“You’ve met Debra. Big black woman? Six foot three, two hundred and fifty pounds? Nobody gets by Debra.”
“I’ve increased the dosage on Marie’s Vistaril,” Thad said.
Edith checked her wristwatch. “I have a meeting,” she grumbled. “And here I was counting on having a good day.”
I watched her disappear down the hall. “I don’t think Edith is very happy with our patient or us,” I said.
Thad looked bewildered. “Which is surprising since I went out of the way to be especially charming,” he said.
“I’d better look in on Marie,” I said. “When I get back to the office I’m going to contact the police and see if a missing persons report has been filed with her description.”
“Good idea,” he said. He glanced at his watch. “I have back-to-back appointments. We’ll play catch-up later.” He started down the hall, then turned. “Have you given any more thought to my offer?”
“How soon can Mona and I move in?” I asked.
Thad reached into his pocket, pulled out a key, and tossed it to me. I caught it in one hand and prayed I wasn’t making a monumental mistake.
I found Debra sitting outside Marie’s room reading Jet magazine. “I need to see my patient,” I whispered.
The woman didn’t look up from her magazine. “Okay, but if she starts singing about hound dogs and pickup trucks I’m going to throw her in a cold shower, clothes and all,” she added.
Marie was lying on her bed. Her eyelids were heavy, and she seemed to be struggling to stay awake. She did not look happy to see me. “I hate this place,” she said, her voice thick.
“You’d make things easier on yourself and everyone else if you’d settle down and give the medication time to get into your system.”
“They just want to drug me so I’ll be less trouble,” she managed. “I know how it works.”
“Who wanted to drug you in the past?” I asked.
She didn’t respond.
“We’re just trying to keep you calm until the new mood-stabilizing drug Dr. Glazer prescribed starts working. You should be feeling better in a couple of days.”
“Not as long at Attila the Hun is running the show,” she said and closed her eyes.
“You need to try to cooperate and not make trouble,” I said. “It’s best if you remain on Edith’s good side.”
“She has a good side?”
“I can’t swear to it.” Marie didn’t hear my response because she had drifted off.
My eleven o’clock patient, Alice Smithers, suffered from dissociative identity disorder, otherwise, and more traditionally, known as multiple personality disorder. There were more people living in her head than in most Italian households. Alice had sought my help when she began having problems at her last job, where she worked as an accountant. Accusations of affairs and skimming money had resulted, and she was given two weeks to find another job. To top it off, Alice’s new roommate, Liz Jones, was partying half the night with her boyfriend, trashing Alice’s condo, and had even stolen her credit card. It hadn’t occurred to me that Alice’s confusion, bewilderment, and poor memory were due to MPD until it was almost too late for both of us. Liz Jones was actually one of Alice’s alter personalities, and the abusive boyfriend had put Alice in the hospital and attacked me as well. We’d later discovered that Liz was skimming money, sleeping with Alice’s boss, and blackmailing him.
In the land of mental health, Alice was known as the host personality. She hid her good looks beneath clunky eyeglasses and ill-fitting clothes in shades of brown. It was Mona’s wildest dream that Alice would get well and gain some fashion sense in the process.
Liz Jones, on the other hand, dressed provocatively, slept around, and was a reckless spender, which is why Alice had cut up her credit cards.
I invited Alice to take a seat on the sofa in my office, and after grabbing her file, I took the chair next to her. “How’s our new senior
“I’ve increased the dosage on Marie’s Vistaril,” Thad said.
Edith checked her wristwatch. “I have a meeting,” she grumbled. “And here I was counting on having a good day.”
I watched her disappear down the hall. “I don’t think Edith is very happy with our patient or us,” I said.
Thad looked bewildered. “Which is surprising since I went out of the way to be especially charming,” he said.
“I’d better look in on Marie,” I said. “When I get back to the office I’m going to contact the police and see if a missing persons report has been filed with her description.”
“Good idea,” he said. He glanced at his watch. “I have back-to-back appointments. We’ll play catch-up later.” He started down the hall, then turned. “Have you given any more thought to my offer?”
“How soon can Mona and I move in?” I asked.
Thad reached into his pocket, pulled out a key, and tossed it to me. I caught it in one hand and prayed I wasn’t making a monumental mistake.
I found Debra sitting outside Marie’s room reading Jet magazine. “I need to see my patient,” I whispered.
The woman didn’t look up from her magazine. “Okay, but if she starts singing about hound dogs and pickup trucks I’m going to throw her in a cold shower, clothes and all,” she added.
Marie was lying on her bed. Her eyelids were heavy, and she seemed to be struggling to stay awake. She did not look happy to see me. “I hate this place,” she said, her voice thick.
“You’d make things easier on yourself and everyone else if you’d settle down and give the medication time to get into your system.”
“They just want to drug me so I’ll be less trouble,” she managed. “I know how it works.”
“Who wanted to drug you in the past?” I asked.
She didn’t respond.
“We’re just trying to keep you calm until the new mood-stabilizing drug Dr. Glazer prescribed starts working. You should be feeling better in a couple of days.”
“Not as long at Attila the Hun is running the show,” she said and closed her eyes.
“You need to try to cooperate and not make trouble,” I said. “It’s best if you remain on Edith’s good side.”
“She has a good side?”
“I can’t swear to it.” Marie didn’t hear my response because she had drifted off.
My eleven o’clock patient, Alice Smithers, suffered from dissociative identity disorder, otherwise, and more traditionally, known as multiple personality disorder. There were more people living in her head than in most Italian households. Alice had sought my help when she began having problems at her last job, where she worked as an accountant. Accusations of affairs and skimming money had resulted, and she was given two weeks to find another job. To top it off, Alice’s new roommate, Liz Jones, was partying half the night with her boyfriend, trashing Alice’s condo, and had even stolen her credit card. It hadn’t occurred to me that Alice’s confusion, bewilderment, and poor memory were due to MPD until it was almost too late for both of us. Liz Jones was actually one of Alice’s alter personalities, and the abusive boyfriend had put Alice in the hospital and attacked me as well. We’d later discovered that Liz was skimming money, sleeping with Alice’s boss, and blackmailing him.
In the land of mental health, Alice was known as the host personality. She hid her good looks beneath clunky eyeglasses and ill-fitting clothes in shades of brown. It was Mona’s wildest dream that Alice would get well and gain some fashion sense in the process.
Liz Jones, on the other hand, dressed provocatively, slept around, and was a reckless spender, which is why Alice had cut up her credit cards.
I invited Alice to take a seat on the sofa in my office, and after grabbing her file, I took the chair next to her. “How’s our new senior
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