Martin stood briefly in the corridor. If he rang and told Sarah, Bella’s visit might be misconstrued by her. But if he was to restore their relationship he had to let her know. He asked a nurse if he could use the ward phone and immediately got through to Sarah.
‘Sar. It’s Martin.’
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Mood-wise, things continue to improve and the side-effects are less.’
‘I’m delighted for you.’ There was constrained pleasure in her voice, not delight. Martin heard her reserve.
‘There’s more news. Fielding says I can go tomorrow morning.’
Sarah’s voice lightened. ‘That is good news. When shall I pick you up?’
‘I’ll find out the details tomorrow and ring you then.’ Martin dropped his voice. ‘There has been a complication though.’ He hesitated a second, trying to stay calm. ‘Bella turned up at the hospital a few minutes ago. Obviously uninvited.’
There was no response from Sarah for several seconds. She then spoke softly. ‘Bella? Why? What the hell did she want?’
‘Apparently wanting to abuse me. Accused me of manipulating everything. She was very angry.’
‘And how did you respond?’
‘Listened to her abuse for a minute and then said I was going to get a nurse to walk her off the unit. She left immediately.’
‘That woman is extraordinary! What will she do next?’
‘I’m not sure. I’ve certainly put up a boundary. I guess she’ll need to keep letting the pus out until, hopefully, she becomes distracted by something else.’
‘It’s important that you told me, Martin. I’ll tell Dave.’
It felt as though Sarah was talking to him more as in the past. Bella was seeking to maintain a triangle, but the triangulation had to be deconstructed.
‘I agree. Tell Dave to give me a ring if he needs any more info. And Sar,’ and here Martin felt his voice softening, ‘I’m so looking forward to being with you tomorrow.’
‘Thanks, Martin,’ said Sarah. ‘I’ll hear from you tomorrow.’
A BUM RAP AND A BUM SQUAT
Martin slept fitfully that night, perhaps because he was excited about being discharged from hospital, perhaps because of the lowering of the olanzapine. He was woken by three male nurses who entered his room just after six. They all looked quite detached.
‘Martin, we need to search you and the room. Out of bed now, please.’
Martin stood up and reached for his dressing gown.
‘Not yet, Martin. We need to search you first. Could you take you pyjamas off please?’
Martin was puzzled. There had not been any body search when he was admitted or subsequently. Why on the day he was being discharged? He decided to say nothing. He took off his pyjamas and placed them on his bed. One nurse inspected him from the front, another from the back, while the third nurse stood back. ‘All fine. Now Martin, we need you to do a bum squat.’
‘A what?’
‘Squat down. If there’s anything between your cheeks, cigarette lighter or whatever, it’ll drop out.’
‘Cigarette lighter? Why would I have one?’
‘Just do it, Martin, please.’
Martin tried to squat but fell to his side, perhaps because of residual drug side-effects. It increased his sense of indignity. The nurses helped him to a squatting position and then told him he could get dressed. One then went through his wardrobe, another searched the bed and the third opened the drawers of his bedside table. He found a brown paper bag, opened it and spilled the contents onto the bed. He spoke aloud, slowly so that it could be recorded by the third nurse.
‘Three ampoules labelled morphine, six syringes and six needles.’
The first nurse turned to Martin. ‘You agree with our record?’
Martin spluttered. ‘Yes, but I have no idea…’
The first nurse cut him off. ‘It’s OK, Martin, you can explain it to the police.’
‘The police.’
‘Hospital policy. If not, we could be an accessory under the Crimes Act. They’ll be here in an hour or two. Breakfast will be out at seven.’
Martin felt shattered and went back to bed, pulling the covers up. The police would ask if the contents of the brown bag were his. And the problem was that they probably were. Presumably Bella had gone through his medical bag. But when? After their big argument? That was unlikely as she was out of the bedroom self-harming. It must have been earlier. But why then? And she must have then planted them during her visit. And presumably the only reason for her visit. And then she would have rung the hospital to inform the staff about the drugs.
