‘Has it passed?’ the woman at the reception desk asked me. I nodded, realising that the woman sitting on the couch meant that I was not completely alone in this world. I handed the receptionist my hospital referral, and she smiled warmly as she passed me some forms. ‘If you need to be alone, there is a separate room for you to wait in,’ she said as I dabbed away the sweat that was pooling on my forehead.

‘No, thank you.’ I wanted to be close to the woman on the couch, not to speak to her, but for the comfort she didn’t know she was giving me. For the knowledge that I was not alone, and that if she could be here, bravely fighting what was happening inside her, then so could I. I sat on the couch opposite her and began to fill in the forms methodically, making sure that nothing was missed.

‘Jhanvi,’ the receptionist said, ‘the doctor will see you now. Do you want to take that with you?’ She pointed at the cushion the woman was clinging to. She nodded as she stood up, and was led through to another room. For a moment, I thought she would leave the clinic, her comforter clutched to her chest, but, one foot in front of the other, she made her way out of the reception area and into the rooms behind me.

The receptionist looked at me. ‘Don’t leave, okay? You’re a little early, but you are safe here.’

I shook my head. I couldn’t leave if I tried, I thought. My body wouldn’t allow it. The panic was already fast taking hold again, and once it did, there would be nothing I could do until it subsided.

I nodded my head, managing a weak smile.

29. JHANVI

29

JHANVI

I don’t know what I expected walking into the doctor’s office for the first time. For days, I had allowed my imagination to run away with me, expecting him to be a stern man in a clinical room. Instead, the room was warmly decorated, and waiting for me at the door was what could only be described as a fatherly looking man. I looked around, taking in my surroundings. This would be a good place for a photo, I thought. I couldn’t help it; I was constantly looking for a new place to create material.

‘Jhanvi.’ He put out his hand, a warm smile on his face. I clutched the cushion to my chest but managed to extend one hand to greet him. ‘Please have a seat wherever you are comfortable.’ Was this a test? Was he going to monitor and take note of where I felt most comfortable? ‘You can relax, Jhanvi, this isn’t a test,’ he said, as if reading my mind. Maybe all his patients thought it was a test. I nodded and sat on a two-seater couch opposite two single seats.

‘How are you?’ he asked.