MADMAN - John R. Suler, Ph.D. - copyright 1995
Chapter 23 - A Finger
"Maybe it's parallel process," My Biographer said. "Remember? What happens in one relationship gets played out in another."
"Please... mind your own business!" I replied.
A figure down the hallway waved his arms at me. It was Sheikh. "Quick, Thomas!" he called out. "You must come to the unit. Mobin and Doe are fighting!"
"You mean they're arguing?"
"No, I mean they are FIGHTING!"
All the thoughts and blood inside me sank to my feet.
I ran.
The unit was reverberating with anxiety. Some of the staff were talking to the patients, offering explanations and comfort, while the others were gathered around four security officers. Doe and Mobin were not anywhere in sight. I pulled Carol aside. Even she looked upset. "What happened?" I asked.
"I'm not exactly sure," she replied. "Doe was in the center circle, standing in this funny position. He had his legs spread apart, like he was riding a horse, and his arms out in front of him with the fingertips of his hands touching each other. It looked very odd. He said he was holding the universe in his belly, or something like that, and he refused to move when we asked him. So we just let him be - it didn't seem to be doing any harm. But then Richard Mobin came out of his room and began circling around and around the unit, the whole time staring at Doe. He got very agitated. We tried talking to him but he wasn't listening, almost as if he were in a trance. Then he just lost control and attacked Doe."
"Was anyone hurt?"
"No, in fact it was interesting what happened when he went after him. It looked like Mobin was going to pounce all over the guy, but Doe just side-stepped him at the last instant. And when Mobin went after him again and again, he just kept slipping away - like he was disappearing right under Mobin's grip. It almost looked like they were dancing, except Mobin got more and more infuriated. Thank God security got here quickly and helped us put them both into Isolation."
"Where's Fred?"
"He's on the phone trying to find out where we can transfer Mobin."
"Could you give me the key? I want to talk to them."
"Doe's door is open. Richard's is locked."
"Right. Can I have the key?"
She hesitated. "Well, I don't know if it's a good idea to disturb him now."
"Please, Carol," I pleaded. "You've got to give me a chance to do something here. He's my patient!"
"Well, all right," she said reluctantly as she handed over the key. "I hope you know what you're doing."
"I hope so too," I replied over my shoulder.
My heart started pounding as I walked towards the Isolation rooms. They stood side by side - one door open, lights on, the other door closed, lights off. I knew they were waiting for me.
A thought occurred to me. Someone once said that all of psychotherapy boils down to just two principles. You try to get patients to understand themselves, so rather than being pushed around by their unconscious, they can make clean, free, fully informed choices about their lives. But even more important than that - regardless of all the interpretations and insights - it's your relationship with the patient that is healing.
Keep that in mind, Dr. Holden. Keep that in mind.
Before opening the door to Mobin's lair, I decided first to peek through the small wire-meshed window. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adapt to the dark. Inside, Mobin was pacing back and forth. He was agitated almost to the point of being wild, reciting incoherent incantations to himself. His psychotic, tumultuous energy ricocheted off the walls. In his acute paranoid state, he instantly noticed my movement at the window. "NEVER! NEVER!" he shouted at me, his rage piercing right through the walls. Our eyes locked. He raised his blubbery arm, pointed his finger at me - and then collapsed to the floor, disappearing from view.
Where the hell did he go? I stood on my tippy-toes, straining to see through the tiny window, but he was gone. Had he rolled to the side of the room? Did he pass out? It was too dark inside to tell. As quietly as I could, I unlocked the door and pushed it open just a crack. There was no sound or movement inside. Too spooked to enter, I slid my hand in and groped along the inside wall for the light switch. I couldn't find the damn thing! "Shit!" I mumbled to myself. I kept fumbling until, finally, my fingers touched a cool metal plate. There it is!
But terror froze my hand right where it was. Like some monster rising up from below, Mobin's face appeared in the window. He pressed himself against the glass, warping his fat face into a grotesque shape. "Now you're mine!" he howled as he grabbed my index finger.
I panicked. Frantically I gripped my arm with my other hand and tried to pull my finger out, but his hold was tight. He leaned his weight against the door. It was closing on me! I threw myself against it to counter him, and pulled my arm with all my strength. Stretched to its limit and aching, my finger now straddled the ever-shrinking space between the door and the frame. I could see his sweaty, blubbery hand wrapped around it. Grunting like some hungry animal, he pushed even harder. The door started vibrating from the force of our bodies meeting head on. My strength was giving out. I couldn't hold any longer. I knew with certainty the door would slam onto my finger and most likely snap it right off. "Help!" I gargled - and at that moment my finger popped out of his sweaty hand, the door slammed, and I landed squarely on my ass.
