Trending
During the first session we met Monica and Peti, a married couple who had been in crisis. They called several times in a short duration even as I was in session. Once my sessions were completed was I fully able to respond to them. Thankfully clients already in session were understandable and even offered to step out allowing me time to respond.
Monica answered my return call and briefed me about Peti, who'd recently had a miscarriage. She'd been impregnated by a surrogate or "a sperm donor." Given the immediacy of their crisis I made allowances to get a quick meal while they were in route.
Monica drove the truck and had to hold Peti tightly while bringing themselves to my office. They sat and were tightly together. Monica provided a graphic detail of Peti's miscarriage followed by prescribed orders to rest by the doctor. Days later, Monica went to work as Peti rested. Then shockingly, Peti's body started to shake uncontrollably. She somehow got a call to Monica who called Peti's mom who resided close by. Both arrived, mother first then Monica, to embrace a struggling Peti. Their collective compassion and fond attentiveness proved inadequate to offer Peti calm. They called other therapists to no avail. I responded sooner in between client sessions. I was grateful for their attention. They spent time with me and left to return home to get some rest. They were asked to call me in the morning. Perhaps the immediate crisis was averted, yet I knew that more attention was needed. The next day, Monica called at 6:30 a.m. Peti barely rested. Monica held her all night long. They wanted to come in today. I found a time slot for them to fill; however, I urged Monica to call the OB for a follow-up visit.
They arrived at 11:00 a.m. I bode so long to my client and greeted Monica and Peti. Neither appeared rested, more so a washed-out look. Each gulped down a bottle of water I provided.
How are you doing Monica and Peti? Monica spoke first.
"Thank you for seeing us last night and today. We are grateful. Bless you, Sir." Thank you; bless you both for reaching out in a time of crisis. That's a true act of love.
"We love each other. We've been together four years. We dated for a year or more. One characteristic I loved about Peti was her belief in family. Can I be honest? (Monica looks at Peti.) Past relationships ended in dramatic form. All my relationships began well. Then each seemed to retreat into intimacy problems. Man, I could have used a therapist then. Each woman I dated, well, how do I explain it, each had parents who were divorced. One revealed that she was abused by her man. What's wrong with this world? I did like each woman. Their drama took hold of our relationship and spoiled it. Get what I mean?"
How did you meet? Monica, you continue.
"OK. We had a mutual interest in hockey. I went to several Sabres games during the season. I'd attend with friends, mostly men. We were at a game and I kept hearing an especially loud woman sitting behind us. Every time the Sabres scored a goal, she cheered like off the charts. She wore a Sabres jersey and hat and one time the hat flew off her head. I turned around to see this Sabres crazy woman jumping for joy and yelling out to the player who scored a goal. The player happened to hear her voice and he raised his hockey stick and acknowledged her. She yelled even louder. Those sitting near her were smiling and laughing at this woman. I checked her out for a moment and my friend George and I laughed. George commented to me that he thought I was the loud and crazy fan. When the period ended, I went to get food from the concession stand. Guess who stood in the same line? That crazy-loud woman. Guess all that yelling got her thirsty. I got our food and walked by her. I stopped (Peti cracks up laughing) and said something like, 'you go girl!' Go Sabres. She looked at me and amazingly planted a hug on me. Some of my food spilled and she apologized. Others in line either laughed or smiled. I returned to my seat next to George. He looked at what I'd brought and said something funny like 'did I eat before coming back to our seats?' Before I could explain the predicament, Peti came barreling up the stairs, stopped at our seats, and gave us a bunch of food. She apologized for the spill near the concession stand and took ownership for the mishap. George and I smiled and gladly took the offering. She then went to her seat. After the next period ended, George took a turn and went for refreshments. Peti suddenly appeared next to me. Kinda ballsy. She asked me if I was with this man, you know a boyfriend or friend? I couldn't believe it. Was I getting hit on? (Peti smiles and nods her head). She introduced herself, gave me her phone number, and asked if I might want to attend a future game? She had an extra ticket. One of her friends had a scheduling conflict. When George came back with our food, Peti left. I explained what had transpired and he looked at me, looked up at Peti, then back at me. He said go for it Monica, this was no accident; check her out. Well, I did. We went to a Sabres game at a later date and I can't remember laughing deeply so much. We ate, we drank, and we hugged when the Sabres scored goals. The rest is history. We dated. We went to all kinds of fun events. A year later, we decided to move in together. Our mutual interest in family got rise to a heavy discussion about babies. Fast forward, here we are. Peti is the love of my life. My friends and family love her and us together. We got married and all our family attended. Nothing bad or negative has happened before this miscarriage."
Peti remained quiet.
How do you feel about coming again? How about in a couple of days? Call me, o.k.? "O.k."
Let there be peace of earth and let it begin with me.
Marshall Greenstein holds a master's degree in marriage and family counseling and is a licensed marriage and family counselor and a licensed mental health counselor in New York state. He has regular office hours at 415 E. Sixth St., Jamestown, and can be reached at 484-7756. For more information or to suggest topics, email editorial@post-journal.com.