Greg sat on the molded plastic chair in the hallway. He didn’t want to be here. He could feel his flight mode kicking in and tried to remain calm. Just then his leg began to twitch nervously forcing his knee into a jerking up and down rhythm as if he were keeping time to a piece of music. It started slowly, but ratcheted up swiftly until his knee was twitching so perversely rapidly that he was terrified that everyone who passed by thought he was spastic.
He clenched the sides of his lower thigh with both hands and pressed down with as much force as he could muster. He took a deep breath and held it for a count of ten then let it go slowly through his nostrils until his lungs were completely empty of any air. He wanted to leave. He took another breath. As he slowly released his grip on his knee and realized his leg was still he relaxed a bit. He rubbed his hands against the rough material of his jeans pant legs. He would stay. He laid his head against the cool painted concrete wall behind him. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes.
“Captain Stanley, Sir.” The voice broke through and startled him. He opened his eyes. A young nurse stood to his right. Her name-tag read: Sgt. Julie Novak Staff Psych Nurse. “Just this way Sir.”
“Please, Just call me Greg. I haven’t used my rank in a while.” He adjusted his feet and grabbed his cane to assist with balance as he stood up. It took a few moments for the artificial leg to adjust to his full weight. Once his balance was centered he pointed his cane in the direction the nurse indicated, “I’ll follow you.”
He could see the sign on the doorway from halfway down the hall. It was as though he stepped into a void seeing those words written out. There was no oxygen left in the building. He stood still and then doubled over. His heart was racing so quickly he could hear it like rapid machine gun fire in his ears. He was afraid he would lose his balance and fall flat on his face, pass out, throw up or do all three. He wasn’t sure which was worse.
The nurse noticed his reaction and stepped efficiently to his side. She placed her hand on the flat of his back for a moment before saying in a soothing voice: “Do you need anything? Water, a chair? Take a deep breath, please Greg, slowly through your nose.” She took his wrist in her cool, capable hand and assessed his pulse.
Greg took a breath, “You are having a panic attack, I am assuming not your first.” Julie said in the same soothing tone. Greg nodded as he exhaled slowly.
“Kinda the reason why I am here. Crippling anxiety is not a good look for a war hero.”
“Yeah, this is the stuff they don’t teach you in Seal Team Training. Maybe they should.”
“If they ever ask me I will be sure to give them your opinion.” Greg straightened up and let out a deep cleansing sigh. Julie’s hand remained on his back until he was stable again. “As for me, I have to start somewhere, right?” He pointed his cane toward the door with the sign. “Take me in Sarg.”
They walked to the door with the sign that read:
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder Support Group Meeting.
Julie opened the door with a dramatic flourish, saluted and held it open. Greg smiled and walked throu
Bio:
Maggie Scheck Geene is a Catholic wife, and mother of five adult children. She, her husband, four of her children, and a tiny but fierce chihuahua share a beautiful home in a park-like setting in a rural area not far from a College town. She works part time and enjoys spending the rest of her free time writing, reading, knitting and watching British television thanks to the internet. She was away from writing for many years and has enjoyed finding her voice again. She writes both non fiction essays on faith and spirituality and short fiction stories.