Psycho-Analysis: The Beginning

by Nuza, Catherine;

  I attended his funeral in late September. The ground of the cemetery squelched under foot. The skies were unforgiving and a blade-like chill sent shivers down my spine. Not many people turned up. Our parents were not invited at my brother’s request as he had emancipated himself from them all those years ago. This made me wonder if I died tomorrow would anyone show up, I had no one in my life who loved me any more.

  This memory I had obviously stuck out in my mind for a good reason, as seeing his face in the open coffin was like looking at myself as a corpse. It was the first time I had ever felt physically sick when looking at a dead body.

  Were these memories real? Can I even rely on them any more? The memory had been so dreamlike I started to doubt it and I agreed with myself that this was just something I had dreamt and was in no way a fact.

  I drifted into an uncomfortable sleep with these thoughts hindering my peace of mind.

  Chapter 10

  The Verdict

  Am I really mad and I just don’t want to know it? Had I killed my wife and child as they’d said? Was my brother dead or was that just a memory of a drug-induced dream?

  I had these questions milling around my head and I now felt completely confused about everything. I was bewildered in the position reality had abandoned me to. I summoned the nurse by pressing the patient’s call button by the side of my bed. The nurse came into my room within seconds.

  “Can I help you sir? Is it important or can it wait because we are just about to do the morning medication rounds,” she said sounding apologetic and rushed off her feet.

  “Yes it is, I need to know if my brother is alive. I don’t suppose you could call someone in who I could talk to so I can find out?” I asked in a pleading tone.

  “Well, erm, yes, I think I might be able to help you out. I’ll call some people on my lunch break at three to see if someone can come up and assist you, but let me just add that this is a personal favour so I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell anyone I have done this for you, okay? We are not supposed to get personally involved in patients’ private affairs.” She smiled and looked at me as I gave her my word and with that she left in a hurry.

  I was finally starting to feel like I was getting somewhere. I had so many unanswered questions. To be honest I never really knew Demetrius and yet even though all we had ever been able to achieve was a toxic, competitive and warped relationship if you could call it that. It was sadly the only relationship I had ever achieved with any family member. It was quite sad and left empty voids in my heart where warmth should have resided.

  The day felt strange and I could feel goose bumps all over my skin. I didn’t feel cold but I felt apprehensive of what I might learn today. The bed covers now felt as if they were suffocating my skin so I removed the heavy blanket and I left the light sheet over me. I let out a deep sigh as I finally felt comfortable in my bed.

  I could already smell the staff getting the tea, coffee, cereals and milk ready for breakfast. My sense of smell had always been impeccable.

  After fifteen minutes the nurse returned to my room, she passed me my heart medication and a glass of water. I don’t know how I will get used to those plastic white cups again in the loony bin. With one gulp I swallowed the tablets and placed the glass on my bedside table.

  “I’ll be back at three-thirty to let you know if I managed to get someone that can help you find your brother.”

  I gave her my bothers name and the last address I had of his and with that she left again. The scent of her perfume lingered in the room impregnating the sleep stale air with freshness. This tantalized my senses and chemically relaxed me into a more docile state.

  I was being served breakfast by the same ‘waiter.’ He asked me if I wanted tea or coffee, what type of cereal I preferred and what I wanted on top of it. I felt as if I was responding without even paying complete attention to him as my mind was in a whirl, caught in a ‘what if’ torrent of possibilities.’

  I’d been questioned by doctor Fanstick every time an incident occurred on the ward but there was one in particular that had stuck in my mind. It had all started off being a day just like any other day in that place. Brenda was pestering the male nurses for hugs, Mr Cosmos was trying to skimp cigarettes off the other patients but Jared was nowhere to be found. I knew something was going on when I’d seen Jake running round the ward with the hourly check sheet, panicking. He was sweating and I could hear him asking patients if they had seen Jared, or knew of his whereabouts.

  I just stood on the side of the corridor watching the drama unravel. Next the nurse in charge was called and she rang security to close all the doors and check the other floors for the missing patient. They were all panicking at the possibility that Jared might have found a way out of the crazy house.

  I knew what was going to happen next and as I predicted, Jake was ordered to put me in my chair and take me immediately to see doctor Fanstick for questioning.

  When I arrived at his office Jake wheeled me in and I could see the doctors face going red. The veins on his forehead were bulging out and were impressive in size even for him.

  “Where is he Khedlar?” he shouted at me. He was pacing up and down the length of his office looking like he was on speed.

  I just looked straight into his patronising face, eyeing him down from his high horse.

  “I don’t know, not that you will believe me,” I said firmly giving him an answer to his stupid question.

  “I want this man taken to his room and put on a one-to-one observation until we find Jared. As we all know too well that these two have a history,” he ordered Jake, giving me a face of pure repulsion.

  “Thank you so much for helping me increase my self-confidence, you incompetent idiot!” I shouted at him as Jake wheeled me out of his office.

