The Units

by Jamie Mackay

Chapter 12

  The rest of Sunday was hard, hung-over and sad are not a good combination. Tatum felt better on Monday morning, but the news of Michael still weighed heavily on her mind. Her run was slow and painful - one of those days where exercise didn't feel good, either during or after.

  Still looking a tad weathered from the weekend escapades, Tatum made her way down for coffee wearing a comfortable cotton pantsuit and flip flops with a bit of a heel. She went down a bit early; she wanted to tell Milligan about Michael.

  "I'm so very sorry," said her dear friend as he wrapped her in a fatherly embrace. Tatum realized she needed a hug more than any words. She cried a little, and then pulled herself together.

  "Thanks Milligan. You're a good friend." Tatum grabbed her tattered briefcase and headed down what was becoming her very familiar road to WMI. The scorching heat was already noticeable at eight o'clock in the morning. Gonna be a hot one she thought as she picked up her pace toward the air conditioned administration unit.

  Tatum said good morning to Marja and then went to her office. Making a mental note to find some time to make the place a bit more palatable, she checked her week's schedule. New intake this morning and then a therapy appointment this afternoon. This would be her first ongoing counseling patient. Tomorrow was more of the same. When she got to Wednesday, Tatum felt a little pang of excitement. Wednesday would be the first time she would get to participate in grand rounds.

  Essentially grand rounds were when all the psychologists, psychiatrists and doctors got together to consult on interesting or difficult cases; kind of like professional development time. Tatum had participated in grand rounds previously, but only as a student. She'd never before been on board as a full team member.

  Thursday would once again allow her some report writing time, and then, finally, Tatum paused, Friday. On the schedule for Friday, was a tour of Unit Six, including meetings with several of the research leads. Tatum felt excited. Finally, she would have access to Unit Six and get her feet wet in some on-the-ground research.

  The morning went quickly; the new intake was another brain injury assessment. Tatum silently wondered if she was getting the brain injury patients on purpose. She thought back to Dr. Glaser's comment, "most of us are old-school" and wondered if she was becoming known as the neuropsych-type in the hospital. If she was, that was just fine with her; that was the stuff she wanted to do.

  Her patient was cooperative and compliant, unlike many of the brain injured group. It was an older woman whose head injury had made her lethargic and docile in place of the typically more aggression outcome.

  "Okay, Barb, we're done for this morning," said Tatum. "We'll be a couple of hours this afternoon and then we'll be all done, okay?"

  The patient smiled; she obviously like being with Tatum. "See you later Dr. O'Neill," she replied as her husband led her out toward the coffee machine in the hall.

  Now that's love, thought Tatum as she watched the two go arm-in-arm down the corridor. Despite the fact that the woman in front of him was no longer capable of taking care of a home or even running her own bath, Barb's husband held her by the arm and called her princess.

  .

  Tatum cleaned up her equipment and headed to the Keurig machine in the admin building. She was planning to have coffee for lunch today, the news of Michael still curbing her appetite. Figuring she could afford the calories if she wasn't eating, Tatum opted for a vanilla latte instead of her usual black. On a whim, she decided to spend an extra dollar and buy a second. Two lattes in hand, she made her way back to Unit Three, opened the door and found her way to her usual lunchtime perch.

  "Hi James, me Tatum," she said as she placed the lattes on the window sill and pulled up her chair. "I'm so glad to finally see you. Did you have a good weekend?" No response. "I don't know if you like lattes, but I brought you one. I'll just leave it there, have it if you like, or don't, it's up to you. Have I told you I have a brother with Autism? We've never talked about Autism have we? I know a lot about it because my brother is younger than me and I've watched him struggle his entire life. He's also mentally handicapped, so he needs help with lot of things."

  Tatum was careful that as she told James about Michael, she did not make any disrespectful assumptions about James' own situation. "He and my sister are my best friends. My mom called last night and Michael's not well, he's got a brain tumor. I want to go home, but my mom says I should wait until they know more. What do you think?"

  Tatum found she was surprised by how good it felt to talk to someone she knew was not going to talk back. In school she'd learned about the healing aspects of 'disclosure'; she guessed that's what was happening as she talked to James. She talked to James until she had no more to say, and no more latte. It was time to get back to Barb.

  .

  Tatum finished up the afternoon session with Barb and then moved onto her therapy appointment. The appointment was with a schizophrenic from U3, Tatum felt sincerely unsure about herself. She attempted to reach Tim for supervision, but quickly realized his offers of supervision were likely not reliable enough to be useful. Soon into the session Tatum got her feet under her and found her graduate practicum days coming back to her. The main goal when doing therapy for schizophrenia was typically to reduce both positive and negative symptoms, starting with whichever was more problematic for the patient.

