Outpatient - A Story of Horror and Madness by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 9

She soon found herself in downtown Farmington. It wasn't nearly as busy or as large as Portland and within a few minutes, Catherine was turning right at Route 133 onto Franklin Health Commons and into the parking lot of the hospital. The medical arts building was on the far side of the hospital, and she parked in front of the building, just to the left of the door. Today, Catherine was very much on edge and fearful of the idea that she might be facing a second trip to AMHI.

Her psychiatrist, Dr. Howard Beach, had been overseeing her care from the beginning. She always felt that he seemed to know more about her than she knew about herself, and that made her feel uncomfortable. Dr. Beach had two offices – one in Brunswick and the other in Farmington. Catherine walked into room 108. Walking into the waiting area, she sat in a corner chair. By this point, Catherine had become so uncomfortable around people that she began to slowly gravitate towards isolation. When the secretary called her name, she stepped up to the desk and checked in. A nearby office door opened and Dr. Beach stuck his head out and called Catherine in. Once again, she sat in the leather chair, sliding down into a relaxed position.

“So, how are things?” he asked, looking up from her chart.

“I'm doing pretty well.” She tried to sound convincing, thinking that if she believed her own words, then he might too.

“I hear a bit of discomfort in your voice. What's going on?” he inquired.

“Shit!” she thought to herself. “Why does he have to be so fucking perceptive?” So, she brought him up to date on everything that had happened – the arrival of the fire department, the panic attack, and her resignation from Bowdoin College.

“I can"t help but be a bit concerned, Catherine,” said Dr. Beach. “How are you going to make a living? I'd rather not see you having any more issues due to lack of funds.” To any therapist, this would be a valid concern. But Catherine had not yet mentioned the trust fund her father left her.

“Well,” she began. “My father left me a trust fund, so I'll be living off that plus what I've saved up. I didn't want to resign until the payments started coming in.”

Dr. Beach nodded his head as he wrote in her chart.

“Sounds like you've thought this through,” he said.

He nodded his head in the thoughtful way that any other psychiatrist would. Glancing back at her chart, he began reviewing her medication list with her – drugs, amounts, and dosages.

“Any side effects?” he asked. Catherine was well aware of the fact that a side effect could present itself at any time, regardless of how long she'd been taking the medication. So she looked up the side effects of all her meds on the internet and kept a watchful eye for signs of trouble, without letting this vigilance rule her life.

“Not really, but some nights I have a hard time getting to sleep,” she replied. He nodded his head again.

“If it becomes a constant occurrence, we can make some changes to the Lorazepam to help you with that,” he said.

He paused to scribble a note on his legal pad and asked her where she was on the mood scale. It was the usual list of questions, and Catherine did her best to sound confident.

“Any hallucinations?” he asked. Catherine became visibly agitated, pulling her knees up into the fetal position. Dr. Beach immediately recognized her anxiety and defensiveness.

“Catherine, what happened?” he asked in a gentle, but concerned voice. Catherine spoke in a guarded, hesitant manner. “I was just a bit late taking my morning meds – only by a couple of hours,” she said.

“Okay. And what happened?” he asked.

“Well,” she began, as the doctor gently moved her feet back down to the floor.

“I thought I smelled a bit of smoke in the house,” she said cautiously.

“That must be a little scary, considering where you live,” he commented.

“You have no idea,” she responded.

“And the more it stressed me out, the worse it got.”

Now, Catherine realized what she'd said.

“Son of a bitch,” she thought, as she silently chastised herself for falling for his probing statement.

She paused momentarily as she tried to find the right words for the question that had been nagging at her for the last few weeks.

“Was there something else?” he asked. Finally finding her words, Catherine took the risk of getting an answer she might not be comfortable with.

“Considering everything that's happened over the last few weeks, is there any chance that I'll have to go back into the hospital again?” Dr. Beach looked up from his pad.

“Well, I don't know that it's time to start thinking about that just yet,” he said. His response was very diplomatic, but Catherine was a scientist, and she saw the world through the contrast of black and white.

The doctor's words entered her mind like a forest fire. This was not what she wanted to hear. What she wanted was validation, as if the doctor might completely agree without question. Obviously, that was not going to happen, and she became frightened, seeing her worst fears slowly becoming a reality. Dr. Beach slowly nodded his head once more, while continuing to write on his legal pad.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“That's it,” she answered.

“How many times has this happened?” he

asked, looking up from his pad and directly into her eyes.

“Just this morning,” she replied. The doctor seemed satisfied with Catherine's answer.

She concluded that the doctor"s answer wasn't really an answer at all, and his seemingly evasive response only served to bring Catherine's deep fear of returning to AMHI into the harsh light of reality. Up to this point, she had managed to bury this fear – to keep it secret. Now with one brief response, she was forced to confront the possibility of returning to the white, sterile hallways of hell. She nodded confidently, trying desperately to hide the fact that she was terrified beyond words.

“Would an increase in my meds help?” Catherine asked.

“Let's see what we have you on,” the doctor replied.

He looked over her medication list, with specific attention to the dosages.

“I don't know if I can increase any of your meds. We can certainly add one if we need to. But I'm thinking it's possible that some of the things you've been experiencing may be situational. That is, maybe, a reaction to stress, and you've been through a lot lately. The last thing I would want is to over-medicate you, because that's no way to live, either. So, let's get you through this transition you're going through first and if there are still some things that need to be ironed out, we'll approach them then.”

This seemed like a reasonable plan, despite Catherine"s fear of returning to AMHI. Dr. Beach wrote new prescriptions for her meds and concluded their session.

But the fear she had created got the best of her, and now she was emotionally trapped by her own paranoia. She shook his hand and walked out into the parking lot at a rapid pace, with tears in her eyes. Upon getting to her car, she frantically fumbled with her keys, dropping them to the pavement.

“Shit!” she muttered to herself and quickly retrieved them.

After getting into her car and starting the engine, she drove to the other side of the parking lot. She

shut off the engine, buried her face in her hands, and began crying uncontrollably.

“What the fuck am I going to do?!” she sobbed. “It's not fair! What the fuck did I do?!” She was almost screaming now, but she was parked well away from the other cars, so no one would see or hear her in her desperate panic.