Daring Devotion by Elaine Overton Page A

enough work with legitimate cases.”
    Cal chuckled. “I heard that. Can you let me know what you find out?”
    When he received no answer, he realized Noel’s attentions were distracted by Marty, who was knocking down the fragile outer wall of the building some distance away.
    â€œHow’s St. John treating her?” Noel asked the question, knowing Cal would understand his interest.
    â€œGood, as far as I know. She seems happy.”
    Noel looked away quickly. “Good.” He forced a weak smile. “I’m happy for her. And thanks again for the info.” He turned and began moving across the room to begin his inspection. “I’ll give you a call,” he called over his shoulder at the last minute.
    Cal watched the other man walk away with slumped shoulders that reminded him he wasn’t the only one with problems.
    Â 
    â€œCal, have you ever heard of post-traumatic stress disorder?”
    Cal frowned at Chet Butler, one of the many department shrinks. Of course he’d heard of PTSD, what firefighter or cop had not? “Yeah, but what has that got to do with me?”
    Chet, a small, quiet man, cleared his throat loudly, already knowing what Cal’s reaction was going to be. But he pushed ahead anyway. “That is my diagnosis. I believe you are suffering from PTSD.”
    â€œWhat? Are you kidding me?” Cal shot to his feet to tower over the man. “After only three sessions you come up with this?”
    Chet looked up at the giant standing over him. “Cal, sit down, please.”
    Cal balled his fist at his side trying to regain control of his temper. He flopped back down in the chair and sighed. “You’re wrong Doc.” He buried his head in his hands.
    Chet just waited for the other man to accept what was blatantly obvious. The diagnosis of PTSD was always the most resisted by firefighters, who often reacted as if he’d just accused them of having a mental breakdown. Because of the symptoms, PTSD had a reputation of being a career ender, and it was always met with outrage, disbelief and sometimes violence. And yet, it was the most common diagnosis throughout the fire department.
    For men and women who dragged charred bodies out of burning buildings on a daily basis, it was only natural that eventually the stress of what they did would take its toll. And the condition could easily be treated with therapy and sometimes medication. Chet was quite proud of the fact that most of his patients were able to return to active duty in a relatively short amount of time. There was always the initial shock of the diagnosis and the refusal to accept it. But once they got beyond that, he was able to help them.
    Right now, Cal was just at the acceptance stage. Chet knew it would take time. “Cal, all the symptoms point to PTSD—the dizziness, the hallucinations, the nightmares.”
    Cal’s brown eyes came up to meet his, and Chet could see the torment behind them. “That can’t be.” Cal shook his head adamantly. “No, you’re wrong.”
    â€œCal, I know what you are thinking, but PTSD is not what you think it is. No one is saying you are crazy, or have to give up your career. It is entirely treatable.”
    Cal shot to his feet again. “You’re wrong.” The words were said with no anger, but with absolute conviction. He turned and headed toward the door.
    â€œCal!” Chet called realizing his patient was leaving. He stood. “Where are you going? We still have fifteen minutes left in our session.”
    â€œHome, I need to…” Cal found his mind was too muddled to form coherent thought. “I need to get out of here.”
    â€œCal, I’m gonna have to give Mack my diagnosis soon. Can’t we just talk a little more, maybe come to some sort of understanding regarding what is neces—Cal! Please come ba—”
    Chet watched the door swing shut behind the man and shook