Breathing For The First Time by Mary E Thompson Page B

terrifying and confusing. The person is aware on some level of what’s going on, but can’t control their emotions. Depression is not just emotions, but the emotions they are feeling are amplified when fighting depression.”
    She turns her focus back to me, giving me a sympathetic nod. “Chasing after a cause to heal someone who has affected your life can make you crazy. You need to make sure that whatever you are dealing with is not going to influence who you are trying to help. But it can be very rewarding to know you are helping someone else, the same way that you wanted to help your mom.”
    Dr. Stevenson smiles at me and continues her lecture. I think about what she said. I’ve always wanted to help people with depression. I’ve always been drawn to this particular piece because of my mom. But will I be able to see patients as individuals instead of as versions of my mom?
    After class, Brooke holds my hand tightly, but Dr. Stevenson stops me, asking if we can talk for a minute. Brooke tells me she’ll wait for me outside and I sit down in the front row.
    “Tyler, how is your mom doing?” Dr. Stevenson asks.
    “Actually she’s doing really well these days. She has found a combination of medicines that work for her and she seems to be pretty balanced.”
    “That’s great. I’m glad to hear it.” She pauses, searching for the right words. “Can I ask you a question?”
    I nod and meet her eyes.
    “Has your mom ever tried to commit suicide?” she asks with a sorrow in her voice.
    “No, thankfully she hasn’t. My dad is great and he’s sent her away a few times to get better. I realized watching my dad how important it is for someone to have support and unconditional love when things get bad.”
    She nods, looking far away, as if remembering something she wants to forget.
    “Did your friend?”
    Her eyes snap to mine and fill with tears. “Yes, she did. She tried a few times and eventually she was successful. It was the hardest thing I ever went through. I had already started studying depression, but I wasn’t able to help her. I also wasn’t able to treat her.”
    “Is that why you went into teaching?”
    She smiles at me, a sad smile tinged with regret, “You’re very insightful. And yes, I knew after watching what Sharon went through that I couldn’t risk losing someone else. I wanted to do research, I wanted to help people, but I decided this is my path.”
    “Are you happy with it?”
    She laughs at me, saying, “You don’t pull any punches, do you? Yes, I’m happy with it. Helping people requires you to distance yourself from them. If you get emotionally involved and something happens, you’ll never forgive yourself. If you treat them as a patient and care for them, but don’t let them into your heart, you can survive. I knew when Sharon died that everyone would be in my heart. That’s what I worry about with you. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”
    I shift my weight, slightly uncomfortable talking about something so personal. Dr. Stevenson is trying to help me and it’s nice to talk to someone who gets it, who’s been there. “I never really thought about it. I guess in some ways I think Mom had pretty mild depression, but it was still hard as a kid. I feel like my calling is really to help new parents suffering with depression. Maybe postpartum women or parents with young kids. From what my dad said about Mom’s depression, those were the hardest years.”
    “I can imagine. And that’s very noble of you. It’s good to think about who you want to work with now. I know you have another year, but if you know what you want to focus on it will help you to target certain things with some of your elective classes.”
    “That’s a great idea, Dr. Stevenson. Thanks. I appreciate the idea. And I’m sorry about your friend.”
    “Thanks Tyler. Have a good day.”
    I walk out of the classroom thinking about our conversation. It’s refreshing to hear another opinion, but she’s