It was a long 45 minutes before her cell rang.

“Better Porter speaking” The call was answered on the first ring.

“Hi Bette, this is Sandy Rollands returning your call.”

“Thanks for calling Sandy, I just…I needed to talk to you about Tina. Things seem to be getting worse and I was wondering what the next level of treatment we could consider would be?”

“Worse how?”

“She’s taking a lot of pills, I don’t even know what they are. She’s drinking alone a lot and then driving. I walked in yesterday to find her about to hit our two year old. Sandy, she’s just out of control and I need to
do something before we fall apart.”

 “I was afraid this might happen.” Sandy admitted, “Tina needs several sessions a week, I cautioned
her against quitting therapy.”

“What do you mean quitting therapy?” Bette asked as her a frown creased her forehead.

There was a pause before Sandy responded “Bette, Tina stopped seeing me over a month ago.”

The words felt like a physical blow as Bette tried to comprehend the implications. Her mind reeled with all the questions this turn of events raised.

“Bette, did Tina not tell you?”

“No” Bette replied as her cheeks colored. “You must have wondered why on earth I was calling you.” The brunette closed her eyes as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

“It’s not the first time I’ve had this type of call from a partner of a former patient.” The therapist offered.

“She said she was still seeing you three times a week.” Bette said in disbelief as she ran a hand through her hair and swivelled her chair to look out over the manicured CU grounds.

“You’re not alone, it’s common with PTSD for sufferers to lie about things.”

“But Tina doesn’t lie, she’s not a liar.” Bette insisted.

“She’s not herself, Bette. What she went through was so traumatic that it forced her to adopt new strategies to cope. Sadly this kind of thing is common. The best thing you can do for Tina is realise that this is
a disorder and not reflective of who Tina was or hopefully who she will be again provided she gets the help she needs.”

“I’m at a loss as to what I should do. I want her better but if she’s refusing to go to therapy then what can I do to help her?”

“It might be time to consider options where Tina is less of a risk to herself and others.”

“Like what?” Bette questioned, “surely you’re not suggesting that I institutionalize her?”

Sandy paused to choose her words, “There is an excellent residential facility called Canyon Lodge in Malibu, they specialise in conditions such as Tina’s. It’s not drug or alcohol focused and it’s one of the best in the country for PTSD. ”

Bette sighed heavily as her stomach knotted at the thought of putting Tina into a rehab facility.

“My wife is not a crack addict, Sandy.” She responded,“There has to be another way.”

“Tina has excused herself from therapy, outside of a residential facility or a hospital there’s no way of making her attend any kind of therapy.”

Bette offered no response.

“Bette, Tina may benefit from spending some time with people who are also recovering from a traumatic event. It can help patients to normalise their feelings when they realise they’re not alone in what they’re
experiencing.”

“I have no idea how I could even get her to agree to this.”

“It’s been almost three months, research suggests she’s unlikely to improve without some level of professional assistance.” Sandy pushed, “I’ll email you a referral letter, then if you and Tina decide this is the right next
step, it’ll be one less delay in getting Tina the help she needs.”

“Thanks Sandy.”

“Any time I can help, Bette and good luck.”

“Bye” Bette pressed the end button on her cell and placed it back on her desk. She couldn’t ignore the valid points made by Tina’s former therapist. The challenge lay in how to convince Tina that she needed that level
of help when she’d already quit her therapist and not said word.

Suddenly work felt like the last place Bette needed to be.