Rain; a funny little thing. A spring rain at that, possibly the first of the year. She always loved a spring rain, and he would love the way she?d smile while she stood in it, would love the way it?d stick stray strands of hair to her cheek, the way it?d soak into her clothes, her hands, her smile. Just the way her eyes would shine, like the way eyes should shine, everyone?s all the time, if only they could just remember what it was to be happy, to be free, to be alive.. Adam always loved her. Always. Always and forever in the rain.
Rain, such a funny, silly thing. Adam Nesset wondered if it was the rain he felt, or if he was crying. It was hard to tell.
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?It was the April of 2003, just outside of Khorsabad. The men were sick and we didn?t know what to do. It was only my second year with the Army. The doctor at the head of my unit had ? suffered difficulties, before I arrived. We suspected some kind of gas attack, or maybe a viral agent, so we set up clean tents, wore hazmat suits. We?d trained for this. But..? Adam trailed off.
?But??
?..You know I can?t really talk about it.? Adam looked up for the first time in a while. It wasn?t that the room they were in was ugly. Comfortable, clean, organized yet warm, it was everything he?d expected in a psychiatrist's office. Certainly it wasn?t anything against the man across from him, a one Dr. Coughlin, who was on the far side of middle aged and former military himself. No field time, but that didn?t bother Adam. The plain features, the heavy set eyes, the round stomach and receding hairline; Dr. Coughlin reminded Adam of a teacher he had in his first year of medical school. No, Adam liked the office and his psychiatrist just fine. He didn?t even mind coming here.
He simply couldn?t talk about it.
?Can?t, or won?t??
?Can?t. Won?t. Same thing.?
?Not really, Adam.?
?I don?t remember much past the first few days. Our precautions weren?t enough to stop the outbreak from affecting us, too. We all ended up as sick as the rest.?
?Why don?t you tell me what you do remember, then? Unless you?re uncomfortable with it.?
A tense smile in response. ?If I?m being honest, you wouldn?t believe me if I told you. No one really does.? Looking again to the floor, Adam rolled a finger in the air, just around his ear, for the universal sign of cuckoo. ?When you?re sick like that, you see things. Most of us died within the first week of infection. The rest just suffered longer before succumbing.?
Dr. Coughlin took a moment to pour himself a glass of water from a pitcher on his desk, then offered to pour a glass for Adam. Adam shook his head, hand upheld.
?If you don?t want to talk about it, then we don?t have to, but it should be obvious to you that if we?re here to work on your condition, then at some point we should talk about the cause of it.?
?Of course, of course. You?re right. I?m just not ready yet. Soon.? Doubt heavy in his voice. There would never be a right time for the discussion.
Dr. Coughlin sighed. Getting the younger doctor to open up about his problems was going to be difficult. He had read the report, of course; it came as part of the package. Nearly six dozen men and women were exposed to a biological agent of unknown origin, suffered from what was believed to be encephalitis, and then died horribly. There were some details in the paperwork suggesting the agent was less effective against the local population, but not much beyond that. Everyone named in the report who showed signs of infection died within two weeks of exposure.
Everyone except Adam Nesset, who claimed to have no sane memory of the incident. Dr. Coughlin wondered if this case ended in his lap less because people were concerned with Adam?s mental health, or if they simply wanted to know why him.
Dr. Coughlin pushed the cynical thought aside for now. It didn?t matter why Adam was here. Only that he was, and he wanted help.
?Adam. Have you heard of survivor?s guilt??
A sigh. ?Yes. It?s where you feel guilty for having survived when no one else did. I talked about it with the first psychiatrist I saw, while I was still in the hospital. There was a lot of it in the war. They said I had it.?
?What do you think??
?No. Sometimes I ask, why me? Why not someone else? But..? Adam suddenly shook his head. ?It wasn?t my fault. I know that.?
?Do you?? A curious cant of head.
?Yes.? Simply. Adam?s fingers twitched, the first tremors of agitation.
?You may not realize how affected you are, Adam. If I asked you to, would you consider attending a support group? There are others like you, current and former military who meet to discuss their feelings following traumatic situations like yours. I can give you..?
?I don?t have survivor?s guilt.? The response came quickly. Adam suddenly stood straight up and looked Dr. Coughlin in the eyes. ?Trust me. We can drop it. I don?t feel any guilt over it.? Then, just as quickly, he looked away.
Guilt, no, but anger? Dr. Coughlin found this curious. By all accounts, Adam Nesset was a kind man. Not a bad bone in his body, or so the reports said. Wouldn?t harm a fly. Hence becoming a doctor, or one would assume. Dr. Coughlin nodded and smiled. ?Of course, Adam. I believe you. Forget I brought it up.?
Silence prevailed for a moment. Adam, now uncomfortable, looked up at the clock. When he made an excuse about needing to meet his fiance for lunch, Dr. Coughlin didn?t argue the point.
?I?ll see you next Tuesday, Adam. There are some exercises I would like us to try. Until then I want you to try and take things easy, get fresh air, maybe go to the gym. Physical exercise is good for sleep.?
?Thanks, doctor. I?ll? yes, I?ll be back.? The sour look remained as Adam left, all up until he reached the closed door of the office, where he paused, turned, and apologized. ?Sorry. I get tired of people telling me how I feel sometimes. No one understands what happened there. There?s no support group for it. It?s not survivor?s guilt.?