  In this case, the patient was wearing tinfoil on his head to prevent the aliens from hearing his thoughts, so Tatum supposed that was probably where she should start.

  "So John, tell me about the tin foil," she began.

  "Need it. Keeps them out," he responded definitively.

  "And, who's them?" asked Tatum as if everyone wore tinfoil on their heads.

  On and on they talked, for today Tatum would challenge none of his assumptions, just build his trust.

  Tuesday was much the same. Tatum was getting pretty settled into her typical routine of assessment in the morning, lunch with James, therapy in the afternoon. She appreciated the distraction of work; it helped her keep her mind off Michael. She had gotten updates from home but things were happening slowly, "no new news" was what the texts continued to say. Sophia thought it might be months before anything would happen and had promised to let Tatum know the minute anything changed.

  With her thoughts racing about a possible visit home, she didn't even notice the suffocating heat during her walk from WMI to Regency. Milligan was waiting for her when she arrived.

  "I thought maybe I'd invite you for dinner. Might take your mind off things," he said thoughtfully.

  "Thanks Milligan, I'd like that," she replied. "Time?"

  "How soon can you be there?" he answered.

  Tatum ran upstairs and changed her clothes and then grabbed an unopened bottle of wine she'd purchased earlier in the week and headed down to the Manager's Suite.

  "Welcome to my humble abode," Milligan said as he opened the door and let Tatum in.

  As she would have expected, Milligan's apartment was neat and tidy with comfortable and basic decorating and furniture.

  "Typical man," Tatum teased while she admired his selection of sports bobble heads, filling the spot where a woman definitely would have had flowers or something useless, but pretty.

  "Is this the Blue Jays?" Tatum asked about the game being played on the overly large big screen TV.

  "You betcha. Best game on TV right there," Milligan answered confidently.

  The rest of the evening was simple. Milligan made spaghetti and the unlikely friends ate with little talking in front of the Blue Jays game. Tatum appreciated the comfortable silence in the company of a good friend. Milligan had been right; it had taken her mind off of her family for just a while.

  "Thanks Milligan. That was great," said Tatum sincerely.

  "You're welcome. Anytime, you know that," was his supportive as always response.

  Tatum went up to her own apartment and as she made her way down the hall she could hear her phone ringing through her do
or. Thankful that she had forgotten to lock her dead bolt, she rushed through the entrance and grabbed the handset closest to the door. Convinced it was news from home, she was not about to miss the call.

  "Hello," said Tatum, out of breath.

  "Hello Tatum?" said a deep male voice, obviously confused by her breathlessness. "This is Jake."

  "Hi Jake," she answered, pleased that he had called, but still slightly disappointed that she was not getting any additional information about Michael. "I guess you're back from your work trip?"

  "Actually," he laughed, "I'm calling you from Baghdad."

  "Really?" said Tatum surprised.

  "Really," he confirmed. "I didn't want to wait. Afraid if I didn't call, you'd make other plans."

  "Yah, I probably would have. Full social calendar, you know," she teased. "What's up?"

  "Well, remember I mentioned that the Parade and Fair are this weekend?"

  "Yah," Tatum answered, definitely not admitting that she didn't really remember because she had been so distracted by his admittance of his son.

  "Well Vinnie and Marie asked if we'd like to join them at the Parade and then later, go to the Fair for a bit. Do you think you'd like to go?"

  Breaking all of her personal rules, Tatum said, "I'd love to. What time should I be ready?"

  "Parade starts at eleven but we sit about the middle so it'll go by about eleven thirty. How about if I come get you around eleven?" he asked.

  "Sounds perfect. See you Saturday?"

  "For sure. See you Saturday."

  .

  Wednesday morning was finally easier. The weekend's self-induced flu had completely recovered, and the news of Michael was less consuming. Tatum's morning run finally felt like exercise, instead of a race against an upset stomach and an upset mind. Feeling more like herself, Tatum showered and decided to dress up a bit more for work. She chose a loose mauve coloured blouse and paired it with a tight beige skirt that followed her natural curves and landed just above the knee. With her high-heeled tan sandals and her newly sun-kissed skin, she looked long, tanned and lean. Feeling as good as she looked, Tatum decided to make extra time for Milligan. She wanted him to see that she was feeling better.

  "Good Morning Milligan," she called in a happy tone.

  "Well... you certainly seem to be feeling better," he responded.

