I saw my therapist for a final session on Monday. It had been a month since I'd seen him so I talked about all the changes I'd made in my life, and how happy I was with the work we'd done together. I mentioned Weight Watchers, and the difficulties and excitement of getting more involved in music again, and our new dog (and how deeply I still grieved for Dixie). I mentioned being close to graduating from school, and what my plans were for my future once I was done with that. He thought my notion of writing a biography was a pretty good goal if I was quite, quite sure I didn't plan to go back to being a musician full time. I am quite, quite sure. That's a lifestyle I no longer care to pursue. I've moved on to other interests, and although I can see someday being in a choir again as a joyous hobby I don't see giving up what I have now. I like what I have now. It would be good to sing again, though.
I asked him if he was happy with the results of my therapy sessions, and he gave me a nearly unqualified yes. I was surprised. I suppose I was expecting more of a "Congratulations, you're all fixed now" reaction. He was quite satisfied, he said, and thought I worked hard and deserved my newfound peace of mind. He wanted me to understand, though, that I am probably never going to be free of panic attacks, that they are my body's warning signal and should something go awry again they'll come back. Also, he reminded me that humans tend to go through phases of disruption followed by long periods of calmness as we age. So I guess he was telling me that I can relax for awhile, but to be ready to confront a new phase in a few years time. No kidding. Guess who really, really hates the idea of turning 50?
But hey, at least I'll be turning 50 with a college degree, and no guilt about my passion for music, and meanwhile I'm feeling good about having graduated from therapy. I'm still on medication because I have to go six months without any panic attacks before the prescribing doctor considers me cured. Since I had two attacks this month the clock got set back to zero, but I have a feeling it won't happen again like that. Little rills of panic are one thing, anxiety is another, but full blown, death-is-imminent panic attacks? Probably not. I realize I must think things through and decide what effects may come of my choices instead of relying so heavily on intuition and instant gratification. That will certainly be a behaviorial challenge for me!
I had no plans to celebrate finishing up. But then one of my favorite clients brought me what he claims is the Romanian national drink. It's called Palinca and it's 100 proof, double distilled, homemade plum brandy. My client brings it back with him all the time, he says, but has to decant it into glass bottles as he doesn't trust it not to eat through plastic ones. I uncorked it, got a snootful of potent fumes, recorked it, thanked my client, and tried not to mind that my desk smelled like a bar for the rest of the day. I think on Friday I'll have a sip and raise a toast to the end of one era and the beginning of another in the Long, Varied Life of Lucy.
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