Dear ______,
Sorry to describe my health problems again. I wanted to keep any further disturbing news from you until things had settled down. However, I'm afraid matters are now out of my hands. It is not my fault, but I apologise for dragging your name into it.
It all started with my answering a letter, asking me to meet a Research and Development Panel that was being convened to discuss my case. I telephoned the Psychectomy Clinic to find out what it was all about. A very authoritative young lady said "Do try to understand: 'What it's all about' is the purpose of your participation. Come at 9am on the 3rd. Bring sandwiches." She put down the phone.
I rang back immediately to obtain the address of the clinic and the name of clinician. This was Dr Jones. I also learned that the person who had originally spoken to me was a temp whose main background was working in debt collection agencies. She had already made many enemies. (I was later to discover that hostility and vindictiveness are as endemic in the field of mental health as they are in the major religions.)
I arrived at 9am as arranged to find that the only other person there was the cleaning lady. We sat and shared a cup of tea before she went home. I asked her about the clinic. "Sorry, dear," she said, "I am not familiar with this form of pleurisy psychotherapy. Still less am I acquainted with the validatory disciplines underpinning the treatments. But if the scribblings inside the staff toilets are anything to go by, the practitioners themselves are in urgent need of treatment."
We continued our idle chat. The cleaner then left and I was alone in the reception cubicle. At 9.40 the staff started to straggle in. Each asked who I was and why I was so early.
To each I gave my name and said that, following a severe case of pleurisy, I had been prescribed a course of Anxiety Abatement Therapy.
The responses were generally negative and bored. "Oh, another A.A.T. I don't know yet who'll take your case. We try to share the routine cases out. Dr Jones? Never heard of him. Just wait until you're called. Have you been given your number yet?"
I waited until the receptionist arrived and I approached. Her opening remark was "Excuse me, you've got to wait your turn."
I pointed out that there was no one present but me. "Yes, quite likely," she responded. "But have you got your number? I can't be expected to admin the reception suite properly unless the clients all have their numbers. Now I've got to enter your particulars. Got any ID?"
She accepted my driving licence and a credit card (for which I refused to sign, having been caught before). She then wrote my name on a large manilla folder. Finally she handed me a ticket with the number "1" written on it. "Go and take a seat," she said, indicating the single metal seat. "Come forward when your number is called."
I had been waiting only two minutes when a young lady in a white coat entered and whispered something to the receptionist. The latter called loudly: "Number one, please!"
I approached the desk. "Got your ticket number?" asked the young lady in the white coat. "Yes, I've got it here," I said. She breathed a heavy patient sigh. "I didn't ask to see it, did I? Just tell us what your number is." "One," I said. "OK. Now we're getting somewhere," she said. "I hope you've remembered to bring your urine sample."
I was furious! No one had mentioned this as a requirement. I didn't know its purpose or even the profession of the person with whom I was talking. "I haven't got a urine sample. No one asked me to bring one. If they had . . ."
The young lady dismissed my excuse brusquely. "If people can't be bothered to respond to simple requests, it make our job very difficult. Since you haven't got a sample, we'll have to supply one at this end. Please take your seat again. You will be called when the team is ready for you."
When the white-coated lady had left, I asked the receptionist who she was. "That's Dr Jones. Fancy you not recognising your own clinician," she answered.
After half an hour, I heard the receptionist call "Number one, please." I stepped forward and identified myself. She ticked my name in her book. "Go to the third door on the right," she said. "Take your file with you and hand it to the panel secretary before the commencement of your session." She handed me the cardboard file which had my name on it. It was empty.
I entered the specified door into a large room at the end of which was a long green-baize-covered table. There was a group of five or six white-coated people sitting around it drinking coffee. I saw Dr Jones there. With a gesture she waved me to a metal chair in front of the table.
After a few minutes, one of the men looked towards me and said "Please, don't get up. We're quite informal here. I'm Dr Frenzy and I'm chairperson-coordinator of this enquiry team. These are my co-workers, and I think you've already met Dr Jones, your clinician. She tells me that there has been some difficulty with your urine. We are all hoping you'll explain."
"It's just that my GP didn't say you wanted a sample," I said.
"Charming! Charming!" growled a large tweed-covered woman at the end. This was Dr Deviant, Professor of Scotophilia, her great purple muzzle split into a happy grin. "Wants to please us! Bring us a present! He wants to give us number ones!"
"Absolute rubbish!" I protested. Turning to Dr Frenzy, I said "Look, can we get on with this interview, review, panel or whatever you call it? Can't we start?"
"But we have already started," purred Frenzy sweetly. "Every movement, every remark you have made since you entered has been added to the substantial store of medical data on your file. It is being scrutinised closely by this panel for diagnostic and then treatment purposes."
"Can't we cut the explanations?" demanded a large pale-faced staff member with black hair. I came to know him as Dr Mordant, the regional toxicologist. "I want to get on and explore the specifics."
There followed two gruelling hours of questions. Experts interrogated me in the light of their appropriate discipline. Quarrels kept breaking out between them. It was difficult for me to focus.
Suddenly, a bell rang throughout the building. They all hurried out. Dr Jones, as if addressing a dog, stretched out her hand and said "Stay!" It was lunchtime. I ate my sandwiches.
The afternoon session was devoted entirely to my social interactions with others. Your name came up, and they pounced! "There's something strange about this person!" "What's the influence?" "Has there been any treatment?" They were clearly disturbed about the effect you could have on others. They stop until they had extracted your address and phone number.
Finally, Dr Frenzy consulted his colleagues for a minute and turned to me. "We have considered your difficult case with great care. There are a range of options, each demanded its own treatment. You are either an extreme hypermaniac or you are malingering. We will inform your GP. As to the person you have reported, do not have any contact prior to our inspection of the same. Good afternoon."
I'm just writing to warn you of your impending examination. That's all. You can be taken in for preliminary tests without notice.
Conrad
PS Don't forget to carry your urine sample with you. It's best to be safe.
