Confinement
Page 11
Dr. Farbin at me looked me tenderly. "You're an intelligent woman, Charlotte."
I was startled by his remark.
"You've developed insight. You have influence here."
I didn't understand what he had in mind.
"Use it for the benefit the others. Help them calm down."
He then got up, scraped his chair away, turned briskly, and left the room.
* * * * *
Dr. Farbin's next stop was case conference, held at the end of the long hallway, out of the flow of daily routines. The top half of the walls in the conference room were made of thick, pane-glass windows, supposed to be sound-proof. There was a little crevice in the outside wall, where I often slipped to hide. With my amazing hearing I could hear everything that went on, if I really tried.
As soon as our group session was over, I trailed after Dr. Farbin, and tucked myself into the wall crevice. I pressed up close against the wall. It was cool and hard against my skin. I craned my neck upwards to look in. Because it was high noon, the sun was shining perfectly, and nothing could escape me now.
The staff was gathering around a long, wooden table. There were pads and pencils at everyone's seats. Dr. Whitney sat up front. Dr. Farbin arrived and sat opposite him at the far end of the table. Dr. Ethan immediately took a seat at Dr. Whitney's right side, pulling his chair a little too close. Dr. Whitney looked up at the group and smiled. Three other residents and Lannie Tournie came in and sat down.
"Please take a cup of coffee before we begin," Dr. Whitney always started this way. A tall, silver urn sat on a table at the side of the room. Besides it were blue paper cups, sugar and pale, flowered napkins, folded perfectly. Too perfectly.
Everyone went to get coffee, except Dr. Ethan. He stayed
seated besides Dr. Whitney, took a pencil out of his vest and tapped it on the wooden table, making a sad, rhythmical tone.
One by one, others returned to the table with their cups of
coffee, and Dr. Whitney began.
"Good morning. We have quite an agenda before us today. Two new admissions in one week." He smiled proudly. "A press meeting
coming up in three days. Duffino down in Insulin. And we have to decide what to do next with Else. Anything else?"
"I move that discussion about Duffino be placed at the top of the agenda." Dr. Ethan spoke up, a little breathless.
Nobody said a word.
He ran his hand smoothly through his beautiful hair.
"For what reason, Dr. Ethan?" Dr. Whitney turned to him.
"Because he's obsessed with my patient!" Dr. Farbin interrupted.
"There's a difference between obsession and extreme concern,"
Dr. Ethan countered.
"Gentlemen, none of this." Dr. Whitney half stood out of his seat.
"I brought Duffino's most current drawings," Dr. Ethan pointed to a pile of large papers. "The ones she did right before she was sent down there."
"Irregular!" Dr. Farbin objected.
"I wanted to show them to everyone. Dr. Farbin doesn't want me to have much to do with this case. Now that Duffino has been sent to Insulin, he's back in charge of her again. But I'm troubled. Very troubled."
"Let's see the drawings," Dr. Whitney allowed it.
"Display One," Dr. Ethan announced, and reached for the large papers. I could see in that moment that he had fallen in love with Duffino. Madly.
My God, I murmured to myself, poor Colin Ethan. Don't fall in love with Duffino. Don't. It will never do you any good.
"What does Display One mean?" Dr. Farbin was edgy. "Is he putting Duffino on trial? Are we the judge and jury now?"
"Dr. Farbin," Dr. Whitney interrupted, "give Dr. Ethan a
chance. Obviously this case has struck a deep chord."
"Thank you," Dr. Ethan smiled and lifted Duffino's drawings so all could see them. They had large, awkward, red markings on them.
"Blood," said Dr. Ethan.
"What?" Dr. Farbin was standing tautly.
"The sprawling red, undefined movement, symbolizes the
flow of blood. If we had looked at them carefully when she drew them, we could have predicted that she would defy Miriam Stony."
"Nothing of the kind!" Dr. Farbin slapped the table.
"Stop it, Dr. Farbin." Dr. Whitney looked at the drawings sadly.
"My mother drew things like this before her suicide," Dr, Ethan announced. "It was undetected. Not responded to."