The last thoughts were peripheral. It was more important to decide what he would say to the police when they asked whether the gear belonged to him. How would this be perceived by the Medical Board when they investigated him to determine if he was an ‘impaired practitioner’? If he named Bella, what were the consequences? Would this not advance her retributive anger? Would the police charge him? Would he go straight from the psychiatric facility to jail? Did he need a lawyer?
He went to the nursing station and asked if he could use the phone. Sarah took a while to answer. She had clearly been asleep and it took her some time to digest the information. He asked if it might be wise to have her and even Dave present with him when the police arrived. After some deliberation she suggested that it might appear ‘too defensive’ but she would check with Dave and get back if he had a differing view.
A little after nine, a nurse from pathology asked Martin if she could take a blood sample. ‘To check your lithium level.’ She hesitated briefly. ‘And the doctors want another drug screen.’ Martin appreciated the logic. It could only be an advantage. The drug screens on admission and now would be negative for morphine.
The police arrived an hour later. The policewoman was young but pleasant and breezy. Her partner appeared bored. They introduced themselves and explained why they were called.
‘I understand you are a medical practitioner, Doctor Homer?’
‘Yes.’
‘And brought into hospital by the police for speeding and behaving erratically.’
‘Correct. I was not myself. The consultants diagnosed me as having a manic episode.’
‘And you hadn’t taken any drugs prior to the admission.’
Martin chose not to provide a comprehensive answer. ‘I’ve never taken any illicit drugs. Call me boring perhaps.’
‘And the morphine that was found in your locker. How do you account for it being there?’
‘I certainly didn’t put it there. I was searched when I was admitted and I’ve not had any leave from the ward.’
‘So how do you explain it being in your locker?’
‘Clearly someone put it there.’
‘Either another patient or a visitor. Who has visited you?’
Martin named Sarah and Bella. The policeman sought their full names and addresses for his notebook.
‘Would your wife bring you morphine?’
‘No way!’
‘Would Miss Donna?’
‘It’s the only possible option in my view.’
‘Why would she do that? Is she a patient of yours?’
‘No.’
‘So what’s the nature of the relationship?’
‘I met her a couple of weeks ago when I was thinking of buying a property. I went to the agency where she worked. She struck me as a very intense woman. I was very surprised when she visited me yesterday. I didn’t think anyone knew I was here. She was very angry with me for some reason and I asked her to leave. But she’d been waiting in my room for a few minutes, so it’s quite possible she might have brought the drugs onto the ward.’
‘And you’re suggesting she planted them in your dresser?’
‘It’s the only explanation I can think of. She struck me as a very emotional woman.’
‘Are you suggesting that she’s stalking you?’
‘I’m not sure. Can’t offer you any logical reason really.�
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‘Has she shown any other behaviour of this type?’
Martin wondered whether he should mention the graffiti. ‘Nothing I am certain about.’
The policewoman stood up. ‘Well, Doctor Homer, we’ll interview your wife and this woman, ask the Superintendent for a report – including your drug screen results – and write our own report.’ She turned to her colleague as she spoke her next sentence. ‘But I don’t think there’s any reason why you can’t be discharged home today.’ Her colleague nodded assent.
Martin felt relief. He was not going to be charged. They had failed to ask him if he owned the morphine and needles. There had been no need to go into details about his relationship with Bella. He could predict that, when they interviewed her, she would be tempted to make some wild claim. Perhaps that he had rung and asked her to bring his own morphine to him. But, in all reality, she was smart enough to know the risks to such a claim. The ward had a notice at its entrance warning about the consequences of any visitor bringing drugs onto the ward and she could be charged as aiding and abetting an action involving a psychiatric patient who was clearly not of right mind. He judged that Bella’s retributive action would not gain much traction.
As the two police left the room, the policeman winked at Martin. ‘Do you think this Bella woman had the hots for you, doc?’ A rhetorical question, as he left the room before Martin had the opportunity not to respond.
GRAFFITI STICKS
Sarah arrived at the unit two hours later and she and Martin listened to the discharge instructions from the nurse. Martin was given sufficient medication for a week and an appointment for review by Professor Marshall the following Tuesday. The nurse wished him well and he, in return, thanked her and asked her to pass on his appreciation to all the staff. As they walked out, Clarissa waved and smiled. He went over and shook her hand.