?Okay, Adam. I believe you. But that?s why we?re here, to understand what?s happening with you. It?s as much about you talking to me as it is me talking to you. I?ll see you next week. It will be okay. Okay? It will be okay.?
A short nod, unbelieving, then Adam Nesset was out the door.
Rain, such a funny, silly thing. Adam Nesset wondered if it was the rain he felt, or if he was crying. It was hard to tell.
-------
?It was the April of 2003, just outside of Khorsabad. The men were sick and we didn?t know what to do. It was only my second year with the Army. The doctor at the head of my unit had ? suffered difficulties, before I arrived. We suspected some kind of gas attack, or maybe a viral agent, so we set up clean tents, wore hazmat suits. We?d trained for this. But..? Adam trailed off.
?But??
?..You know I can?t really talk about it.? Adam looked up for the first time in a while. It wasn?t that the room they were in was ugly. Comfortable, clean, organized yet warm, it was everything he?d expected in a psychiatrist's office. Certainly it wasn?t anything against the man across from him, a one Dr. Coughlin, who was on the far side of middle aged and former military himself. No field time, but that didn?t bother Adam. The plain features, the heavy set eyes, the round stomach and receding hairline; Dr. Coughlin reminded Adam of a teacher he had in his first year of medical school. No, Adam liked the office and his psychiatrist just fine. He didn?t even mind coming here.
He simply couldn?t talk about it.
?Can?t, or won?t??
?Can?t. Won?t. Same thing.?
?Not really, Adam.?
?I don?t remember much past the first few days. Our precautions weren?t enough to stop the outbreak from affecting us, too. We all ended up as sick as the rest.?
?Why don?t you tell me what you do remember, then? Unless you?re uncomfortable with it.?
A tense smile in response. ?If I?m being honest, you wouldn?t believe me if I told you. No one really does.? Looking again to the floor, Adam rolled a finger in the air, just around his ear, for the universal sign of cuckoo. ?When you?re sick like that, you see things. Most of us died within the first week of infection. The rest just suffered longer before succumbing.?
Dr. Coughlin took a moment to pour himself a glass of water from a pitcher on his desk, then offered to pour a glass for Adam. Adam shook his head, hand upheld.
?If you don?t want to talk about it, then we don?t have to, but it should be obvious to you that if we?re here to work on your condition, then at some point we should talk about the cause of it.?
?Of course, of course. You?re right. I?m just not ready yet. Soon.? Doubt heavy in his voice. There would never be a right time for the discussion.
Dr. Coughlin sighed. Getting the younger doctor to open up about his problems was going to be difficult. He had read the report, of course; it came as part of the package. Nearly six dozen men and women were exposed to a biological agent of unknown origin, suffered from what was believed to be encephalitis, and then died horribly. There were some details in the paperwork suggesting the agent was less effective against the local population, but not much beyond that. Everyone named in the report who showed signs of infection died within two weeks of exposure.
Everyone except Adam Nesset, who claimed to have no sane memory of the incident. Dr. Coughlin wondered if this case ended in his lap less because people were concerned with Adam?s mental health, or if they simply wanted to know why him.
Dr. Coughlin pushed the cynical thought aside for now. It didn?t matter why Adam was here. Only that he was, and he wanted help.
?Adam. Have you heard of survivor?s guilt??
A sigh. ?Yes. It?s where you feel guilty for having survived when no one else did. I talked about it with the first psychiatrist I saw, while I was still in the hospital. There was a lot of it in the war. They said I had it.?
?What do you think??
?No. Sometimes I ask, why me? Why not someone else? But..? Adam suddenly shook his head. ?It wasn?t my fault. I know that.?
?Do you?? A curious cant of head.
?Yes.? Simply. Adam?s fingers twitched, the first tremors of agitation.
?You may not realize how affected you are, Adam. If I asked you to, would you consider attending a support group? There are others like you, current and former military who meet to discuss their feelings following traumatic situations like yours. I can give you..?
?I don?t have survivor?s guilt.? The response came quickly. Adam suddenly stood straight up and looked Dr. Coughlin in the eyes. ?Trust me. We can drop it. I don?t feel any guilt over it.? Then, just as quickly, he looked away.
Guilt, no, but anger? Dr. Coughlin found this curious. By all accounts, Adam Nesset was a kind man. Not a bad bone in his body, or so the reports said. Wouldn?t harm a fly. Hence becoming a doctor, or one would assume. Dr. Coughlin nodded and smiled. ?Of course, Adam. I believe you. Forget I brought it up.?
Silence prevailed for a moment. Adam, now uncomfortable, looked up at the clock. When he made an excuse about needing to meet his fiance for lunch, Dr. Coughlin didn?t argue the point.
?I?ll see you next Tuesday, Adam. There are some exercises I would like us to try. Until then I want you to try and take things easy, get fresh air, maybe go to the gym. Physical exercise is good for sleep.?
?Thanks, doctor. I?ll? yes, I?ll be back.? The sour look remained as Adam left, all up until he reached the closed door of the office, where he paused, turned, and apologized. ?Sorry. I get tired of people telling me how I feel sometimes. No one understands what happened there. There?s no support group for it. It?s not survivor?s guilt.?
?Okay, Adam. I believe you. But that?s why we?re here, to understand what?s happening with you. It?s as much about you talking to me as it is me talking to you. I?ll see you next week. It will be okay. Okay? It will be okay.?
A short nod, unbelieving, then Adam Nesset was out the door.