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

Chapter 4

They met as freshmen at Bowdoin College shortly after Catherine moved on campus. She found that living in a college dormitory was anything but peaceful, and eventually, she'd have to move off campus. Renting a small two-bedroom apartment away from the downtown area, she started interviewing potential roommates, offering the second bedroom to someone named Nancy. She was a quiet but spirited young woman who was also in her freshman year. Her interests are mainly in quantum physics and astronomy, and they"d set up for hours talking about new discoveries in all areas of physics.

Their friendship remained strong throughout their respective college careers, and they would sit outside for many a night talking about the cosmos and, occasionally, about who the cutest guy on campus might be. During their graduate studies, they found that they'd taken some of the same classes and when they wrote term papers, they often critiqued each other's work. Then the day came – graduation. Both Catherine and Nancy were receiving their Ph.D. degrees, and there were many congratulatory handshakes and pictures to be taken. Catherine had her picture taken with her parents, William and Emily, and Nancy was glad to stand in as the photographer. Catherine made it a point to have her picture taken with just her father, and it was this photograph that she would come to treasure. When the pictures came back, her father signed that one particular photograph for her, 'Congratulations Cat! Love, Dad'.

Shortly after graduation, Catherine was offered a professor position at Bowdoin, and she accepted this full-time post as Dr. Catherine Thomaston, professor of theoretical physics. Later, after running into Nancy again, Catherine found out that she too had accepted a professor position, teaching quantum physics at the graduate level. They both gave each other a celebratory hug and decided that a girl's night out was in order. But, they promised each other not to drink too much. Mostly for safety, but they also had one other consideration in mind. No one can teach physics while hung over and feeling the urge to puke. After their night out, they each got back to their respective apartments. But, morning came with the screaming fire of sunlight shining through their windows and piercing are slightly numbed brains. They ran into each other at the student center the next day, with Nancy wearing sunglasses.

“I feel like shit,” Nancy quietly said.

“Let me see the eyes,” Catherine said with a grin.

Nancy lowered her sunglasses enough for Catherine to see the circles that seemed to cradle her bloodshot eyes.

“Jesus Christ!” Catherine exclaimed. “You look like shit!”

Nancy was not amused.

“But in a good way,” Catherine said, comically.

She giggled a bit at Nancy's expense, then, both started quietly laughing.

“I don't think I'll be doing that again for a long time,” Nancy proclaimed.

“Good,” Catherine replied with a smirk. “Because you do look like shit.”

Catherine jumped into her new career with both feet. Teaching gave her great satisfaction, knowing that she was contributing to the growth of some of the brightest minds in the country. She knew how much work went into the program, as well as the amount of discipline it required. So, she gave each student the respect they deserved for putting their lives aside for the sake of studying a very complex subject.

A year later, her father, William, was diagnosed with a heart condition. It wasn't serious, but it did require a regimen of blood-thinning medications in order to minimize the formation of blood clots. He would take them indefinitely. His doctor at Franklin Memorial wanted him to go to Portland for a complete cardiac workup. William sighed a bit.

“Could this get worse?” he asked.

“You might be able to live with this, as it is right now, for the rest of your life,” the doctor said. “Or things could change. There is still the risk that you might develop a clot, and no one can predict where it will go. That's why I want you to get the workup done. We need to take a look at the bigger picture.”

After arriving at Maine Medical Center with Emily and going through the admission process, he was scheduled for a stress test. This would be the first of many tests he would undergo during the diagnostic process, and he was young enough that he could use their treadmill. But during the test, the doctors noticed a significant change in Williams's EKG. They stopped the treadmill and asked him how he was feeling.

“Kind of sick to my stomach,” he answered. They had him sit in a chair while continuing to monitor his vital signs. And while checking his blood pressure, he broke into a heavy sweat as his EKG changed again – this time into a dangerous arrhythmia. Suddenly, his face grew pale as his eyes widened, and his pupils became dilated. His body went limp as he slumped over to one side and was caught by the doctors, who lowered him to the floor. A team of doctors and nurses immediately flooded the room and quickly assessed his condition. It became necessary to place a breathing tube down his throat while cardiac drugs were being pushed into his veins. Defibrillator pads were applied to his chest and back. In order to synchronize the muscles in his heart and bring it back to a normal rhythm, a sudden shock of electricity was delivered through the pads. William"s body flinched slightly, but the doctors had successfully brought him back from the brink of death. He was transferred immediately to the cardiac intensive care unit, where he was placed in a bed it was routinely left available and commonly referred to as a „code bed". While the nurses and technicians moved William into the room with the machinery that would keep him alive, Emily was brought to the unit and the doctors reviewed his condition with her. Emily asked to use the nearest phone and immediately dialed Catherine's number. After her phone rang a few times, her answering machine picked up. “Dammit, where is she,” she said, hanging up the phone.

