Page 63 of Perfect Chemistry

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“How are you feeling today, Gunnery Sergeant?” the therapist across from me asked me.

“I’m fine. I just needed a signature to finish my medical out-processing, so I am not sure why it required an appointment,” I said honestly, smiling politely back.

“New requirements from Congress,” she explained with a half shrug. “So how are you really doing? You’ve had a rough couple of years, why don’t we start there.”

I had no idea what the hell she was going on about. “I’m sorry, maybe I am confused. I just need a signature so that I can continue my out-processing from the Marine Corps. I didn’t ask for therapy from you.”

She continued to smile and neatly folded her hands in her lap. “I’m afraid that isn’t how it works.”

“Isn’t how what works?” I asked, feeling my anger starting to rise.

The polite smile dropped and she became stone faced. “Quite frankly, until I have determined that you are no longer a threat to yourself, I am enabled by congressional mandate to hold you in service. Whether you like it or not.”

My mind stuttered. “What the hell are you talking about? My record is fucking immaculate!”

She huffed, snatched a file from her desk and began reading. “Depression, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Panic Disorder, Attempted Suicide, Willful disregard for personal health and safety,” she listed, pursing her lips at me. “If I think you may put your brains on a wall, I can admit you voluntarily or involuntarily. Your choice, Gunny.”

“What the fuck are you talking about!? I’m done with you,” I stammered, reaching to grab all of my things.

She didn’t bat an eye. “If you walk out that door, I guarantee I’ll have you committed before midnight,” she threatened.

I snarled at her, “Fuck you. Do your worst.” I stormed out of her office and heard the door slam behind me. I never closed the door, so she did that.

I stopped at the clinic’s reception desk. I was starting to shake from the rush of adrenaline caused by my anger. “I need to file a complaint against a provider,” I said.

“Katie?” a man called my name.

I looked up to see one of the organizers of my gold-star support group. Steven had lost his wife more than twelve years ago. Hearing him talk about how he still mourned her loss all these years later actually helped several of us in the group. Mourning was a process that took time. I didn’t have to put a mark on the wall, because it would take as long as it needed to take.

“Are you okay? You look rattled,” he observed.

“I-I need to f-file a complaint against provider, J-Jan-Jankowski,” I stuttered, feeling my eyes begin to burn from unshed tears. Steven was a safe shoulder to cry on. I knew, because I had done it several times over the last two years since Tyson’s death.

Steven walked up and pulled me into a hug. “It’s okay to cry, Katie,” he whispered. “Macy, can you cover the front? I need to handle a patient complaint.”

The woman in pink scrubs named Macy nodded, “Sure thing, Steven. Take your time.”

Steven guided me along the halls to a small waiting area. It was a few minutes before I realized that he brought me into the clinic’s command suite. I sat up straight and almost started to panic when Steven emerged from a small conference room. I didn’t realize that I was shaking my head at him until he started nodding.

“It’s okay. Come on, Katie,” he gestured for me to follow him into another office.

I lost all of my bravado. The tough as nails marine Tyson had fallen for was now just a shell. I could feel my legs shaking when Steven escorted me into the clinic commander’s office. Seeing the commander went against every grain in me. This was not following the chain of command. This was the equivalent of burning down a building because the kitchen sink was leaky.

Steven asked me to sit down in one chair while he sat down in the other. My eyes were scanning every nook of the room looking for an exit. My breath hitched when I saw the name placard on the desk in front of me.

Colonel Kara Giancolo.

Colonel Giancolo was a role model for every female in this camp. She was a badass marine through and through. She entered the Corps as an enlisted private and worked her way up to Gunnery Sergeant before she finished her Masters in behavioral psychology.

She then took a direct commission and finished her PhD between deployments to the Middle East. Colonel G. was a beast at physical training, endurance, combatives, marksmanship, you name it. But what made her truly remarkable was her ability to mentor. She didn’t just mentor females. She had a program to mentor the male leaders in her organization to be better mentors for their female subordinates.

Oh my god. I can’t do this!

I couldn’t complain to this woman. She would chew me up and spit me out. I stood up and turned to leave as the door opened again. There she was: Colonel Kara Giancolo; the Marine every female aspired to be like. Then there was me, the shell that no Marine should ever look up to.

She smiled and walked around me to sit down behind her desk. “Nice to meet you Gunnery Sergeant Johnson,” she greeted as she began clearing paperwork off of her desk. “Please, sit. What can I help you with today?”

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