  Needless to say I was stuck in my room with a urine bottle and a sour looking nurse for three hours before they found Jared. He’d been placed on new medication that made him feel out of it and he had fallen asleep in the spare room the staff keep empty for any new admissions. No one had even bothered to check and all the nurses had a giggle afterwards, while I was fuming. No one had even apologized for accusing me! It was all just another example of the nurses’ incompetence and sometimes I wondered how more deaths didn’t happen on this ward. I sat pondering the disgusting conduct of the staff as at times they seemed more feral than the patients.

  Just after three-thirty the nurse appeared in my room with a frown on her face, the first one I had seen since I had met her. Her saddened expression was not giving away much of her feelings and my heart sank in anticipation of the high possibility that I wasn’t going to like what she was about to say.

  “Khedlar, I have something to tell you, the police are waiting outside. They have come to get your statement about the incident which has placed you in our care. They have enquired if it would be okay to ask you a couple of questions now?” she announced in a soft voice. “The doctor says it’s okay if you want to.”

  “Yeah, sure, let the police in then,” I said, trying not show my disappointment that she had not found a contact that would help with my mental distraction. She left the room but quickly returned with the two uniformed officers.

  They walked straight up to my bed like they meant business. “Good morning, sir, I am Sergeant Smith, and this is Police Constable Stevens. We have come to get a statement from you regarding the incident involving Doctor Fanstick,” he said like a well-rehearsed preforming drone.

  They pulled two chairs up beside the bed and opened their folders to take out the statement papers and a pen. Sergeant Smith started to ask questions.

  “Tell me a bit about this character Doctor Fanstick, what sort of a man you would find him to be?” he asked as he narrowed his eyes in a face full of concentration.

  “Well, let’s see. He is a good dresser, but his face lets him down. He is terrible at his job and has no idea how to relate to anyone. He has not made me any better and I leave his sessions wor
se than I go in, totally frustrated, because he never listens to my answers, to his stupid questions. I’ve heard people complain they feel a lot worse after his sessions than they were before, and overall I am convinced he is in the wrong field of work,” I said using over exaggerated expressions whilst holding constant eye contact and watching to make sure that every word I said was being written down.

  I waited for the officer to finish writing down my reply and to proceed with asking the next question.

  The officer continued to question me. “Has he ever used such drugs before in your sessions as a form of treatment, and if so have you ever suffered similar effects?”

  This question was pretty hard so I thought for a moment. “No. He has never used these drugs in my sessions, but in saying that, I have seen the effect of what I think are the same drugs on other patients in the asylum. Just before my session, I was about to get into the lift to go up to the second floor and one of his patients was coming down. I thought the guy had gone berserk, but, thinking about it now, the way he looked was the way I felt when the doctor gave me the drug, before it nearly killed me.”

  The policeman nodded and carried on with the questions. “What reason did he give you for using this drug on you?” The officer turned the page and got ready to write down my reply. The officer beside him seemed like he had somewhere else he would rather be as he constantly checked his watch for the time. He was irritating me as I liked to have complete attention when I was talking and his unprofessional attitude was distracting me.

  “He said I had not made any progress in the six years I have been going to his sessions. I am not surprised because for six years he has been asking me the same questions and ignoring my answers. He said what he was about to do was ‘the last resort’ and then called a dark featured man into the room to administer the drug in a syringe, I think he called him Greg. He told me it was a truth serum and it would help me recall my supposedly suppressed memories.”

  When the Sergeant had finished writing that down he glanced up at me. “Were drugs often given out so carelessly?” he asked.

  “Are you kidding me? They issue more drugs than meals! They promote drug use more than they promote mental health,” I said in a sarcastic tone. This man obviously had no idea what went on within the walls of a psychiatric hospital.

  “So it was Doctor Fanstick, who ordered the drug to be administrated, but this, er, Greg fellow was the one who actually did it. We will have to take him in for questioning and find out why the correct drug had been mixed with other components.” He wrote down a note in the margin and carried on talking. “Well Mr Slater, I can tell you we will be pressing charges against this doctor. He is currently on remand and will have to answer for his actions of negligence as well as malpractice, but that might not be the end of it. The medical board were informed about this incident and have carried out their own investigation and as a result of this they have suspended his licence. We have opposed bail in this case as he could be a flight risk and try to leave the country. We still have a lot more questions we need to ask him. We hope the judge will deny him bail until this case goes to court. Is there anything else you would like to include in your statement?” The officer scanned the pages he had written my statement on while he waited for my reply.

  “No, I think that’s enough. The undeniable proof is in my blood results, which will be the more convincing evidence in a courtroom on my behalf than the words from an asylum patient. But thank you for your time officers,” I said while smiling at the thought that Dr full of nonsense was going to really get what he deserved.

  “In that case, please read what I have written down and sign at the end of each page with your name beside if you are happy with it.”

  This I did proudly and signed my name for the first time in six years.

  They put the papers away and moved the two chairs back to their original place. “We will be in touch Mr Slater, thank you for your cooperation.” They both shook my hand, thanked me and left.

  I peered at my window and saw the day becoming brighter. It was now four-thirty the interview had certainly made my day. I had the will to sincerely smile and for brief moments it showed but even smiling seemed strange for me as happiness had become a want over the years never something that could be achieved.

