Act 8

In case I haven't mentioned it, I have a pretty amazing treatment team.  I seriously do not know where I'd be without them.  Probably not here typing this, that's for sure.  I don't often speak of my psychiatrist because, well, my time with him is short and infrequent.  He's pretty awesome, and has stuck with me through nearly a dozen med changes thus far.

I really like working with him, despite the fact that he is always running late.  We're talking 15-20 minutes late, which, considering appointments are only 20 minutes?  Yeah.  I know.  But I don't mind waiting.  The last time I was there, there was a family in the waiting room, which is very unusual. They seemed outwardly agitated and anxious, and did not look happy to see me arrive.

As it turns out, we both had appointments scheduled that evening, but they mixed up the time and arrived nearly an hour before their appointment.  When the doctor came out to get his next client, which was supposed to be me, I offered the time to the family that had been waiting.  The father was speechless, at least momentarily.  He quickly regained his composure, and thanked me profusely for letting them go in first.  And I happily enjoyed a little bit of peace and quiet after a long day.

It was even more peaceful knowing that this act was done in memory of six-year-old Noah Pozner.  Noah was the youngest victim of the group.  A blue-eyed, rambunctious, video-game loving child, Noah wanted to be a doctor when he grew up.  And if being a doctor didn't pan out, he wanted to own a taco factory, as tacos were his favorite food.  Noah's perpetual smile brought light and laughter to those who knew him.  And he will never be forgotten.