She looked over at the clock, which read 2:30 -- Catherine would be in class. Emily hated the idea of having to call her while she was working, but this was important. Her father could be dying. So, Emily called the Dean at Bowdoin College, who went directly to the lecture hall where Catherine was in the middle of discussing Einstein's time paradox. He motioned to her from the back of the room.

“Okay, everyone,” she said to her students. “Let's take a quick break.” She approached the Dean without saying a word, as though she knew that something bad had happened.

“Hi, Catherine,” he said. His voice was sensitive and caring. This made her feel even more uncomfortable.

“I just got off the phone with your mother. Your father"s at Maine Medical Center.” Catherine suddenly brought her hands up to her mouth and her eyes widened with fear.

“I don't have any details about this, but your mom sounds scared, and I think you should be there for her. I'll let your class out early.” Without so much as a word, she ran out to her car and started towards Portland, and an hour later was pulling into the visitor parking lot. She pushed through the revolving doors, went to the front desk, and asked what room he was in.

“He's in cardiac intensive care on the ninth floor,” the woman at the desk said. She ran down the hallway and past the lab, where she immediately found herself confused by the busyness and size of the hospital. And as she began looking for any signs that might direct her, a voice called to her from behind.

“Excuse me, are you lost?”

Catherine spun around to face a man dressed in a white lab coat, pushing a black cart holding a red

box containing everything needed for the purpose of drawing blood.

“Yes!” she replied. “I need to get to the cardiac intensive care unit.”

“Sure, I'm going in that direction. I'll get you there,” he said. The man seemed to be in his 40s -- bald, with a gray goatee, wearing glasses and a gentle, patient smile. He walked Catherine down just beyond a blue wall at the end of the hallway and escorted her into an elevator. Pushing the buttons for the fifth and ninth floors, he turned back to her. “You want to get off on the ninth floor, go to the desk and the nurses can show you where you need to go.”

“Thank you very much,” she said. “You"revery welcome,” he replied. “Here's my stop.”

The elevator opened its doors at the fifth floor, and he stepped out, disappearing down the hallway. The doors closed as the elevator continued up to the ninth floor. When they opened again, Catherine walked out and immediately found her way to the desk. She walked up and asked a rather young, blond-haired nurse where the cardiac intensive care unit was.

“Right down there,” she said, pointing down to a set of ominous-looking double doors. The doors automatically opened and she walked in. One look around led Catherine into a state of emotional disbelief. She had never seen people in this state, with wires and tubes everywhere and machines breathing for those being kept in medically induced comas -- their lungs were routinely being suctioned out. There were banks of monitoring machines in every room that would alarm at the smallest deviation from what was considered stable. To Catherine, it looked more like a warehouse than a hospital, and this left her feeling more than a bit unsettled.

“Can I help you?” a woman's voice asked. She turned to face the voice.

“Uh… yes. I'm looking for William Thomason. I was told he was here,” she said cautiously, hoping that he might be elsewhere in the hospital -- somewhere where death might not be hiding.

“He's right down in the room on the end,” the woman said. “I can take you down there.”

“Thank you,” Catherine said. She was led down to the room where her father was and when the curtains were pulled back, Catherine's heart sank as her fears rose. She felt a strange, cold sensation in her stomach as her thoughts started to become a bit muddied. Catherine walked into the room and with tears welling up in her eyes, she gently approached the side of her father's bed.

“Daddy, it's me, Cat,” she said. She picked up his hand, only to realize that he was both cold and somewhat stiff.

“Catherine?”

It was her mother. Her face was flushed, and her eyes were red with tears flowing down her cheeks. She walked over to Catherine and slowly put her arms around her waist. She was without words and simply cried on Catherine's blouse for what seemed like forever.

“Mom, the doctors are going to do everything they can,” she said, trying to be reassuring. “Are you the family?” Both women turned toward the voice coming from the foot of the bed.

“Hi, I'm Dr. Hanscom. I'm the resident in charge of Mr. Thomaston"s care.” He seemed to be in his late 20s, with a very professional demeanor.

