A disconsolate Helen Wheeler sat in her car smoking a cigarette. She knew it would be
about an hour before she had the chance of another. She didn’t want to be here, but, John,
her husband had made it clear that if she didn’t attend the therapy sessions he would
leave her. He’d made the same threat years ago to get her to quit the habit before the
first of their two children arrived and so she’d tried but failed with patches. Sometimes
now she wished she hadn’t bothered because all he seemed to do was moan.
But now the thought of being left on her own to look after the children without easy
access to his plentiful supply of money filled her with dread. So here she was, waiting
until it was time to keep her appointment. The therapist, Ann Tinkle, was a decent enough
woman, about her age she guessed, but all they did was talk about her habit and the
benefits in giving up.
Helen checked her watch, and, discarding her cigarette, walked up the short drive to
the front door of the clinic. She made her way up to the second floor and announced
herself to Ann’s receptionist. She was invited to take a seat and the receptionist picked
up her notes and disappeared into the consulting room. It was the same each time, and she
found the wait infuriating. If she could be on time why did she have to wait?
Eventually, after longer than usual, she was shown in and without being asked sat
down in the armchair she always occupied.
“So Helen,” said Ann “I gather from your husband you haven’t succeeded yet; why is
that do you think? We’ve talked about the cost, the effect on your health, the fact that
your husband hates the smell. This is your sixth visit and I would have hoped by now that
at least you would have cut down a bit.”
“Well the simple answer is that I don’t want to give up, and I’m worried if I do
I’ll put on weight. And we had a few arguments this week so I suppose I might have smoked
more than I normally do.”
“Which, if I remember correctly is about 30 a day” said the therapist. Then she said
“So you tried patches, gum, acupuncture, hypnotherapy, plain will power and group therapy;
and now your sessions with me and your husband’s threat to leave you don’t seem to be
having any effect either. So, your husband agrees with me it’s time to up the incentive
and stop messing about. I’m going to move you to my group sessions.”
“I’ve done that, got the T-Shirt, waste of time” Helen spat back. The thought of
sitting in a circle with twenty or so idiots telling each other how well or how badly they
had done didn’t amuse her.
“Oh, you’ll find my group sessions are very different. I’ve had some good success
with smokers, gamblers and drinkers. I doubt if you’ll need to attend more than four
times. Yes okay, there’s an element of telling the others why you’re there and how you’ve
been getting on, but humiliation plays a big part. As far as I know I’m the only one using
these methods. So, as I say, I’ve agreed with your husband that your first group session
will be this coming Sunday at 4pm. prompt as I have a vacancy as a result of my success.
Then it will be each Sunday. And your husband tells me if you’re not there, or you don’t
co-operate he’ll be seeing his lawyer about a divorce.”
“What do you mean by humiliation, and what methods?” asked Helen.
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