‘Still not spotted?’
‘I think they’re getting warmer. There was a study done a couple of decades back about imposters acting sane after they were admitted. Took an average of nineteen days to be sprung. I’m finding it increasingly hard to pretend mania. So, one way or another, they’ll eventually discharge me and my parents will think I’ve been successfully treated for another manic episode and with any luck they’ll stop crapping on about the money.’
‘I wish you well.’ They both laughed at the incongruity.
Martin rejoined Sarah. ‘A wonderful woman. Has a bipolar disorder.’
Sarah responded quietly. ‘She looks so normal. I thought she must be a staff member.’
They left the unit and Martin sucked in the air of freedom, judging that everything meaningful is comparative rather than absolute. Arriving at the carpark Martin put his hand out for the keys.
‘Probably best if I drive, Martin.’ It was the first of many indicators of their new relationship. In Sarah’s view he was still impaired. Not safe enough to drive a car. There was little conversation as they drove home, and mostly as banal as whether there was enough bread and milk at home.
At home, Sarah led Martin to the second bedroom. Her welcome was delivered almost impersonally. ‘So, home. I’ve made up your bed here. In case you wake and want to wander during the night. Just got the sheets in last night before it rained.’
Sarah knew she was being severe. It was partly to chasten him, Sarah being uncomfortable with her instinct to punish him. But it was more due to her apprehension about whether he was still mentally ill. She did not feel that her Martin had fully returned. Was it the medication or had events caused Martin to devolve to a semi-functioning state? If so, would he continue to function at such a level of impairment? Sarah knew she was being icy but judged it her best defence against unrealistic expectations.
The pleasure Martin had felt on leaving the hospital moved to a sense of gloom, distinct from depression. Over lunch they discussed plans and options for the next week in a desultory manner. Sarah said she had to be at work full time. Martin was quick to endorse that plan but was acutely aware that it had not been put as an option or as a question.
Martin spoke and wondered whether he was seeking to solicit Sarah’s support. ‘I’ll be contacting the Medical Board next week. I’ll report myself as impaired. In fact, I might actually go there in person.’
‘That all sounds wise.’
Martin interpreted Sarah’s dispassionate response as indicating emotional detachment rather than lack of interest in his plans.
‘For the rest of the week I’m going to do a bit of walking, become physically fit again as the medication side-effects have made me feel quite washed out. And I’ll try and get on top of all the paperwork.’
Sarah looked directly at him. ‘Here or at work? You’re not thinking of going straight back to work are you?’
‘I want to get back to work but I’ll wait on the Board’s suggestions, if they have any, and probably Marshall’s review.’
Sarah simply shrugged her shoulders, leaving Martin somewhat nonplussed. They sat in silence for a couple of minutes until the doorbell rang. Sarah stood up.
‘That will be Dave. I’ll leave the two of you to chat and I’ll go and visit Mum for a couple of hours.’
Dave almost bounded into the room, grabbed Martin by both shoulders and gave him a great shake. ‘Great to have you back in the world, Sunny.’
‘It has been a bizarre few weeks.’
‘And the hospital? Horrendous?’
‘Mostly. Interesting though. If I’d broken my leg I would have had lots of visitors, cards and flowers. No cards or flowers, for me or anyone else on the observation ward. Out of mind you become out of sight. And even you, you bastard, didn’t even visit.’
‘I wanted to, Martin, but you told Sarah you didn’t want any visitors and you even specified me as one to be excluded.’
‘I didn’t?’
‘’Fraid so.’
‘I have no memory of that at all. And little memory of last week. The last is of calling you to help with Bella.’
‘So it goes.’ Dave looked sad. ‘When I got there I didn’t know what the hell was happening. I certainly didn’t think of mania. Just saw a Martin I’d never seen. One I couldn’t relate to. And I did note an interesting symptom – all the hairs on the back of my head seemed to rise up. I’ve often heard people talk of hair-raising experiences but never had one myself.’
