I wake up to see sunlight streaming through the window. Starlight is at the foot of my bed sleeping. Checking my phone, I see a text from Nick. ‘Good morning, Amber. Text me if you need anything.’ Smiling, I send a good morning reply back. I get out of bed and follow the smell of toast and coffee to the kitchen. My mom is making breakfast. Wiping her hands on a towel, she says, “Morning Amber. I made a doctors appointment for you today to see what's causing the flashbacks. I hope that's ok with you?”

“Yeah, it’s ok Mom. I want to get rid of the flashbacks too.”

After helping myself to some toast and a mug of hot chocolate, I get dressed and ready to go. Half an hour later, we arrive at the office. It's the opposite of what I expected. I expected a hospital like environment, but instead, found a home-like environment. We sign in with the secretary and sit down on the grey couch. My mom holds my hand while we wait. After ten minutes, my name is called. “Amber?” Getting up, we are greeted by an older woman with silvery grey hair and deep brown eyes. Her face is filled with kindness. The walls of her office are a calming shade of red. The furniture is a tan color.

She shakes my mom’s hand. Turning to me, she says, “Hi Amber. I’m Dr. King. You can call me Jenna. Take a seat. Do you want any tea, coffee or hot chocolate?”

I sit down on the couch next to my mom. Shaking my head, I say, “No, thank you.”

Jenna makes herself a cup of tea before sitting down on the chair across from me. “So, Amber. I heard from your mom about Philip and what happened. She said you’ve been having flashbacks of the attack and some other things. Is that right?”

“Yes, it is.”

Writing down some notes on a piece of paper, she continues. “If you’re comfortable sharing, could you tell me a little about what happened and what the flashbacks are like?”

I look into her eyes only to see sincerity. Taking a deep breath, I go off into the story.

30 minutes later, Jenna is horrified but sincere. “Amber, I believe you have PTSD. Your mom told me that the flashbacks aren’t predictable meaning you can’t tell what’s going to trigger them or when they will happen. I think a service dog would help you. The dog could alert to the early signs of the flashbacks. I have a friend named Madison who runs an organization for PTSD Service Dogs. I could contact her today and see if we could get you to meet the dogs to see if that will help you.” Pulling out her phone, she calls Madison. Hanging up the phone, she says, “Madison said you can stop by her place tomorrow.” Scribbling something down on a piece of paper, Jenna hands it to us. “This is her address and cell phone and house phone.” Turning back to me, she continues. “Amber, I also think that Nick has helped you recover from the trauma. Keep him in your life. I have a feeling he will become very important to you someday.”

My mom meets Jenna’s eyes. “I also thought it was PTSD. Thanks for the final diagnosis, Jenna. I’ve been doing some research on PTSD Service Dogs and think that one will help Amber. I’ve also made her study everything there is to know about service dogs and the laws with them. Thank you for your help, Jenna.”

Jenna gets up to hug us. “You’re most welcome. I’m glad to be able to help.” Five minutes later, we’re on our way home. Checking my phone, I see Nick returned my text. ‘How are you today?’ I click reply and tell him about the appointment. Plugging in my earbuds, I turn on Wake Me Up by Avicii and relax into the seat of my mom's car and watch the scenery fly by.