A tense silence fell over the room.
"I'm very sorry, Dr. Ethan," Dr. Whitney moved a little closer to him.
"If someone had caught them, she could have been saved."
"Maybe yes, maybe no." Dr. Whitney spoke softly.
"I'm certain of it and always have been."
"Dr. Whitney, how long are you going to let this go on?" Dr. Farbin spoke methodically. "Duffino and Dr. Ethan's mother are two separate cases. Entirely distinct from one another."
"Maybe they are and maybe they're not," Dr. Ethan addressed
the entire table. "It is my feeling that Duffino is a definite candidate for suicide if she's kept down in Insulin for too long. The red on these drawings symbolize undefined violence lurking within. If we had looked at her drawings carefully, and seen the flow of undefined blood, we could have realized earlier that she would have acted on it. We could have prevented it. She is not to blame."
"What makes you think she is being blamed now?" Dr. Farbin
lashed out. "Going down to Insulin is not a punishment!"
"It's many things." Dr. Ethan's eye started to quiver.
"Now, wait a minute Dr. Ethan," Dr. Whitney joined the
fray. "This is an experimental situation. We are making a bold attempt to heal. Duffino came here on her own volition."
"She has no volition," Dr. Ethan countered.
Dr. Farbin couldn't let that go by. "Everyone has volition,
whether they believe it or not." Then he pulled a paper out of his vest pocket. "Let me read to you from a paper I've just published: In Insulin therapy, there is a temporary loss of autonomy. Patients succumb to the hands of others. In the succumbing, they do not lose their volition, but learn to develop trust. What looks like weakness turns to strength. When we trust one another, we are no longer alone."
"That is a highly irregular interpretation of Insulin Therapy," Dr. Ethan's voice quivered.
"It is my interpretation," Dr. Farbin countered, and the paper is forthcoming in Psychiatry Today."
"Congratulations, Dr. Farbin," Dr. Whitney was impressed.
"There are side effects though, dangers," Dr. Ethan desperately tried to keep his ground.
Nobody wanted to hear about that.
"What kind of danger?" Dr. Whitney was taken aback. "The patients who come here have faced the worst danger. They're at the end of their road. They've been specially chosen because we and the courts feel this treatment can be of benefit to them. Of course the outcome of treatment can also be of benefit to us. Important research is going on. Let me read to you from a paper that I've had published recently, if I may." He looked over at Dr. Farbin and smiled.
"Insulin Therapy produces the most durable cure. It aids the release of subconscious material. It is wonderful for resistant cases. I find it superior to electric shock, which eradicates memory. It is also superior to Lobotomy, which is so common today."
"It's not for Duffino," Dr. Ethan pleaded.
"Dr. Ethan is overly involved," Dr. Farbin proclaimed his verdict.
"There is no such thing as overly involved." Dr. Whitney was quick on the draw. "Being a psychiatrist in residence here is
difficult at times for us all. It's inevitable that feelings should get stirred from time to time. That's as it should be. We must be patient with everyone, including each other. No?"
That helped Dr. Ethan a great deal. "Thank you. Dr. Whitney. My point is that if Duffino is kept down there for too long, more violence is inevitable."
"Just the opposite." Dr.
Whitney moved closer to him. "Insulin therapy provides catharsis. Her rage will be discharged in the dream state."
"Do you want her to become more violent, Dr. Ethan?" Dr. Farbin's voice was tight and hard.
"What are you talking about?"
"Your constant preoccupation with Duffino, with whether or not she is violent, with whether or not she'll commit suicide - are these repressed wishes of yours? Do you want to see her take your
mother's footsteps?"
"Dr. Whitney!" Dr. Ethan called for help.
"Harsh," Dr. Whitney countered.
"If we constantly see a patient as violent," Dr. Farbin went on, "she will respond accordingly. If we see her strength and ability to recover, in time, she may thrive.
Dr. Whitney, I am now in charge of this case. I've already referred to it in two of the papers I've published. It has been progressing nicely, too, despite the unwanted interference from Dr. Ethan's ruminations."