“I'll need to ask you a few questions about his health. We already have faxed records from his doctor at Franklin Memorial, but there are still some questions we always ask the family.” There was about a 10-minute exchange of questions and answers -- mostly yes or no questions.

“So, what can you tell us?” Catherine asked. Her mother had moved to the head of the bed, where she began talking to William with the hope that he could somehow hear her.

“Well, according to the report from the

beginning of his cardiac workup, his heart went into an arrhythmia. He lost consciousness and was resuscitated,” he said. “We're still assessing how much damage may have been done to his heart muscle and will be getting him into the cardiac catheterization lab within the next 15 minutes. After that, we'll have a much better idea about what's going on.” Emily then spoke up.

“I don't understand. His doctor put him on blood thinners last week. I thought those drugs were supposed to keep things like this from happening.”

“Ordinarily, they do,” the doctor said.

“But, it takes time for them to reach a level where they become effective. Right now, he's on a heparin drip and that will keep any further clots from forming.”

“I have a question, doctor,” Catherine

said. “Why is he so cold? Shouldn't he have some blankets over him?”

“That's a good question,” the doctor replied. “One of the things we can do to treat it as a particular condition is called „therapeutic hypothermia". We use medication to stabilize the metabolism, and we bring the body's temperature down. This allows the body to redirect all of its energy into the healing process.”

“Can he hear us?” asked Emily.

“Well, he's pretty sedated right now,” he said. “But, some people believe that even under sedation, some patients might be able to hear on a subconscious level. Now, just in case, if something happens, and he needs to be resuscitated again, what would you like us to do?”

“What do you mean?” Catherine asked.

“Do you want us to try and bring him back?” he replied.

Catherine and Emily turned to each other rather dumbfoundedly.

“Let's do this. Let's see what the cardiac catheterization results and the blood work say, and will touch back on this issue later. Sound like a plan?”

Both women nodded their heads.

“Okay,” they agreed. They both stepped out of the room as the bed and equipment were slowly moved out and down the hall to the cardiac catheterization lab. It would take 30 minutes to an hour before the procedure was finished. In the meantime, Catherine and her mother were shown to the waiting room. At some point, Emily broke the silence that had so heavily filled the room.

“Did you call Robert?” she asked. Robert was living in Washington State and was not the most pleasant person to deal with. As a boy, he was always off by himself. Eventually, he would come to resent Catherine for the attention she received from their father, as well as his father. But, he would never learn that a parent can't provide attention to someone who isn't there to receive it, and over the years, his hostility would only grow. Catherine always suspected that this was probably why he moved to the other side of the country.

Catherine stepped out near the elevators and turned on her cell phone. After getting a signal, she brought his number up from her contacts list. She stared at it for a few seconds and became aware that if it were not for their father's condition, she would probably never hear his voice again. She also realized how terrible it felt to be written off, a member of her own family. Catherine took a deep breath and prepared herself for what she knew would be a hostile conversation. She dialed the number, hoping Robert was out -- after all, there were four time zones difference between Maine and Washington State.

“Hello.” His voice sounded distant and oddly

warm.

“Robert, it's Catherine,” she said. There was a brief pause.

“What, did someone die?” he asked sarcastically.

Catherine took another deep breath, trying to remain composed.

“Robert, dad had a heart attack,” she said.

“What do you want me to do about it?” he said.

“Look, we don't know how bad this could

get,” Catherine said. “I thought it might be important for you to be here, and mom's a wreck.”

“Well, I'm afraid I can't make things any better,” Roberts said.

His voice was distant and hostile. Catherine was expecting this but held out a little hope that maybe he would care about how their mother was doing.

“And since you're there, you can handle mom.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Robert!” Catherine said, with increasing agitation.

“He"s your father! He's been a model father to both of us!”

“Well,” he replied, with obvious sarcasm. “I

guess that"d be true coming from daddy's little girl.”

“God dammit!” She said. Catherine could no longer hold back her anger.

“Don't start this shit! Good God! And you"re a psychologist?!”

“Hey!” he said. “I don't get paid to give a shit! I wanted to go into research, not listen to people's pathetic little problems.”

“Fine, whatever,” Catherine replied. “That's your issue! Are you going to be here or not? This may be the last chance you have to see him.” She heard an impatient sigh over the phone.

“You handle it!” he said. Robert's hostility had not abated in the slightest.

“Alright, fine!” Catherine said, with a noticeable touch of sarcasm.

