doesn’t wholly ‘fit’ into any particular box. She has all
the outward symptoms of 'acute delirious mania': memory loss, definite cause
(puerperal psychosis), sudden onset, yet she does not have the fever, refusal
of food, flushed cheeks, or incoherence of speech that accompanies it. In my
assessment of the insane, the symptoms form the point of division between
curable and incurable cases. Based on appearances alone, I would consider Anne
an ‘incurable’ case; however, puerperal insanity is curable. I shall proceed
slowly.
“Tell me about going to bed that night, Anne.”
She looks to her lap, and mumbles something under her
breath.
“Pardon, Anne?”
She stands, pushing the chair behind and away from her. “I
said, you are perverted. Why do you imagine it appropriate to ask a Lady the
particulars of her going to bed? Would you like me to tell you that I sleep
naked at times, in the summer when the heat feels like a blanket over my skin?
That at these times I have no need of clothes? Is that what you wish to know?
Why oh why am I here?” She starts to cry, and sways back and forth. She is
upset, but so far she is not being violent, and I have seen far worse than
this.
The memory of a person suffering from mania is sometimes
akin to listening to someone with a double consciousness. When talking of
recent events Anne is calm and collected, yet when confronted with her memory
of before the asylum, her angry, confused feelings resurface. Though
interesting to witness: a mind protecting itself in such a way is frustrating
as a professional; to be unable to reach it.
“No Anne, you misunderstand me. I simply wish to know of
your last memories of being at home, before you came to be here. Whether you
believe me presently or not, you will, given time. You will understand and
recognize me for that which I am: a doctor, trying to help you.”
She peers around her, and an inspiration occurs to me.
“Look Anne, behind me, on the wall. In fact,” I say,
standing and unhooking one of my certificates from it. “Here. Read it, please,
and tell me what you see.” I pass it to her.
DR GEORGE SAVAGE
M.D, M.R.CP.
PHYSICIAN AND SUPERINTENDANT OF BETHLEM
ROYAL HOSPITAL
“Well? Does this not offer proof that I am who I say I am?”
She is silent for a moment, studying the writing, turning
the frame over and running her fingers across the back of the glass.
“It would appear that you are a fine fraudster, Mr Savage,
and that you wish to woo me with fancy letters that anyone could write after
their name.”
Working with the insane can be frustrating, for previously
indisputable facts of life become negligible, and fantasies abound. They will
not believe the sky is blue, or worse: that there even is a sky.
“What about the stamp, Anne? That cannot be faked; it proves
this is a genuine certificate.”
She glares at me. “What do you want with me, you fish-eyed
fiend? Can I go home now?”, as if the previous five minutes had not occurred.
“May I have that back, please?” I ask her, gesturing to the
frame. I should not have given her a pane of glass. I remember what she did the
last time she called me a fish-eyed fiend, with a shard.
“Certainly.” She passes it back to me, smoothes her gown and
sits down again. I breathe again. “I’m sorry; I seem to have lost myself there
for a second or two. My head flies away from me at times.” She shakes it, as if
to clear her mind. “You wanted to speak with me about the ransom?”
I find it difficult to keep track with her thought processes
and moods. Her temperament flips as a blink, yet her delusion is fixed.
Ideas flow along certain lines more
rapidly than in health; somewhat hard to follow in their rapidity of formation.
No continuous thought process. Attention may be garnered momentarily. Long term
memory remains lost; past is left with an irregular outline.
For hypnotherapy.
“Anne, I believe that's enough for today.” I press my bell,
and summon
the outward symptoms of 'acute delirious mania': memory loss, definite cause
(puerperal psychosis), sudden onset, yet she does not have the fever, refusal
of food, flushed cheeks, or incoherence of speech that accompanies it. In my
assessment of the insane, the symptoms form the point of division between
curable and incurable cases. Based on appearances alone, I would consider Anne
an ‘incurable’ case; however, puerperal insanity is curable. I shall proceed
slowly.
“Tell me about going to bed that night, Anne.”
She looks to her lap, and mumbles something under her
breath.
“Pardon, Anne?”
She stands, pushing the chair behind and away from her. “I
said, you are perverted. Why do you imagine it appropriate to ask a Lady the
particulars of her going to bed? Would you like me to tell you that I sleep
naked at times, in the summer when the heat feels like a blanket over my skin?
That at these times I have no need of clothes? Is that what you wish to know?
Why oh why am I here?” She starts to cry, and sways back and forth. She is
upset, but so far she is not being violent, and I have seen far worse than
this.
The memory of a person suffering from mania is sometimes
akin to listening to someone with a double consciousness. When talking of
recent events Anne is calm and collected, yet when confronted with her memory
of before the asylum, her angry, confused feelings resurface. Though
interesting to witness: a mind protecting itself in such a way is frustrating
as a professional; to be unable to reach it.
“No Anne, you misunderstand me. I simply wish to know of
your last memories of being at home, before you came to be here. Whether you
believe me presently or not, you will, given time. You will understand and
recognize me for that which I am: a doctor, trying to help you.”
She peers around her, and an inspiration occurs to me.
“Look Anne, behind me, on the wall. In fact,” I say,
standing and unhooking one of my certificates from it. “Here. Read it, please,
and tell me what you see.” I pass it to her.
DR GEORGE SAVAGE
M.D, M.R.CP.
PHYSICIAN AND SUPERINTENDANT OF BETHLEM
ROYAL HOSPITAL
“Well? Does this not offer proof that I am who I say I am?”
She is silent for a moment, studying the writing, turning
the frame over and running her fingers across the back of the glass.
“It would appear that you are a fine fraudster, Mr Savage,
and that you wish to woo me with fancy letters that anyone could write after
their name.”
Working with the insane can be frustrating, for previously
indisputable facts of life become negligible, and fantasies abound. They will
not believe the sky is blue, or worse: that there even is a sky.
“What about the stamp, Anne? That cannot be faked; it proves
this is a genuine certificate.”
She glares at me. “What do you want with me, you fish-eyed
fiend? Can I go home now?”, as if the previous five minutes had not occurred.
“May I have that back, please?” I ask her, gesturing to the
frame. I should not have given her a pane of glass. I remember what she did the
last time she called me a fish-eyed fiend, with a shard.
“Certainly.” She passes it back to me, smoothes her gown and
sits down again. I breathe again. “I’m sorry; I seem to have lost myself there
for a second or two. My head flies away from me at times.” She shakes it, as if
to clear her mind. “You wanted to speak with me about the ransom?”
I find it difficult to keep track with her thought processes
and moods. Her temperament flips as a blink, yet her delusion is fixed.
Ideas flow along certain lines more
rapidly than in health; somewhat hard to follow in their rapidity of formation.
No continuous thought process. Attention may be garnered momentarily. Long term
memory remains lost; past is left with an irregular outline.
For hypnotherapy.
“Anne, I believe that's enough for today.” I press my bell,
and summon
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