The room was bright. The clinical whiteness of it brought words like sterile and pristine to his mind. He squinted. The smooth walls blended into the tile floor almost seamlessly. In the center of the room was an exam table. White leather top. White paper liner. White plastic legs. White canvas pillow. Nothing else. No counters or cabinets or windows. No sink or trash bin or sharps disposal. He rubbed his hands over his arms, his nerves fraying.

               “Lay down, Mr. Sanburn,” the nurse behind him said.

               He turned to regard her, staring at her white smock, her white name tag with large black block letters. Greta. She held a tablet and was tapping away on the screen. It too was white. Everything was white. Sterile. Pristine.

               Greta looked up from her screen. “Are you nervous?” she asked him.

               He rubbed his hands over his arms again, swallowing hard. “I suppose I am.”

               “I assure you, it doesn’t hurt. It’s like waking up from a dream. You feel bad now, but we make you feel good. And it happens gradually, so you don’t get any shock from it.” She sounded as if she was speaking to a child. He imagined that she wanted her smile to seem friendly, but it only seemed robotic. How many other people did she offer than smug look, which barely concealed the impatience he heard beneath her words?

               “Okay,” he said, giving her a half smile. He turned back towards the exam table. “Um…Do I need to…to disrobe or anything?”

               Behind him, Greta laughed softly. The laughter was like fresh dew. “No, no. That’s not necessary.”

               Still, he hesitated.

               “Are you having second thoughts, Mr. Sanburn?” Greta asked. She touched his shoulder. “There is still time to change your mind.”

               Her touch was cold, like the room itself. He considered leaving. This procedure couldn’t be worse that what he was living now, though. Whatever they did to him, whatever they removed from him, it had to be better than living as he was. He couldn’t go on like this. “No, I haven’t changed my mind,” he said, though he sounded weak.

               “Lay down, then,” Greta prompted, giving him a nudge forward with her icy hands.

               He did as he was told, slowly climbing onto the table, the paper crinkling and crunching underneath his weight. He laid on his back, staring into the too white ceiling. He closed his eyes for a moment, shutting out the brightness.

               “That’s good, Mr. Sanburn,” Greta said, as her fingernail clicked against the screen of the tablet. “Just relax. Keep your eyes closed and breath deeply. Dr. Rudolph will be in shortly.”

               He kept his eyes closed. Greta’s shoes retreated from him, clicking on the tile all the way to the door. The door opened slowly, then softly closed. There was silence. He was alone with the still air and the noiseless, clinical, whiteness. He tried to do as Greta had directed, and take slow, deep, even breaths.

               Before too long, the door opened, and different set of shoes clicked across the floor. “Hello, Mr. Sanburn,” a man greeted.

               He opened his eyes. The man standing next to the table was also wearing white and carried a white tablet with him. The black letters on his white nametag read Dr. Winston Rudolf. He was smiling, a much warmer smile than Greta had worn. His hair was salted, and his face was just beginning to wrinkle. He had a day’s worth of growth on his face, but his upper lip was carpeted in a thick, dark mustache.

               Sanburn tried to rise, propping himself up on his elbows, but Dr. Rudolph placed a hand on his shoulder, softly pressing him back into place. “No need to get up, Mr. Sanburn. This works best if you stay nice and relaxed.”

               He let go of the breath he’d been holding, feeling his body relax as the air left his lungs. He closed his eyes. His heart slowed, as he’d come to expect from the practice sessions he’d done. He closed his eyes again. “Yes, you’re right. They reminded me of that when I arrived today.”

               “We’ll just take everything nice and slow. Easy. Light,” Dr. Rudolph said. Sanburn heard the doctor tapping on the tablet. “Now, tell me why you’re here.”

               “I don’t want to feel certain things inside me anymore,” he answered. His body was like jelly. He felt like he would melt off the table with his next exhalation. He had mastered the relaxation techniques they had taught him at previous appointments.

               “Yes, and we can help you with that. I’m just going to hook a few things up now,” Dr. Rudolph said.

               The door opened again, and the clicking of Greta’s heels echoed through the room again, but Sanburn didn’t care to open his eyes to regard her. He knew from the other sounds in the room that she had brought in a rolling cart. He imagined it was also made of shiny white plastic. He had practiced this tool, numerous times, until he could get through the placement of all the devices without his heart rate spiking. He felt well controlled. In fact, he felt almost like he wasn’t in the room at all.

               “Now, Mr. Sanburn,” said Dr. Rudoph. “Tell me what is bothering you.”

               The first instrument was placed on him. A round metal disk. It was cold against the skin of his neck. He felt hands on his neck, taping it in place. Soft hands. He imagined they belonged to Greta.

               “I lost someone I care about,” Sanburn explained.

               “How did you lose them?” Dr. Rudolph asked, typing on the tablet as Greta placed another metal disk, this one equally as cold, on the other side of his neck.

               “He was killed in an accident,” Sanburn explained. “The train was running late, so we left the station, tried to hail a cab instead. He stepped off the curb.” His words were coming out too fast.

               “Stay relaxed, Mr. Sanburn,” Dr. Rudolph instructed. “Take another deep breath like you practiced.”

               Sanburn did, exhaling the guilt and the regret and the grief. He wiped his mind of pain, until all he had inside himself was a void. It lasted only a moment, but it was long enough for him to regain control.

               “Good,” Dr. Rudolph said. He felt the doctor’s hands moving along his scalp—he knew it was the Dr. Rudolph this time because the hands were not as soft. “Now, tell me, when your brother died, what did it feel like?”

               Sanburn could not speak for a moment. The pain had been crushing, but he knew to voice this would make his heart rate rise, would force him to go through another round of breathing exercises to control his body. He stayed smooth as glass by not speaking, not thinking.

               “Mr. Sanburn?” the doctor prompted.

               “It felt like losing a part of myself,” he whispered.

               Dr. Rudolph found what he was looking for along Sanburn’s scalp—a port. He brushed the hair sway from it. Greta’s heels clicked, and she picked up something from the tray. “Exhale one more time for me, Mr. Sanburn,” Dr. Rudolph said.

               Sanburn followed the instructions, feeling his heart slow to the point that he felt that he could fall asleep. Something clicked into the port in his scalp.

               “You might feel dizzy for a moment, but it will pass,” Dr. Rudolph said. Someone flipped a switch.

               Sanburn was not prepared for the disorientation that overpowered him, but Dr. Rudolph had not lied. It lasted only a few seconds before he lost all conscious thought.