“So, if dad dies, are you even going to bother to show up at the God damned funeral?” This question was met with a pause, then the line went dead.

“Robert?!”

Catherine cursed under her breath as she dialed his number again.

“Son of a bitch…” She let the line ring until his answering machine picked up and when she heard the recorded message, hung up and turned her phone off. She was struck with the pain of knowing that her family was irreparably fractured, but also with the realization that their mother would probably never see him again. Catherine backed up against the wall and brought her hands over her face.

“You fucking bastard,” she said, while quietly weeping.

“Catherine?” It was her mother. “Is Robert coming?”

“Uh… he can't, mom,” Catherine answered. “One of his patients is in trouble and he sort of has to be there.”

Her lie was well-meaning but obvious to her mother.

“Catherine,” Emily said, with a gentle tone. “You're such a terrible liar. Come on, we'll get through this.”

They walked slowly back to the cardiac intensive care unit just as William was being moved back from the catheterization Lab. When the nurses finished moving the bed and machinery back into the room, they once again returned to his bedside. About 10 minutes later, the doctor returned with Williams's chart.

“Well, we got the report back from the catheterization lab,” he said. Catherine and Emily stood momentarily with their eyes widened in anticipation of what might be the worst possible news.

“I just wish I had better news for you. According to the results of his catheterization, and his lab results, William has about 20% heart functioning. They were able to remove a blood clot from one of the arteries in his heart, but this kind of damage can't be reversed.” Catherine and her mother remained wide-eyed with shock and disbelief.

“I'm sorry,” Dr. Hanscom continued. “I wish there was something we could do. At this point, all we can do is to make him comfortable. Usually, we ask the family what they want us to do in case the patient's heart stops, but I think that decision"s already been made for us.”

“So, what now?” Catherine asked, with tears

streaming down her face.

Emily was at his head again, talking to him quietly -- saying her goodbyes.

“I think what we can expect is a steady decline of functioning. This could take a few hours, or it could take a day or more,” he replied. “Are they are any other family members who might want to be here?”

“Uh, no,” Catherine said, with a flat tone.

“Alright,” the doctor responded. “If you need anything, the nurses are right here and if you need to take a break, the waiting room is right around the corner.” “Thank you,” Catherine said quietly.

“Could we get a couple of chairs?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” he said. Within minutes, two chairs were brought into the room, and they sat in quiet vigilance as William slowly slipped away. And within four hours, the machines were turned off, leaving Catherine and her mother sitting in the dim light, saying their final goodbyes. They left the room and sat with each other in the waiting room. Catherine couldn't believe how something like this could happen so quickly, but she also felt comforted but the fact that her father didn't suffer. Emily slowly looked up at her and said, “What am I going to do without your father?”

She then quickly became inconsolable.

Three days later, Catherine found herself sitting in the front row at a funeral home in Farmington. On one side sat her mother, who was gently rocking back and forth, while quietly weeping. On the other, lay an open casket containing the body of her father. The room was filled with people, mostly from the college, and more were filing past the casket. Some remarked on how suddenly his death had occurred, while others commented on how good he looked. Robert had been e-mailed about the funeral, as he was not answering his phone. But, at no time during the service was there any sign of him. The eulogy was delivered by a local pastor and ran for about 20 minutes. But, for Catherine, most of it was a blur. During the wake, most people expressed both sympathy and support, while a few remained a bit distant, seemingly at a loss for words. Over the next two weeks, there were many phone conversations between Catherine and her mother. Emily would routinely call her out of loneliness. She didn't seem to know what to do with herself with William gone. Eventually, Catherine talked her into joining a support group, where she began making some friends. And, during those times when it was her turn to host the group's meetings, she fell into the role of hostess with great ease. Catherine was very relieved to see her acquiring friends and knew that without emotional support, her mother would undoubtedly slip into a depression. Catherine, on the other hand, was keenly aware that she was not handling her father's death very well at all. She missed him constantly, sometimes breaking into tears. Occasionally, she would be forced into letting a class out early when her emotions began to overtake her. She would often rely on Nancy for support.

“I miss my dad so much,” she'd cry. “Listen, sweetie,” Nancy said with a caring

voice. “I can't tell you that you'll get over this. This kind of thing stays with you forever. But, I can tell you that things will get better and the days will get easier. After a few months, you'll be back to your old self.”

But this would not be the case for Catherine, as several months went by and her grief had not lessened, seemingly in the slightest. Nancy stepped in again -- this time, to get Catherine into counseling.

