Greenfields Patient

Greenfield’s patient


Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside the room. It was probably Mcallum, anticipating the diagnosis. Greenfield looked with sympathy at the blonde-haired woman sat across from him. “You must understand Sophie, these people are not real; they are part of your imagination, your mind.” The young woman stared back at the psychiatrist, her brown eyes conveyed esoteric knowledge outside his theories. Greenfield sighed; the thick lenses of his glasses reflected the Venetian blinds behind him, keeping his eyes hidden. He was a chubby, rather unattractive, middle-aged man. He wore old ties and smelled of his office, which smelled of damp.
“You have listened to me, but haven’t believed what I’ve told you. Why should I believe you? You could be working work for them.” Sophie answered.
The doctor smiled and scratched his head. If it was to be another debate Sophie would not easily be out manoeuvred. But it was not a debate, he was the doctor and she was the patient. He was asking the questions; he’d decide what to believe, he was qualified and trained to distinguish what was real from what was not.
“Come on now Sophie, how can I work for them if I don’t believe they exist?” He asked, hoping for a quiet submission by his patient. Sophie didn’t flinch; an image of composure, one would never suspect her to have mental difficulties. She radiated warmth and intelligence that imbued Greenfield with self doubt. How could she be so hopelessly deluded, yet remain so rational and calm?
”If you did work for them, it’d be in their interests not to let you know your job. Then you wouldn’t give anything away about them. Or you could just be lying.” A charisma shone from her that eroded Greenfield’s conception of himself as the capable doctor. He felt awed by her; almost entranced, consumed by her beauty.
“So you think I’d let something out if I knew I was working for them”, he almost felt guilty about trying to untangle Sophie from her fantasy. It seemed an integral part of her beauty, her innocence. Her delusions were the nightmares that bring the best out in humanity; lands of demons to be faced with courage, curses to be lifted by the modern magic of Valium. They were the coloured illusions that shone to illuminate reality.
“Would you describe them for me Sophie? Where did you first see them? What is it that they want from you?” Greenfield asked, seeking to understand Sophie’s experiences rather than discredit them with psychobabble.
“I saw them in the snow on the hills the first time. They talked to me, in soft voices. Their clothes were colourful, they glimmered, translucent. They offered me hot soup from a flask, and I drank it. It warmed me up” Sophie smiled; enchanted by her memory of the beings she conversed with. She still trusted her mind and instincts more than Greenfield’s dry opinions. The doctor jotted down his notes.
She continued… “They don’t seem to want anything Doctor, just to talk really. If you ask them where they’re from they usually avoid it, sometimes they disappear. So I just talk to them now. I accept them, and learn what I can.” Sophie leaned closer to Greenfield. “But you’re best not telling people about them, they won’t believe you.” There was an acute conviction was in her voice.
“So what do you think they are Sophie, Angels, aliens, something else?” he tried not to appear condescending. But it was all too clear how sane she sounded, how well she worked with her condition, and how healthy she seemed to be for it. How could a padded cell be a cure for her? Or more drugs. That was McCallum’s answer; always the same for the ‘weird ones’ as he called them. He always was an arrogant prick, Greenfield thought to himself.
“You’d need to ask them I suppose.” She answered as if the question was most simple to answer, and still avoided the question.
“Haven’t you asked them what they are?” Greenfield asked, and loosened his tie.
“Of course not, that would imply they weren’t human, or that I was mad, and I’m not mad. They’re just people, like us. Do you think I’m mad Doctor?” She asked, cheerfully. She swept her hair to the side, and peered out the window. Rowan trees waved in the breeze, and brought a draught into the room.
“No, I don’t think you are mad Sophie” Greenfield smiled. He thought she was in need of medical attention. People don’t appear to you, talk about the meaning of life, give you some soup and disappear. But she dealt well with her ordeals.
“Do you think you’re mad Doctor?” she turned the question.
Never would he answer a question like this from a patient normally, but her dark eyes caught him, he felt unable to resist. “Not to my knowledge, but I can usually tell when someone else is.” he smiled again. He glanced around the room. Books on Freud and Yung, on behaviourism and cognition layered his shelves and theory. The lines of sanity were always blurred, but were always there. Or so he was taught, and believed.
Sophie laughed. “Then why don’t you ask me what I am?”, she inquired.
“Because I can see what you are. You’re a real person, a woman. I don’t need to ask what you are. Ok I can see your point Sophie.” he conceded.
“Here, would you like some water?” She asked, producing a small glass bottle. It was cool, with beads of condensation running down the sides.
“Where’d you get that?” He took it and laid it on the desk, mesmerized.
“Ask me then.” Sophie smiled, with a mischievous eye.
Still perplexed, he gazed at the bottle and asked her... “What, oh? Ok, what are you Sophie?” He gave in, tiredly, scribbling away. Sophie leant, smiled gracefully and whispered; “I’m just like you doctor.” a light filled the room and Greenfield looked across his desk. Sophie was gone. He grew disoriented, and he felt his heart accelerate.
Was it a dream, yes that’s it, a vivid dream? No it couldn’t be. He knew he was wide-awake. No, it was real. Sophie was real, he thought, but not ordinary. He stood up and searched around the room. He started to sweat and a knock rapped at his door. The door opened.
“I came by ten minutes ago, I was held back. Who were you talking to? Did you have another patient Tom?” McCallum demanded.
Greenfield looked at him, and at the bottle on the table, remembering Sophie’s words. ”Your best not to tell people.”
“Err, no just blabbing to myself – this report I have, a real tricky one. I’ll be the one going mad next…” he laughed, timidly. “It’s been a long day Robert; look can you come back later? I still have some work to do here” Greenfield massaged his forehead, feigning tiredness.
“Don’t forget the assessment is in an hour Tom.” McCallum left something on the desk and walked out, closing the door firmly.
Greenfield gazed around his room; cramped as a cell. Books and paintings reinforced his walls. He searched for the relevant Journals and scribbles littered around his desk. He wondered when he would be able to leave. When he would be allowed a holiday, maybe go walking in the snow. ‘Soon’ he thought to himself, as he looked up an article on mid life crisis. He organised his patients’ prescriptions on his desk, then drank the cool water beside his pills.