Finding the Pieces

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“Referral office, how can I direct your call?”

Heart beats.

“Alright, Miss Hall,”

I sigh, but I don’t correct.

“It looks like your referral has been approved. Would you like the contact information for that office?”

Deep breath, tap the call button.

More hold time. More silence.

“Alright, everything looks good.”

Heart jumps.

“All we need is a letter from your psychologist and your psychiatrist and then we can schedule an appointment.”

My heart moves from my chest to my gut. I don’t have a psychiatrist.

I ask for an exception. My primary care doctor, maybe?

Please wait.

We will call you back.

I’m angry, and sad, and impatient.

The last time I was told they would call me back I waited two weeks.

The phone rings 30 minutes later. I’m in the women’s bathroom, of all places.

A letter from the doctor will suffice. I stifle a shout of joy.

A friend was in the bathroom at the same time. I’m beside myself. I can’t stop smiling. I’m walking down the hallway with her, jumping up and down and literally turning around in circles while I’m laughing. She hugs me, laughing. I’m starting T.

I’m starting T.