Sooner than she thought she would.

Dr. MacIntyre did all the prep she felt she needed to, going over last session's notes and getting ready to take more notes. She checked her watch. Still 5 minutes. 'What the hell,' she thought, 'it's just 5 minutes.' She reached over to the intercom and said, "Lynn, please tell John it's time for his appointment." She sat back and folded her hands.

"Yes Dr. MacIntyre," came her receptionist's reply. Out of context, she might not have recognized Lynn's voice, though. Something was different about it. Maybe it was breathier? In any case, she didn't have a chance to figure it out because her door opened, admitting John. He came in before Lynn would have had a chance to relay the doctor's message, as if he were waiting on the other side of the door.

She stood up and indicated the couch across the area rug from her chair. She liked to keep things personal, so they could connect better. And no, she didn't require her patients to lay down on the couch, like most of them assume. Couches are simply comfortable and versatile.

John's movements were jerky and delayed, as if he were second guessing each step he took. But he did as he was told again. Something different was going on today. He'd never been this nervous. Shila tried to make eye contact, but he wouldn't look at her.

"Are you okay, John? Do you need a doctor? A regular one, I mean."

He shook his head no and swallowed. He clearly wasn't ready to talk yet, so she let him sit until he was ready.

"What would you do," he asked, his voice shaking, but the words obviously rehearsed, "if you woke up and knew you could do whatever you wanted? If you could change anything to fit your desires?"