Martin raised his hand and moved to a more pressing issue. ‘Dave, I want to get back to work. I need to get back. It will distract me. It defines me. I need it. Not next week, but perhaps the week after.’
‘I guessed that would be a priority. I had a meeting with all our medical staff last week, told them you had a mood problem that was severe enough to require time off but that you would want to come back to work as soon as possible.’
‘You told them that?’
‘Yes. The graffiti meant they all knew something serious was in play. It really spooked everyone.’
‘As it was designed to do. Did you say I had manic depression or bipolar?’
‘No. Just a severe mood disorder.’
‘And their response.’
‘Well, they were supportive. They have such respect and fondness for you…’
‘I hear a “but” coming…’
‘But the graffiti worried them with the reference to manic depression. They’re not concerned about themselves, more whether you will be appropriate with the patients, whether you are at risk of making mistakes…’
‘Are they all of that view?’
‘Most. And one specifically does not want you back. I won’t name him or her but this person stated they would leave if you returned. It unsettled the others further.’
‘And you, Dave. Your view?’
‘At the discussion I was also unsettled. Seeing you now, hearing you talk, I’m reassured.’
‘The professor isn’t sure whether I have a bipolar disorder at all. Could simply be a unipolar melancholia.’
Dave leant forwards, and his voice lifted.
‘Really?’
‘It’ll be clarified over time. So it’s the bipolar issue that worries them?’
‘Seems so. All the connotations of mania and madness in operation.’
‘And my patients?’
‘We can only speculate. We’ve had a few inquiries from some. Mostly they have been concerned about you. Only a few gossipers seeking to find out more. If you come back to the practice…’
‘If?’ Martin felt shattered by this two-letter word. He had not expected or considered such a possibility. He felt as though he might vomit.
Dave raised his hand as if to negate his last statement. ‘Sunny. I do apologise. I should have said when. How do you want to proceed? I can report back to the group or you can come and meet with them. I can tee up a meeting this week or next.’
‘It’s a no-brainer, Dave. It has to be me. And this week, I’d suggest.’
Dave signed off. ‘Thanks, mate.’ He shook Martin’s hand firmly and each returned the other’s look of confidence that issues would be brought under control.
That night, as Martin and Sarah prepared dinner together, Martin felt increasing discomfort at their long silences and her desultory responses to his attempts to open a discussion. Over dinner, he briefed Sarah about the conversation he had had with Dave. She appeared worried and briefly patted him on the hand before taking it back. Rather rapidly.
‘How do you plan to handle it?’ she asked.
‘I’ll meet with them all, probably after my appointment with Marshall, and put my best case. It will be what it will be.’
Sarah looked questioningly at him and then reverted to the austere and non-committal mood she had shown before dinner. They both watched television for an hour before Sarah excused herself, saying she needed to do some more work to prepare for a departmental meeting on Monday. Martin watched television for another hour and then went to his bedroom, the room to which he had been consigned, mulling over whether it was simply a time out strategy by Sarah or whether the rift in their marriage was consolidating. He tried to read for a while but was distracted by Dave’s briefing as well as by Sarah’s attitude to him. He shivered with cold and recognised its origins – he was being frozen out – at risk of losing everything of importance. He had lost his sister, his father, his mother, the pleasure of being a father, and now he risked losing his wife. He had no instinct to plaintively ruminate How many stressors can anyone take? Instead, he reminded himself of Churchillian maxims that Edina had offered when he was struggling with some oppressive problem. Never despair…It is a mistake to look too far ahead. Only one link in the chain of destiny can be handled at a time…Courage is rightly esteemed the first of human qualities, because it is the quality that guarantees all others. But he wondered whether he really had the courage to address all the accruing issues. Then, judging such thinking as unhelpful, he moved to generating a list of tasks for the next week before he went to bed. Despite his sleep being fitful and dominated by oppressive nightmares, he woke only when his alarm signalled eight o’clock, and he could leave his bedroom knowing that Sarah would have already left for work.
In Two Minds Page 21