“This is good, Lou. We know your triggers—touch and sound. There are people with additional sensory issues related to taste and textures of food, light, the whole gamut. This is manageable. That’s what I’m trying to show you.”

I’m not so sure. It obviously hasn’t been manageable so far. “So, what now?” I ask.

“Now we get you an appointment with an OT sometime in the future to work on developing a sensory diet.”

This must be the person Dan was telling Ginger about.

“What, like vitamins?”

“Not quite,” she laughs. “A sensory diet involves exposing you to certain triggers, but in a safe environment. It helps you develop strategies to cope.”

She’s got to be kidding. That sounds terrible, like volunteering to get an extra flu shot.

She keeps going. “I have a few we can work on today if you like? Can I try something?” She’s too eager. She holds out her hand, and I jerk back. She puts it down again. “Lou, I promise I will not lay a hand on you without your permission. Do you understand?”

I nod, but I don’t scoot forward again.

“Lou, I am going to put my right hand firmly on your left shoulder for five seconds. You can count with me or count in your head. Is that okay?”

I shake my head no but then say yes before I can think more about it. I channel Well and get ready to feel my feelings as she puts her hand firmly on my shoulder.

“One, two, three,” she counts, and my whole arm feels like it’s seizing up, like I’ve stuck my finger in a socket. “Four…” This is torture, torture disguised as therapy. “Five!” she says, and takes it away. “There. See. You did it!”

“Yeah.” But I just stood here like a cyborg and now I’m exhausted and my arm is tingly and how is this worth celebrating? I think.

“Lou, I know you think this wasn’t a big deal,” Andrea says. “But it was. A lot of people do well with specific parameters like this where they know what’s coming. And also, the pressure matters. Soft touch is often harder than a firm handshake or a high five.”

“What about the noise?”

“That’s another thing that does better with warning. A little advance notice goes a long way.”

I think about the fire drill. “What if I don’t get advance notice?”

Andrea gets up again and walks behind her desk to pull something out of her top drawer.

“That’s what these are for.” She places two purple foam earplugs on the table. They look like mutant caterpillars.

“You want me to wear earplugs?”