open, partly because I was too lazy to get up and close it after sitting down with my lunch, and partly because open doors are a bit more inviting. I watched as he walked over, kind of lingering in the door.

"...Hello! You can come on in and sit down wherever you'd like." I said from my desk. ...Oh wait, Deaf. I got up out of my desk and started making my way over to the door.

Cricket

She said something that looked inviting and then started approaching me. I'd seen her before. Why was she coming over here instead of me coming over there? I raised an eyebrow.

Right. Deaf. Paper. Aye.

I pulled the now moreso-crumbled piece of paper from the place I'd tucked it in my belt and waved it for her to see before holding it where I could read it. "Hm?"

Dr.Mencha:

...Ah, he had one of those pieces of paper. I returned to my desk, secretly very glad that I didn't have to bridge a communication gap now. "Oh...I see. Come on in and have a seat wherever." I repeated so that he could see it. "It appears as though we have a lot to discuss, based on earlier today." I stated. A lot of this was simply using leading sentences to see what he would say in response, and then seizing on those answers. We'd do an hour or two of evaluation today... and see where that got us.

Cricket

To be honest, I felt dumb having to read off a dead tree to see what people were saying. But then, it wasn't quite as dumb as having to stare at people's lips and have them repeat everything about four times before I understood.

I ambled in and fell back into a chair. Based on earlier today, aye? Word gets around quick with these people. I was silent a moment, fidgeting under her gaze as I waited for her to continue. She didn't. I rested my chin on my fist. This was going to be a long session, I'd say. I held a finger to my throat and tried not to be too loud. "... What's there t' talk about?"

Dr.Mencha:

"You tell me. They said that you were tense and defensive, and thought that perhaps something had happened at sometime in your life or something to make you uneasy." I explained just a little bit more. Didn't want him to feel as though he was being like... forced to talk, but I wanted him to understand what provoked this appointment.

Trust building was probably the hardest part of all of this, because in the cases here where patients are coming from other universes, it is not unusual for them to have been missing out on some parts of what we would consider normal society completely. They had literally no reason to trust us. There was no culture established for them in which they could have learned to trust us, and so you were literally starting from scratch.

...Fun fun.

Keeping that in mind, I didn't want him to feel threatened here. This was a safe place, my office. One could say anything here, and as long as it didn't imply a threat to someone or themselves, it would be completely confidential.

Cricket

So much to say, so little drive. Well, no. I had drive. I had drive to hear words, just not to say them. I paused for thought. If I didn't want to talk much, better start chosing words wisely. "...Why would I want t' talk about it?"

Dr.Mencha:

...Alright. I guess that whole trust building thing was starting right now. "So that we can help you? So that we know you better so you won't have to worry like that again? ...Maybe because I'd like to help you sort through whatever all you have going on in there?" I asked, keeping my tone very calm and soft...though I realised after I stated all that that he could only see my words. Tone didn't matter. Facial expressions did. That worked alright, because I was pretty sure that I had my face arranged into one of mild concern.

Just because I considered my facial expressions prior to actually executing them didn't mean that I didn't actually care about everyone here individually... I just, had to also keep in mind what would get them to talk, and some days, after a long night upstairs dealing with the man and the lawnmower... concern didn't quite come naturally. It was better to just keep all the facial expressions in check so that I didn't accidentally offend anyone.

Cricket

"...I want t' be able t' listen again." It was hard trying to feel around for what might have been my own steadier voice. It took longer than normal to get the words out. I didn't want to sound unsure. I was certain. "I don't need anything else from this place."

Dr.Mencha:

This was a bit of a spot then. If he wanted nothing else... I couldn't really help him...I could talk with him for as long as I'd like, and we'd get nowhere.

"...Consider it this way. We want to help you. We want you to be able to listen again as well...ok? But it's really difficult to help you when you won't let us do tests and stuff. So...if I can talk with you about some things, make it easier on us... then it makes it easier for us to fix your ears. Alright?" I asked, still being concerned and comforting from behind my desk.

Cricket

I didn't see why talking would help. If anything, ignoring the memories would help. If I tried harder, I could get over it and move on and get myself fixed and out of this place. It was my life, none of their concern.

So why was she looking at me like that? I let some more hair fall into my face.

It was her job. That's why. She was paid to do this.

