Lying on the Couch by Irvin D. Yalom Page A

him?"
    "Five years!"
    "Five years at three times a week," Norma continued. "Let's see . . . with vacations, that's about a hundred forty hours a year—multiply by five, that's about seven hundred hours total."
    "Seven hundred hours!" exclaimed Heather. "What on earth have they been talking about for seven hundred hours?"
    "I can guess," said Norma, "what they've been discussing lately."
    In the last few minutes, in an effort to conceal her irritation with Heather and Norma, Carol had slumped so deeply into the cowl of her sweater that only her eyes were visible. As so often before, she felt more alone than ever. This came as no surprise—many times friends traveled part of the way with her, many times they had promised loyalty; yet, in the end, they always misunderstood.
    It was the mention of Justin's shrink that caught her attention. Now, like a tortoise emerging from its shell, she slowly extended her head. "What do you mean? What have they been discussing?"
    "The great exodus, of course. What else?" said Norma. "You seem surprised, Carol."
    "No! I mean yes. I know Justin had to have been discussing me with his shrink. Funny how I manage to forget that. Maybe I have to forget. Creepy to think of being continually bugged, of Justin reporting to his shrink on every conversation with me. But of course! Of course! Those two planned every step of this together. I told you! I told you before that Justin could never have walked out on his own."
    "He ever tell you what he talks about?" asked Norma.
    "Never! Lash advised him not to tell me, said I was too controlling and he needed his private sanctum where I wasn't permitted to enter. I stopped asking long ago. But you know there was a time two or three years ago when he was down on his shrink and bad-mouthed him for a couple of weeks. He said that Lash was so off base that he was urging a marital separation. At the time, I don't know why—maybe 'cause Justin's so obviously pathetic—I thought Lash was on my side, maybe trying to show Justin that, if he were

    Lying on the Couch r^^ ^ ^
    away from me, he'd realize how much he really gets from me. But now I see everything differently. Shit, I've had a mole in my home for years!"
    "Five years," said Heather. "That's a long time. I don't know a soul who's stayed in therapy for so long. Why five years?"
    "You don't know much about the therapy industry," replied Carol. "Some of the shrinks will keep you coming in perpetuity. And, oh yeah, I didn't tell you that's five years with this therapist. There were others before him. Justin's always had problems: indecisive, obsessive, has to check everything twenty times. We leave the house and he goes back and forth to the door to see if he locked it. By the time he gets back to the car, he forgets if he checked and out he goes again. Dumb shit! Can you imagine an accountant like that? It's a joke. He was dependent on pills—couldn't sleep without them, fly without them, meet an auditor without them."
    "Still?" asked Heather.
    "He's gone from pill addict to shrink addict. Lash is his nipple. Can't get enough of him. Even at three times a week, he can't get through the week without phoning Lash. Someone criticizes him at work, five minutes later he's whining about it on the phone to his shrink. Sickening."
    "It's sickening also," said Heather, "to think of medical exploitation of that kind of dependency. Great for the shrink's bank account. What motivation does he have for helping a patient function on his own? Is there a malpractice angle?"
    "Heather, you're not listening. I told you that the industry considers five years as normal. Some analyses go on for eight, nine years, four or five times a week. And have you ever tried to get one of these guys to testify against another? It's a closed shop."
    "You know," said Norma, "I think we're making headway." She picked up a second doll, placed it next to the other on the mantel, and wrapped some twine around both. "They're Siamese twins. Get