I've Never Liked Asking for Help... (Sean)

Sean had never had a meeting with Takchawee before, but she came up in conversations with several other students before. Sean was familiar enough with her circle of friends and her reputation at Hammel.

The psychiatrist had prepared for this meeting in the same way that he prepared for all other first sessions established by the students themselves. He reviewed their files, went over what he learned through the rumor mill, which was unreliable but it told him what perceptions to expect, even though the underlying information was often lacking accurate details.

When she arrived at the day and time of the appointment, he called for her to enter. Then, when she did, he offered her a gentle smile. “Hello Tak. You’re right on time.”

He then gestured at the wide array of furniture in the office. The chairs in front of his desk were the most immediately noticeable, but they weren’t the only options. As this wasn’t a disciplinary meeting, she had the option of choosing where she wanted to sit, including one of the armchairs or the sofa on the other side of the office. He would move to accommodate her. “Please, take a seat anywhere you would like.”

“You can call me ‘Doctor Neville’ or ‘Doc’ if you’d like to be informal,” Sean informed her. There was absolutely no reason to call him ‘Sir,’ as they weren’t in the military, and he wasn’t the patriarch of an authoritarian family structure. He didn’t feel comfortable being called “Sir” when “Doctor” would suffice.

He waited for her to choose a place to sit. Unsurprisingly, she chose the sofa, which was, in his opinion, a good selection; it was exceptionally comfortable. Once she sat, he rose from his desk, picked up his coffee mug, and followed her to the other end of the office. Setting down his cup on the coffee table, he slid into one of the arm chairs beside the sofa.

“There isn’t a set script,” he informed her, once they were both seated and comfortable. That was a standard question; many students expected there to be a specific way to go about meetings, but he was versatile. Particularly since not every person was the same, and thus not every problem was the same or called for a similar approach. Even with the telepathy there to aid them in the experience.

“If you want to do small talk for a while, we can do that. But since you’re the one who arranged the meeting, you get to decide what we discuss, and how we do it.” That should set her at ease.

Sean noticed how she shrank back from him, and he made no attempt to move closer to her than he already was. It was difficult to have a conversation from across his office, but he simultaneously wanted her to have both comfort, as well as a sense of safety and security. Likewise, he made a mental note not to touch her to offer her physical comfort, when he otherwise might with a more receptive person.

She was entitled to boundaries.

After explaining how sessions typically worked in his office, the psychiatrist leaned back, waiting for her to take the reins. A nod of acknowledgement followed her remark about small talk; it wasn’t for everyone, and if she wanted to get to the meat of the matter, he had no objections.

Or she could look for a common frame of reference. Or simply not want to make certain admissions aloud. Those were also valid.

It was a difficult matter, and while he didn’t have medical confirmation of his own, he had more than circumstantial evidence of the situation to which she referred. After all, she had medical confirmation, as did several other people at Hammel. Secrets were exponentially more difficult to hide from a telepath with each person who knew. Of course, finding a way to strike the balance between illusions of privacy and revealing the true depths of his knowledge was an exercise in constant refinement.

After a moment of internal consideration, weighing the different interests and reactions, he finally responded, “I probably know more than you’d like me to, all things considered. I know enough of the backstory, I’m sure, and I know present realities.”

Sean did know her reason for coming to his office. However, the specific questions she asked had several answers, depending on her own needs, desires, and concerns. He couldn’t plan a course of action without her active participation.

His voice was gentle, and his gaze remained on her face, to show that she had his full attention. “I’m not actively scanning your mind right now,” he said. She had never interacted with him before, and thus he had no expectation that she would understand the nature of his powers or his ethics regarding their use. Explaining further, he continued, “As a result of that, I need to ask you a couple of questions, so I can answer your questions as accurately as I can.”

The psychiatrist wanted to help her. To the best of his ability, he wanted to provide everything that she needed. In that sense, he was gratified that she had come to him, because he was in a position to help, and he was non-judgmental.

“You have decisions to make. I won’t lecture you about morality or safety, and I won’t pressure you in any way.” Sean wanted her to understand that; it was necessary for her to develop a sense of security and comfort. “My opinions don’t matter; only yours do. But for the record, I don’t judge.”