I jumped back to my feet as quickly as I could. Across the unit, Carol caught my eye. I read her lips. "You O.K.?" she said. Apparently she hadn't seen exactly what had happened, or heard my muffled cry. Oddly, no one did. "Fine!" I called back. I leaned against the wall and tried to calm my pounding chest. My whole body was shaking. I wanted to run, to run as fast as I could and as far away as I could.
But I didn't.
I cradled my throbbing finger in my other hand. Well, if I couldn't reach Mobin, then I had to try again with Doe. The lights were on in his room. I walked in and found the place empty. Fear welled up inside me - not the cold terror that Mobin had just created, but an eerie, forsaken dread. Where the hell is he?
"Ah, it's the Ripe One - welcome!"
I turned around. He was right behind me, sitting cross-legged against the wall. "What happened with you and Richard Mobin?" I asked.
"I sent him to an empty place," he answered.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It supposes nothing."
"You know, talking to you is like talking to a brick wall."
"Like this, like that, everything is like this and that. A shiny new pair of shoes too tight to fit. When will you see that I'm not LIKE a brick wall? I AM the brick wall."
"You're crazy, that's what you are - or you're just pretending to be. In either case, there's something wrong with you. And all I'm trying to do is help. That's all I've been trying to do since you came here. It's my job. If you would just help me out a little then I could do that job. All I ask is that you tell me about yourself, what you're thinking and feeling, what happened out there with Richard, anything - just talk to me in a way that makes some sense, if you can!"
"Words, words, words..."
"Yes, they're words - words I'm trying to use to reach you. How else can I reach you? But maybe you don't want that. Maybe that's the whole point. I don't know. I just wish I knew what the story is with you!"
"Story? This story is as old as the hills, a variation on a theme. There's nothing new here. Or it's everything new. Depends how you look at it. But if you want a story, I'll tell you one. It's a puzzle. What happens when you're dangling over a bottomless pit, hanging only by your teeth clenching the root of a tree - and a tiny mouse starts to gnaw away at the root. What do you do?"
"There's not enough time for us to play games like this."
"Whether you like it or not, the time is here."
"You know, if you don't want my help, you don't have to stay here. You can leave against medical advice. I think you already know that. So what is it that keeps you here?"
"Who is it that asks?"
"Me! Your doctor - Dr. Thomas Holden, in case you've forgotten that too!"
"Show me this Thomas Holden."
"I've had enough," I answered with a sigh of exasperation. I headed towards the door. "I'm out of here. If you want to talk, let me know."
"Dr. Holden!"
"Yeah!" I spun back around to face him.
"There it is!" he said.
"There what is?"
"Never mind."
Something blinked on inside my head, then blinked off again - too fast to catch. My exasperation melted away to reveal something deeper, something beneath my doubts about Doe and everything else. It felt like... a plug.
"You turn to others for help," Doe continued, "but when there is no one there, who is there left to turn to?"
"I... I...." I wanted to say something, but I didn't know what it was, or how to get it out of my mouth. My throbbing finger kept time to the ebb and flow of the plug as it tried to wiggle loose.
"Yes, you're close," Doe injected calmly. "You almost have the answer to the puzzle, don't you?"
"Wha... What?"
"You shout your name."
Suddenly, Doe no longer looked the same. He had changed somehow. His face looked familiar, very familiar. I knelt down next to him and looked straight into his eyes. "Who are you?" I whispered. I wasn't sure he even heard me. He closed his eyes. All expression left his face. He instantly slipped into a deep catatonic state. I waited, hoping that some inspiration would help me find a way to pry him back open - but nothing happened. As I looked at him, an urge to touch his face overcame me. I reached up. An awful pain shot through my finger. It was so stiff and swollen that I couldn't move it. "I give up," I muttered as I dropped my hand to my side. Frustrated and tired, I stood up and stumbled towards the door.
"Dr. Holden."
I turned. With his eyes wide open, Doe was looking straight at me, a warm smile stretched across his face. He raised his index finger into the air - and wiggled it.