The Choice

had developed such a good reputation that I was asked to conduct
sessions behind one-way glass, so that my fellow clinicians could
observe my way of building rapport, establishing trust, and guiding
patients toward new choices. en it was time to face the written test.
I was terrible at multiple-choice tests—I had to study for months even
to pass the driving test. Somehow, through gritty persistence or sheer
luck, I passed the written exam. But not on my first try.
Finally, I sat for the oral exam, which I thought would be the
easiest part of the process. Two men conducted the interview, one who
wore blue jeans and had long hair pulled back in a ponytail, and
another who wore a suit and had a crew cut. ey grilled me for
hours. e man with long hair spoke sharply, tersely, asking me all the
questions about statistics, ethics, and legal matters. e man with the
crew cut asked all the philosophical questions, the ones that got my
mind working more creatively, my heart more engaged. Overall,
though, it was an unpleasant experience. I felt stiff and numb and
vulnerable. e examiners didn’t make it easy—their expressionless
faces, cold voices, and emotional distance were alienating. It was hard
to put my energy into the next question when each previous one le
me churning with self-criticism, with the desire to go back and revise
what I had said, to say something, anything, that would elicit a nod of
recognition or encouragement. When the exam ĕnally ended, I felt
dazed, my hands shook, I was both starving and nauseated, my head
hurt. I was sure I had blown it.
Just as I reached the front door, I heard footsteps behind me,
someone running to catch up. Had I le my purse behind in my
disorientation? Were they telling me already that I had failed? “Dr.
Eger,” the man with the crew cut called. I braced myself, as though
awaiting a punishment. He reached me, paused to catch his breath.
My jaw and shoulders clenched. At last the man extended his hand.
“Dr. Eger, it was an honor. You have a wealth of knowledge. Your