  "I am. Still sad, but moping isn't going to change anything. Plus, today is my first shot at grand rounds. I want to make a good first impression."

  "That's my girl," he said proudly, "smart, beautiful and strong."

  "And... I have a date," she said coyly.

  "Ohhhh," Milligan said knowingly. "I knew there was more to your good mood than just a good attitude. Jake?"

  "Yup, we're going to the Parade and Fair, this weekend. What that's all about anyway?"

  "Wheatland celebration," said Milligan. "Once a year we celebrate our wheat, our livelihoods. Kinda corny, hey?"

  "Nope, not corny," said Tatum, "simply the stuff after-school specials are made of. Just like everything around here."

  Tatum wasn't sure Milligan understood her reference.

  .

  The morning started out pretty typical, say good morning to Marja, check emails, check the schedule and have some freshly brewed Keurig coffee. The clock seemed to tick slowly until ten o'clock when the multi-disciplinary team was to meet in the board room for the start of grand rounds. Tatum was the first one in the room. Second was one of the psychiatrists, a woman Tatum had met quickly one time during a tour, on which unit she couldn't remember.

  "Hi, I'm Tatum, the psychologist intern. I think we've met, but I'm sorry to admit, I've forgotten your name."

  "June," retorted the psychiatrist. That was all she said.

  Tatum didn't try to initiate any more conversation.

  Slowly the room started to fill with middle aged professionals, some she recognized, some she didn't. When finally the room contained about ten or twelve people, Dr. Fraser made his entrance. Tatum suspected he intentionally waited until everyone else had arrived, so that his arrival could appear as a bit of an event. There didn't seem to be a particular agenda, but it was obvious that Dr. Fraser would be running the show.

  "Good morning everyone," he began, "I trust everyone is having a good week?"

  The statement was presented as a question, but it was clear he was not actually interested in hearing how anyone's week had gone. "Today our rounds will be stationary."

  As he said the word stationary, Tatum felt a tinge of disappointment; she had hoped the rounds would take them through Unit Four or Five.

  "We'll start with a quick review of files and then we've got a pharm rep who wants some time."

  Farm rep? Tatum thought to herself, but didn't want to ask.

  "First," the clinical director continued, "let's start with some introductions." Tatum felt herself turn red, she wasn't expecting this. "This is Tatum O'Neill, psychologist intern and Fulbright scholar. She comes to us from Chicago." Again Tatum noticed the implication that being from Chicago somehow provided her some type of authority. "Tatum tell us a little about yourself," he commanded, catching Tatum of guard.

  Trying to keep her nervousness hidden, Tatum mentioned her training at U of Illinois, her areas of clinical training and research, the names of her supervisors. She knew the drill. One thing that was not well accepted in either advanced clinical practice or research was modesty. It was expected that you would mention all of your accomplishments and name-drop your associates.

  "Thanks Tatum," concluded Stan. "Now I know a few of you have already become acquainted, but let's go around the room and let her know who we are." It was a command, not a request. "I'll start. I'm Stan Fraser, Chief Clinical Director. I run the show here." He made his last comment with a grin as if he was making a joke, but Tatum was pretty sure it was meant as a bit of a reminder to everyone in the room.

  The introductions continued with June. "I'm June Gagnon, psychiatrist," was all she said. She was followed by two female psychologists and then a male psychiatrist, each of them more welcoming and friendly than the first introduction. Then it was Tim's turn.

  "Hi Tatum, it's me Tim," was all he said, but Tatum felt welcomed and thankful for his familiar and friendly approach to his chance. Two physicians and another psychiatrist went next.

  Ten, that's ten she thought, making a mental note.

  "We're missing Bill and Lynn today. Maybe you'll meet them at the next meeting."

  Okay, make that twelve.

  After the introductions, Dr. Fraser led the group through a quick discussion about one of the patients on Unit Five. He had been hiding utensils in his clothing and using them for attempted attacks on the guards.

  "Be on the watch. He's really good. Made it passed several of the guard already. We will be moving to full security anytime he's with anyone; guard in every room, all the time. No exceptions. Just so you know if he's on your case load."

  Marja poked her head in. "Dr. Fraser? The rep is here. Can I show him in?"

  "Yes. Please do Marja."

  A slight twenty-something came in the room holding a folder that read 'Pfizer'. Oh! Pharm rep, Tatum laughed at herself. Clearly I've recently spent too much time surrounded by wheat growers.

  The young pharmacy rep began. "I'm here to provide you with some information about an excellent new product we are providing. 'Roloft' is going to revolutionize mental health treatment."

  Tatum felt herself tuning out the words of the young man. She'd heard it all before.