"Now, wait a minute," Dr. Ethan's voice was raspy, "I've been put on this case as well."
"On a limited basis." Dr. Farbin could not stop. "Duffino's drawings show no sign of anything drastic. As I see it, the deep red colors are healthy. They show sign of feelings erupting."
"That's what I say," Dr. Ethan said, "exactly like you said, erupting. Let them erupt. Let her rebel. Then let us channel it properly, so she can get well and go home."
"Go home?" Dr. Farbin was startled.
"Yes, go home." Dr. Ethan spoke simply. "After enough time, and the right kind of personal therapy. She needs encounter and dynamic interaction for a sustained period of time. Then whether or not Duffino speaks again, it will be safe to send her home."
"All right, gentlemen," Dr. Whitney was standing, "enough
speculation. In this matter, I agree with Dr. Ethan. It would be quite a victory for us if someday Duffino could go home. There are inmates who have done it. What a thrill for us all that would be! The press would love it too."
Dr. Ethan, encouraged, said, "I was wondering if you could grant Charlotte the right to visit Duffino down in Insulin? I feel very strongly Duffino needs a friend."
"Certainly, Dr. Ethan." Dr. Whitney did not hesitate.
"For what reason?" Dr. Farbin started to say, but Dr. Whitney
raised his palm to him. "Visitation rights are granted. So be it."
So be it, so be it! I couldn't believe it! I was considered a friend!
Chapter Twelve
The next afternoon, at a quarter to three, as I was sitting in the dayroom listening to the pounding rain thinking how soon I could make a break for it, Lannie Tourine came over and begrudgingly handed me a big, brown square pass.
"Here," she said, "to visit Duffino. Go down there
at three o'clock sharp today." As she handed it to me, she refused to look me in the eye.
I took it quickly, without saying a word.
In exactly fifteen minutes I practically ran to Wing B,
stood in front of the elevators, and pressed the button to go down, down to Insulin, where it was hot, dark and confined.
An elevator came quickly. It was half full of nurses in
starched uniforms, carrying trays or wheeling little carts of
medicines. I stepped in between them and held up my pass. Not too many visitors were allowed down in Insulin. No one said a word to me as the elevator doors shut quickly and we all dropped down. The first thing I saw when I got off the elevator was Miriam Stony, waiting for me. Her face was a little more ashen than usual.
"I heard you were coming. Give me the pass."
I gave it to her, and together we walked down the stark white hallway to the room where Duffino lay. Miriam Stony smelled pasty, from being down here so long.
It was deathly quiet down here, where everything was painted either white or pale gray. This was the most heavily supervised ward in the hospital, with more medical attention than anywhere else. There were heavy cotton curtains over the windows and gray knotted carpets that covered the floors. This was so you could not hear footsteps approaching. Silence was an integral part of the Cure. This particular silence, though, was one that filled you with despair.
Most of the patients were sent down to Insulin at least a few times during their stay. After awhile, they got used to the procedures.
As soon as I arrived, I was sent down here two times, one after another, to shape me up. The first time I was sent down for hysterical laughing. They gave me my insulin shot first thing in the morning, but I didn't slide down into my coma so fast. Back then they were still playing with doses. Some got twice as much as they get now. The rooms weren't so well padded then either, so I lay there and listened to patients in other beds.
They wept, tossed, and cried out, "Mamma, come help me. Papa!" Some relived their deepest terrors. "Stop! Stop! Don't do it!" they screamed. "Don't let it happen!" Bitter sleep, filled with memories.
When we awoke from our comas, we were given a glass of maple syrup to drink. Then we vomited together. After we vomited, we showered, got up and walked around the hallways looking fresh and clean. Sometimes we looked dazed and forlorn. After a while, we seemed like shadows. About an hour after our maple syrup, we were served a light lunch. How many comas until we were well?
Most remembered nothing of what had happened. Some said they felt better. I felt nauseous when I woke up. I felt loose and dizzy and was convinced I had fought the coma. I was convinced I hadn't succumbed.