And then he could begin. “Do you want to continue your pregnancy?” He voice remained gentle as he asked that, although it was matter-of-fact. He deliberately chose neutral language, so as not to create emotional pressure; language could subtly manipulate, and he was unwilling to put her in that position.

“If you don’t want to continue to term, I know of several places to go, all of which are nurturing, professional, and discrete. If you do want to continue to term, I know several places that work on a sliding scale for appointments.”

Sean could imagine how much she had dreaded a lecture. Society found it necessary to lecture already vulnerable girls and women when they were in their greatest need. It only caused harm: guilt, shame, poor decision-making, a lack of support, and he couldn’t do that to another person. Least of all someone who came to him for help. “I think I do,” he remarked softly.

The psychiatrist inwardly sighed, although his expression didn’t change and no sound passed through his lips. Though he wasn’t actively scanning her mind, the word consequences slipped through. That was a word he never wanted to hear associated with pregnancy, and it was living proof of the lasting damage from the so-called culture wars.

Pregnancy took its toll on women. Children were life-altering events and shouldn’t be viewed as a necessary consequence of consensual sex. But he wouldn’t lecture her, as that wasn’t his right, and no benefit to her would come from that. If the decision she wished to make involved continuing the pregnancy to term and giving birth, then he would respect that, for whatever reasons she offered him, or offered herself.

“As soon as possible,” he replied, answering the first question. “The sooner you see a doctor, the better your care will be overall.” Early intervention proved useful in all fields of medicine, from injuries to cancer to mental health to pregnancy and reproductive health.

“There’s a hospital in the next town. A friend of a friend works there as an OB-GYN. It’s convenient, but the downside is that you would be visiting in a hospital setting and working with a hospital fee schedule.” Which was why he had mentioned his knowledge of other clinics. Thus, he continued, “There are ten Planned Parenthoods in Vermont. They work on a sliding fee scale, often with young women or those with little money. And they offer comprehensive prenatal care. Two of them are nearby, although it’s a longer trip than the next town over. If you don’t feel comfortable there, I can find you another clinic.”

Sean nodded in acknowledgment. It would be best for her and for the health for the pregnancy for her to be seen early and often. To create a consistent schedule of appointments and have access to early intervention.

The psychiatrist nodded in the affirmative. “They do blood-based pre-natal DNA testing at least one of the nearby Planned Parenthood clinics.” This wasn’t a service available at all of them, because it could be expensive, but he knew for a fact that the clinic in Burlington offered that to any pregnant client who requested it.

There was also the matter of transportation. Sean knew that Tak was underage at the moment, and that might complicate matters. “Do you have a way of getting to Burlington?”

He had all of the bus routes memorized, and he could provide her with what she needed. But he had to know what resources were already available to her.

There was also the matter of supplies, both for herself outside of the clinic and during the duration of the pregnancy, and then afterward, as well as for the baby. “And do you have a way of caring for the child?”

Children were expensive. She would need the support of her family, or from other adults.

Sean wouldn’t lie to her about any medical procedure, as she had a complete right to informed knowledge so she could make a decision. However, he also didn’t have personal experience with any medical procedure that involved pregnancy. As a cisgendered man of a certain age, he could never become pregnant. As a man involved with another cisgendered man of a certain age, they would never have to worry about pregnancy. And as all of his relationships with women had involved great precaution and a bit of good fortune, there had been no accidental pregnancies or pregnancy scares.

“I can’t say whether it’s painful. It will depend on how you react to needles,” he told her, his voice remaining gentle as he did. If she was fine with needles, then it probably wouldn’t be too bad. “But I can explain the science if you’d like.”

Relying on other teenagers to go to medical appointments was a flawed system and certainly less than ideal. Immediately, the psychiatrist began to consider alternate paths for her. “Talk to him, but if he shows reluctance or can’t go with you to appointments, let me know. I’ll help you find a way.”

The entire conversation was serious, but it became more so with the segue into her support network, implicitly with her family, and then the topic of adoption. “Do you plan to tell your parents?” The psychiatrist emphasized the word plan to show that he had no intention of getting involved in this; this was her life and thus her information to share or not share as she chose. “I can also discuss adoption with you, but the clinic will have more information than I will. They are full-service.”