Dr. Diedrich

I felt disconnected from my surroundings.

I’d come to the point that the distress I was feeling was more than I could handle on my own, so, in a state of desperation, I sought out someone who could help me make the fear go away.

It was like my eyes couldn’t focus properly. As I stared out in front of me, my vision seemed to darken and change colors. The world around me seemed surreal, like I was in a dream. I didn’t feel cold, but my body was shaking and my teeth were chattering like I had chills.

The dark only made it worse. It made me feel smaller, more alone, less in control, while it made the world around me feel bigger and more uncertain. And the lighting in my housing unit was so dim. Even with every goddamn light in the house turned on, the lighting was so dim. And nobody else was home.

The corridor leading to the doctor’s office wasn’t much better. The long, inlaid neon lights that lined the ceiling only provided moderate lighting between the neon “EXIT” sign at one end of the hall, and the door which read “Dr. Riley Diedrich” at the other. With our commune having been converted from an abandoned Air Force base, much of the infrastructure wasn’t up to date.

Having only two on-campus doctors, I was grateful that residents had access to medical care 24 hours a day. Still, it seemed like Dr. Diedrich was the one who was available more often than not.

As I entered the office, he greeted me pleasantly, using my first name, as though he were seeing a personal friend, and saying “It’s good to see you.” He was a slender man with square facial features, conservatively dressed, with grown-out short hair and thin-brimmed classes. His demeanor was always level and he was always soft-spoken. He always gave the impression of being in control.

I began trying to explain what was wrong, but I struggled. My voice was faltering and going into the cause of my anxiety was only making it worse. The doctor approached swiftly. “Shh, don’t worry about that,” he said, putting one hand on my arm and the other on my back. “Come here,” he led me to his fainting couch, “lie down.”

“Now can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?” He held up four fingers on each hand.

“Eight,” I answered.

“Okay. And how many now?” He held up two fingers on each hand.

“Four,” I answered.

“Good. And how many now?” He held up three fingers on one hand and four fingers on the other.

“Seven,” I answered.

“Good. Now can you tell me what shape this is?” He formed a triangle. I identified it.

“Okay. And what shape is this?” He formed a rectangle. I identified it.

“Good. And this?” He formed a circle. I identified it.

Now that my focus had been broken from my stressor, the anxiety was beginning to die down and I was beginning to relax.

“Good work,” he said, and sat down in the armchair opposite the fainting couch. “Now, the only thing that’s important right now is for you to relax, okay? He had such a gentle tone of voice. Nothing else matters.”

“Uh-huh,” I replied. The trembling had subsided.

It’s strange how much of a difference it can make in the way we feel just to have another person’s permission to not be upset. Though, in a social world, everything we think, everything we want, and everything we do is somehow based on the ideals we’ve learned from other people. So, I suppose it makes sense.

“Now, I’m going to go make you a cup of tea,” he said. “Is it alright if I get up for a second?”

“Mm-hmm,” I replied.

A moment later, he returned carrying a tray with two cups of honey lavender tea. Not a pre-packaged commercial blend, but steeped lavender mixed with honey.

In addition to modern medicine, Dr. Diedrich practiced various forms of alternative medicine, including the use of hypnosis and botanicals, on which he’d personally conducted research studies. Though, since he’d come to the commune, he hadn’t had the same resources available for conducting research.

I sat up, turning to face the armchair, and he handed me a teacup and saucer. After a few sips of tea, he invited me to tell him about the cause of my stress, which I was now able to do calmly.

He approached the discussion like a casual conversation; listening to my concerns and responding to them logically and without personal prejudice.

As our discussion came to a close and I said I felt ready to return to my housing unit, the doctor gave me a sachet of lavender potpourri to take with me and advised me to spend the evening doing something familiar, like watching a movie I liked.

I felt better–and not like my anxiety was in remission–like things would be alright.

As I left the office, thanking him for his help, he told me with a soft smile, “I hope to see you again soon.” This statement concluded our interaction without leaving me to my own devices.

I couldn’t help but wonder what drove Dr. Diedrich to do the work he did. He was a skillful physician and psychotherapist, and yet he chose to work long hours for modest pay as the medical staff of a small commune. Was this just the kind of work that suited him, or was it something else?

Dr. Diedrich had never been anything but nice to me, but I got the sense that he liked being in control, and I tend to question the intentions of people who appear to give a lot without asking for much in return.

I am an anxious and somewhat paranoid person, but I feel like most people are somewhat jaded about the intentions of other people–I think rightly so.