An Act of Love Read Online Free PDF

the brochure.” Dr. Travis didn’t enter but instead stood in the doorway, holding it open. “I thought you might like to come see some of the ward.”
    Emily sat up and was overcome by a wave of dizziness.
    “Take your time,” Dr. Travis advised, as if she could see into Emily’s body. “When you feel like it, we’ll go to the dining room and you can have a little snack. You must be hungry.”
    In response Emily’s stomach growled furiously. She cringed and clasped her hands over her belly. Traitorous belly. Like the shrink would believe she really wanted to die when here she was, a fat pig ready to eat.
    “You won’t want much,” Dr. Travis continued, “but you need something to keep your blood sugar level up. Come on. I’ve convinced them to send you up some toast.”
    Dutifully Emily rose. At the doorway, Dr. Travis lightly put her hand on her back, guiding her.
    “Nurses’ station, offices, conference rooms.” Slowly they went down the corridor. “Here’s the bedroom you’ll be in tomorrow.”
    Emily stuck her head around the door. “Looks bare.”
    “You’ll be able to put cards, photos, on the bulletin board above your bed.”
    “No TV. No phone.”
    “There’s a television in our common living room, just down this way. And there are three pay phones in this hall. This is where you’ll receive and make all personal calls.”
    “Not much privacy.”
    Dr. Travis smiled. “That’s right. You may place calls between seven A.M. andeleven P.M. , but we ask you to keep the conversations short, no more than fifteen or twenty minutes, because there are so many others who will need to use the phones. And they will be shut off during group sessions. Here are the bathrooms. Your parents will bring you a toothbrush and toothpaste, which you may keep in your room and bring to the bathroom with you. The dining room.”
    Emily looked into a large cheerful room set with long tables and chairs, empty now of people. “Where does the food come from?”
    “The hospital cafeteria. I’ve heard that it’s edible, but a strong incentive for getting well.”
    For the second time that day, Dr. Travis’s gentle sarcasm made Emily smile, made her feel not quite so … so fucking pathetic .
    Dr. Travis walked over to a metal cart. “Here’s your toast. And some more 7UP. If you go through this door, you’ll come to the ward’s own little kitchen. We don’t prepare entire meals here, but we do have a microwave for popcorn, and a stove and oven so the patients can make desserts for our family nights.”
    They sat together at a table looking out a picture window at the grounds. To the right all was pastoral—sweeping lawns, walking paths through low hedges, trees valiantly clinging to their last shreds of leaves—but to the left, behind a high retaining wall, the bright metal of speeding cars glittered from the highway.
    “We have twenty-seven beds here,” Dr. Travis informed her. “At the moment there are twelve patients. Five of them are around your age, the others are young adults in their twenties. None of the people is dangerous. In fact, I think you’ll like them.”
    Emily looked around. “Where are they now?”
    “Most of them are in task-oriented group therapy. Quite a few are in chemical dependency rehabilitation programs, especially for those involved with drug abuse and alcohol. The chem depps, which is what they informally call themselves, have their own specific problems. But each person here has a schedule worked out especially for her.”
    The toast was cold, the butter or margarine congealed in yellow globules on the surface of the barely browned bread, but when Emily spread it with grape jelly from a little plastic packet and took a bite, she was amazed at how good it tasted.
    “We’ve found that working in groups is helpful to everyone, so when you read our pamphlet you’ll see that most of our meetings are group. Many of the problems that bring people here are shared by