Still . . . I wanted to hear again. Desperately. I missed it. It was killing me. I tried to forget that it was killing me, but it was killing me. I hadn't heard music in too many days. There wasn't any wind unless I stood outside to feel it. There was no reassurance of the sound of my own footsteps. And oi my my, there were no voices. Whistling, laughing, tone, rhythm, all lost. I needed it back.

So what if talking helped.

So what if talking only brought up memories and reminders of what was lost.

...So what if talking helped.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts. I could feel the words on my lips, but it took a moment to actually get them out. ". . . Where t' start?"

Dr.Mencha:

"Wherever you'd like." I said calmly. "If that's too broad, we can start with whatever you were thinking about earlier this morning, and work from there." I suggested gently. It was just a suggestion. Everything I said was just a suggestion. And that's why it was better for them. Don't tell them what to do. Firstly, they don't like that... and secondly, that hardly promotes any growth. If you give suggestions, they can follow, ...or not. And if they sort it out independently, then...awesome. If they heed your advice, and it works... fantastic. And then you've built trust as well. The patient then trusts you to be there, whether or not they actually listen to you. Which is just as important in some cases as actual...listening is.

Cricket

. . . Where was I supposed to start with that, either?

Well, you see. Once apon a time, someone chained me to a wall and killed me and my close friends several times over. And sometimes people tried to kill me for good luck back at home, but that's a different story. The end.

" . . . That's a bit broad even still . . ."

Dr.Mencha:

...I wasn't quite sure what to make of that one. ...Hmm... perhaps a tactic change for a moment...? "Tell me about your friend... T.Mor? How did you two get to be friends?" I asked, knowing full well from the report I'd gotten that there could have potentially been an altercation regarding a brief accident. And perhaps this would get me more information...just... in general.

Cricket

"Ah . . ." I tried to remember. When was the first time . . . had it been the rebellion chat? . . . Aye. That'd been the first time I'd seen Mr. Face, and T.Mor came after. ". . . Long story short . . . met 'im through 'is boss."

Dr.Mencha:

Alright... well that was something. T.Mor had a job somewhere. "I see. ...And... What about him exactly provokes that defensiveness in you?" I asked, seeing how far I could get with the incident earlier today before having to work my way back through time. One topic at a time. We were talking about today at the moment. We could talk about the past in a while.

I put a note on my file. 'Ask about T.Mor's boss/ meeting.' For if and when we got that far.

Cricket

I wasn't quite sure how much I really wanted to tell her. In fact, I didn't want to tell her much of anything. It wasn't something I'd talk about with a stranger. It would be better to keep it to myself, bury it.

And suddenly . . . I was talking anyway. Some things don't change. " 'e's a friend." I think that's what I said. A glance down at the page confirmed it. It seemed simple enough. A brush of the truth, just a glimpse. Completely harmless. . . . But there was more to it, and I could feel her searching for it on my face. " . . . 'e's been through more than I 'ave."

Dr.Mencha:

...There we go. I had to hide a smile of satisfaction from him, because...again, I wasn't trying to play him or anything. I just wanted to help. Hear all his problems. Hear his friends problems. Anything on his mind, really. Listen. Listen, listen, listen...occasionally peppering with advice. "...Explain...?" I asked, deliberately leaving that one vague.

I started a header in his file regarding T.Mor. Underlined it.

Cricket

I didn't like this.

I didn't like this I didn't like this. It was being watched and being studied, and I didn't ask for it. And I wasn't sure if it was good to talk about T.Mor. What if they turned around and tried to get him to explain his own . . . trust problems? ". . . I don't know if I should."

And all this talking. I watched my paper as my own words filled it. At least that was a reassurance.

Dr.Mencha:

"Look... don't worry. Everything you say here is confidential unless it's going to end up hurting someone, alright? And even then, I can handle things quietly. You can speak completely freely here. Ok?" I reassured him. Everything would be ok. Just talk about whatever you wanted, and I could get the machinations going if need be. But again, I had no idea what exactly he was going to be bringing up, subject wise...so... I had to be prepared for both the completely mundane and the ridiculously... I don't even know.

Cricket

Confidential.

I thought about that.

" . . . T.Mor's a prison guard. Executioner." Then, I remembered the chair. " . . . was . . . "