The Day of the Fear Doctor

What fear does Stephen hold?

Stephen rambled quickly into the room and acknowledged me with a rehearsed smile and stiff nod of his tired head. I pointed towards the couch: “Good afternoon Stephen. Please, lie down on the couch”. He sat for a moment, hands planted firmly at either side like a child preparing to leap of a high wall. Then he swept his legs up and around, and lowered his back into the tanned leather. He shuffled for a moment, trying to create a groove; “It’s a stiff couch for a reason,” I thought to myself.

My name is Dr David Seymour. My patient that day was a Mr. Stephen Price. He suffers from Chronomentrophobia – the fear of clocks. He came to me for help. He asked if I could cure him. I told him I am purely there for assistance and to find the root of the problem. He must cast his own fears. This is what happened.

When I arrived to work that chilly morning and read my chart, I was rather perturbed. A patient with a strange fear was due to arrive within the hour. I kindly asked the secretary to remove any clocks from the lobby and examining room: “A strange request. Turning the place into a casino?” she said. I could sense her suspicion but simply repeated myself and made my point very clear.

I made my way to the examining room in preparation for Stephen’s arrival. I sat at my desk. I was in game mode. I felt…..I felt challenged. “A fear of clocks” I asked myself rhetorically out-loud. I had heard of the exclusive fear but when you have studied the human brain for twenty years, and can easily fill in the gaps like a simple game of sudoku, then suddenly you open page twelve of the paper only to find an anagram in its place, things bear a new complexity.

I deliberated with myself for roughly an hour before Stephen arrived. I made several phone calls and e-mails with colleagues about Chronomentrophobia. I had many questions to ask him. How does he survive the day avoiding clocks? Is it time he truly fears? Can he remember the cause? Would he arrive slightly late? Or early?

A sudden triple-tap on the solid timber door startled me. “Come in,” I said. It was Stephen. He was a short man with a slim frame. He had silver hairs complementing which surprisingly added to his appearance. His eyebrows were thick and bushy and his eyes a tired blue.

I think it was a half an hour into the session. Stephen lay motionless on the couch. His forehead was glossy with perspiration, his eyes closed softly; they were prone to the odd flicker and his breathing was controlled. He had revealed many details about himself which allowed me to asses the extent of his chronomentrophobia. He told me he once worked for a production team in a news room. Competing with deadlines on a daily basis for over a decade appeared to have taken its toll. It was quite clear to me he began to grow an irrational fear of failing to meet the studios deadlines. This manifested into his life and he slowly began to create a fear of not only time, but clocks too.

“That’s enough for today,” I said. With the snap of my thumb and middle-finger, Stephen’s eyes responded and opened with haste. Rubbing his eyes he appeared gaunt and sleepy. “You have revealed a very interesting source of the fear” I said. Sitting with Stephen for the next twenty minutes I explained in detail many aspects of his recovery plan. He had performed excellently on his first visit and I was remarkably happy with him. I told him to take it easy for the rest of the day and make to ensure he gets a good sleep every night. He didn’t say much. In fact I don’t recall him saying anything at all. He simply nodded and breathed heavily.

Suddenly and sharply Stephen shot up from his seat, turned on his heel and ran out the door. I stood up. “What on earth….Stephen!?” I shouted to an empty room. I peered around the room curious as to why he fled. I looked down and saw that the hair band over the cuff of my sleeve had come loose and revealed my wristwatch. “Fuck it anyway” I half-shouted angrily.