  I had begun to wonder where my lunch was when the nurse entered with my tray. She placed it on the table and began to apologise. “I am sorry your lunch is late, the hospital thought the officers would get here at two instead of three-thirty. They assumed it would be an inconvenience for you to eat while you were being asked questions.”

  As she rambled on her voice faded out of my mind and a burning question took over. “So, did you manage to get in contact with someone who can help me? I need to find out if my brother is still alive,” I said, interrupting her. I sounded desperate even to my own ears.

  “Yes, I did, but they told me the search would take a couple of weeks. They did say that in a couple of days they will be sending someone round to ask you a few questions.” As she said this she looked at her watch. “I have to go and get something to eat myself. I only have an hour’s lunch break, see you later.” She smiled, straightened my bed sheets and left the room.

  The pit of my stomach was aching with hunger and I instantly ate the whole contents of the tray. I had meatballs in tomato sauce with boiled potatoes and strawberry jelly for desert.

  At about six o’clock doctor Greendale entered my room with a serious look on her face. She twiddled her fingers as she approached my bed. What now I thought as she popped my bubble of happiness with her pending gloom.

  “Mr Slater, we have run numerous tests and we have concluded that traces of morphine and truth serum were in the injection administered to you and also a high dose of insulin which was probably what caused your cardiac arrest. I do have good news however. We have seen a good recovery in your heart function, and we should be releasing you within a week from today.” She smiled, as if she expected me to feel happy to be going back to that place or something.

  “Doctor, one question. This quack Fanstick was the one who diagnosed that I was mentally ill. Would that mean that the doctor who replaces him would have to test me again? Seeing as Fanstick was obviously incapable of doing his job? I am sure he misdiagnosed me,” I said, in a tone of slight hope.

  “Yes, I suppose you could demand a re-evaluation of the psychoanalysis test,” she said as she checked the clipboard hanging from the foot of my bed. With that she left the room.

  It was obvious that she had had a long day as her eyeliner slightly stained her skin making her look almost like a racoon. Once again I was alone with my haunting, uncertain thoughts and in total confusion.

  Six o’clock came and went and as seven approached, it was dinner time already. I was really starting to look forward to another good meal. Brilliant it’s on its way, but I am so far from the answers I need and my time here is nearly up …

  Chapter 11

  Crazy killer

  That night many suppressed thoughts engulfed my brain. Who was I? Was I a killer like everyone kept on telling me? Was my brother dead? I tossed and turned in my bed all night as the thoughts overwhelmed me, until I muttered two silent words… “Help me.”

  The next morning I woke up to a soft humming sound that was coming from the chair beside my bed. I lacked the interest as well as the energy to turn my head, until I heard my name.

  “Khedlar, are you awake? My name is Larry Stozedwick. I am here in regards to the charges and allegations placed against Dr Fanstick. In light of his debatable credibility it has been decided that a fresh psychoanalysis is in order to determine your mental state. This has been ordered by the judge, whom in light of the situation has become sympathetic to your earlier appeal for a re-evaluation,” he informed me in a clear and professional manner. I must have asked for an appeal before as I couldn’t understand how this was happening as rapidly as I had only asked Dr Greendale last night about getting reassessed.r />
  I turned to see a very smartly dressed, average built black man who smelled fresh and clean. His hair was parted much like a church going school boys. He was sitting on the chair twiddling his thumbs and peering at me with a face filled with sympathy and confidence. At first I have to admit it passed my mind that this person before me was a patient and I was back at the loony bin. It took a few seconds to remember I was at the general hospital. This convinced me that he was worth the effort of looking at him and hearing him out. As I slowly turned to face him he got up and sat on the side of my bed. “Dr Stozedwick, would you mind if I get dressed for our chat please as I would like to do things properly?” I asked.

  He raised one eyebrow and let out a small chuckle. “Of course. I will leave you to get dressed, just call me in when you’re ready, I’ll be waiting outside.” With that he got up, straightened the mustard yellow tie which sat on his white shirt and left the room promptly.

  I didn’t really have much to choose from, just one outfit the hospital had left for me, placed in the tiny cupboard. I quickly got dressed and combed my hair. I could see chunks of hair clumping together on my brush. It must be the stress, I thought to myself. I continued to put my socks and shoes on and tied the laces neatly in a bow. I wanted to make a good first impression on the man who would ultimately decide my fate. I had constantly felt like a failure. Every attempt I had ever made in my life had dissolved before my eyes to the point that love was lost, life was lost and the only person I felt I had to blame was myself.

  Even when growing up I could never reach the high standard that mother set for me. I knew that she loved me from the times we sat cuddled up on the old red Winchester leather sofa while she would tell us stories in front of a roaring fire. Alas even the fondest memories were tainted by my inability to carry on stories when mother suggested we created our own home made tales of adventures we’d had. She would laugh at me and point out my weaknesses on a daily basis. I opened the door with a convincing mask of confidence. This meeting could set me free with judgement on myself and all eyes on me.