With me they increased the dosage slowly, waiting for me to scream my guts out. But I didn't do it. I just slept, dreamt of Dorothea, and called the angels to come to my side.
However it happened, they got good results with me. Insulin smartened me up real fast. The second time I was sent down, I decided I was finished. I wasn't going down there anymore. I shaped up, did whatever they told me, and sewed my fat mouth up. Now my thoughts were mostly of Duffino. She was too beautiful to be locked up her entire life. I was determined that she would recover. Not because of the doctors. Because of me.
As I walked to Duffino's bed, I saw the same green-eyed doctor who was there when I first came, Dr. Belgium. He was making his rounds, stopping at a few beds and checking blood sugar levels. What a life he had chosen, spending his days checking the blood sugar of loonies in Insulin. What happened to you, Dr. Belgium, I wondered, that you should spend your time this way?
As Miriam and I walked by, I peeked inside some rooms and saw most of the patients were sleeping. When we got to Duffino's room, she was sitting up in her bed, wide awake.
"Duffino?"
She turned to me and stared.
Duffino, Duffino! I want to wrap my arms around her frail
shoulders, hold her, comfort her.
"I want to be alone with her," I said to Miriam, who stood
beside me like a wall of concrete.
"Well - "
"Dr. Ethan said I could have time alone with her."
Miriam backed off at the mention of Dr. Ethan.
"I never intended to stay here the whole time with you two."
"Thank you," I said, much too sweetly.
Miriam walked away.
The room Duffino was in was tiny and empty. There was a little table near the bed for her medicine, and that was all.
"Duffino," I reached out my hand gently to her. "Do you feel better?"
She shook her head no.
"Was it horrible?"
Her eyes filled with tears.
Immediately, I sat on the edge of her bed. It squeaked, ever so slightly.
There was an odd calm about her now. It made me uneasy.
She opened her mouth to try to speak but it seemed very hard for her lips to move at all.
"Did they destroy you, Duffino?"
Her heavy lidded eyes grew wider as if to say, who can destroy me?
I was proud of her spirit.
"You know, Dr. Ethan arranged for me to come down and see you."
Her eyes acknowledged that she seemed to kno
w. How does she know? I wondered.
"Has he been down here, too?"
She shook her head gently, yes.
"Really?" I was completely amazed. The doctors upstairs weren't allowed down here during comas.
"How did he get here? Did he sneak down?"
She shrugged.
Though she didn't speak, shaking her head and shrugging like this were all signs of progress. I was surprised.
Poor Dr. Ethan. My heart cried for him. Endangering himself by sneaking down like that. I decided to tell Duffino more about what I knew about him.
"You know, Duffino, he's not such a bad person. He's trying very hard to get you up out of Insulin. Tomorrow maybe. Or, maybe not."
She shrugged.
I shrugged with her.
"Do you like Colin?"
She looked away.
"He's kind, Duffino." I knew I should back off and let her rest.
"It's all right for you to like him, Duffino. Liking someone helps us get well. Give him a chance," I said, unexpectedly.
She looked at me.
I felt embarrassed. I didn't know exactly what I was urging."After all, Miguel is gone."
Her entire body froze.
"Miguel is dead," I repeated, softly. I knew she needed to hear the simple facts.
Her huge eyes flew open like a terrified eagle.
"I'm sorry."
She pulled the sheet up under her chin.
"Death is not ugly."
She dove down deep under the covers as if to say, leave me alone.
"Don't hide, Duffino! This place is awful. But don't be afraid. We're both getting out. I decided last night. I'm taking you with me when I make my run for it."
Terrified, she rose up from under the sheets.
"I've got the details all worked out. We'll do it in exactly two weeks, right at midnight."
She tried to pull herself out of the thin bed, but she was too weak. As soon as she got up, she fell back on the mattress. I was stunned to see how thin she had become. I could practically see her bones. For a second she looked like the sisters at the convent, except they did not show their terror out loud.
"You don't belong here. Neither do I. I've got every detail figured. In two weeks, the moon will be full. It's what we need.