Tom has been hogging the computer all day.
Usually he sleeps most during the day but he slept a lot during the night.
So he was up.
We had to go to the child psychologist to fill out some paperwork today. It wasn't a real session, just info about Tommy and insurance.
When we walked in there was music playing in the background. It smelled like coffee. There was a fluffy white couch in the waiting room so we took a seat and waited.
A few minutes later a woman who looked to be in her sixties walked out with a male patient who looked around 25 or so. I admit I glanced at him and wondered what his deal was. It must be interesting being a psychologist and listening to peoples problems. I'm not sure if I'd ever be comfortable in therapy. Plus, I have this diary, this is all the therapy I need.
She introduced herself and then handed us a pile of paperwork to fill out. Then she asked Tommy if he wanted to play in the playroom while she asked us some questions.
"Okay," Tommy said, a little wary. He glanced up at me to make sure it was okay.
"You can go play," I assured him.
So he walked in the playroom which was filled with toys. There was a chair in the corner, probably where the psychologist sits and observes.
Then the psychologist brought us back into another room that smelled like vanilla. There was a chair in the corner for her to sit in and a long couch and another chair in the corner.
I wonder if people actually lay down and talk like in the movies?
I wouldn't feel comfortable laying down and talking to a stranger. I'd probably remaining sitting.
She asked us some questions about Tommy: what he was doing at school and what he was like at home.
I mentioned that he had ADHD and sensory processing disorder.
I mentioned that he was on medication for his ADHD.
"And how do you feel about Tommy having therapy?" the psychologist asked us.
I told her that I didn't mind. That if it helped, then I was all for it.
"And even if it doesn't help, it doesn't matter," I added with a shrug. Then I was worried that she would be insulted. That she thought I was saying that she was crap or something.
Luckily she didn't. She just smiled and nodded. Then she looked at Tom. "What about you?"
Tom shrugged and waved a toy in front of Natalie, who was babbling quietly in the carseat. "To be perfectly honest, I think therapy is a joke."
I nearly choked and I didn't even have a thing in my mouth. My throat suddenly closed up and I looked at Tom in horror.
Nervous laughter filtered from my lips. "Oh Tom," I said and gave the psychologist a look that clearly said, "Men."
"Oh it's okay," the psychologist said gently. She behaved as though she heard it all the time. "May I ask why you think that?"
"I saw a psychologist when I was 8 and it didn't do a thing for me," Tom explained. "I just think people know what's wrong with them but that they need someone to tell them. Personally I'd rather save my money and have a friend tell me."
More nervous laughter poured out of me. I tried to catch Tom's eye but he refused to look over.
Thankfully the psychologist didn't look bothered. "Well, if you ever have any questions, please let me know."
We have an appointment on Saturday at 8. This will be Tommy's first real session.
As we walked out I said to Tom, "I can't believe you told her that you think therapy is a joke!"
"What? I was just being honest," Tom answered. "I do think it's a joke."
I suppose I should have known he thought that. When we were first married and had all sorts of problems, I suggested a marriage counselor.
"I'm not going to sit and tell some stranger my problems," Tom argued.
I hope this helps Tommy.