“Cat, people are talking,” Nancy said. “You're letting classes out early, and sometimes you're there late. You're becoming disorganized and people are noticing that you're losing weight. People are starting to think you're sick -- really sick!”

Catherine came to see Nancy as her rock, but there was only so much she could do, even as a friend. And Nancy quickly realized that Catherine would get help only if she wanted to. So, she began thinking about how to get her to the realization that she both needed and wanted to get help. The next day, Nancy made a visit to Catherine's office.

“Knock, knock,” she said while standing at the open door.

“Hey, come on in,” Catherine said, as she threw some tissue in a wastebasket. Her eyes were a bit red, and she was sniffling as though she'd been crying. Nancy sat in the chair next to Catherine's desk and closed the door.

“What's up?” Catherine asked.

“We need to talk, Cath,” Nancy said. Her tone started to become serious.

“Cath, the chair of the department came to my office yesterday asking about you. He wanted to know if I thought you were stable enough to continue teaching. I told him yes. If the head of the department is asking questions, that's a big deal!” Catherine sat, eyes glazed with anxiety over the sudden possibility that she could lose her job. She loved teaching and considered it her life's work -- her mission.

“I know I'm having some issues right now, but I'll be okay,” Catherine said. She was near complete denial.

“Cath, this is Dr. Warner, the chair of the department,” Nancy said, as she took Catherine's hand in order to get her full attention.

“He's starting to wonder about your state of mind, and he may be starting to doubt your competency as a teacher. Cath, you're going to be considered for tenure in six months, and you love teaching. So, don't tell me that you'll be okay. Do you really believe that you'll be okay?” Catherine slid back into her chair as Nancy slightly tightened her grip.

“I don't know,” she said, with a deep sigh. “It's been so long since I actually had a good day… and sometimes I just can't think straight. Jesus Christ… what the fuck is wrong with me?!”

“Cath,” Nancy said.

Her voice was caring, but still very concerned. “If they think that you're no longer able to teach, they're going to cut you lose. Now, ask yourself this: what else could you do besides teach? Research jobs are very rare -- you know that. And I don't want to see you, with a Ph.D., ending up as a fucking greeter in some piss-ant little tourist trap somewhere. And denial is only going to get you there faster.”

“I just don't know what to do!” Catherine said, with a hopeless tone in her voice. Nancy handed her a piece of paper with a phone number written on it.

“This is the number for a grief counselor,” she said. “If you want me to go with you, I will. But, you have to do this. We're talking about your career, and teaching is your life. I'm afraid of what could happen to you if they let you go. Cath, please call them.”

They met after classes let out for the day and went back to Catherine's apartment. Nancy sat with her while she dialed the number on the piece of paper.

“Franklin Memorial medical arts,” a female voice answered.

“Yeah, hi,” Catherine said. “I'm looking for the grief counseling office.”

“Okay, one moment,” the voice said. There was a pause and a line began to ring again. A different voice answered this time.

“Dr. Howard Beach, can I help you?” Catherine described her problem and gave the woman her name, address, and phone number, then an initial appointment was set up. She hung up the phone after writing down the appointment date and time. Nancy put a hand on her arm.

“Doing okay?” she asked.

“Actually, I feel a bit relieved,” Catherine

replied.

“That's good!” Nancy said. “You need to do this.”

“I know,” said Catherine. “If I can't save my sanity, everything else is going to go to shit.”

Catherine went to her weekly appointments religiously and within six months, her life seemed to be back on track. Then, during a girls" night out, Nancy asked her a question she hadn't expected.

“So, now that things are going better, have you been giving any thought to, uh…you know?” Nancy asked, teasingly.

After a moment, it finally dawned on Catherine as to what she was talking about.

“Oh, I don't know,” she said. “I think I'm finally coming to terms with everything and I don't want to complicate my life… just yet. I just don't think I'm ready to start dating just yet.”

“Okay, fair enough,” Nancy replied. “But, when you get to that point, I can set you up with a really nice guy.”

“Well,” Catherine said. “When I'm ready – but, we double-date. It'll take some of the pressure off.”

“Agreed,” said Nancy, with a grin. Catherine continued teaching, and she felt each day get a bit easier to deal with. Her thinking became clearer and soon her mind was once again moving at near-light speed with ideas, equations, and solutions. Three months later, she felt like she was at the top of her game and the department chair started talking about tenure. But, in spite of her recovery, Catherine would occasionally feel some small part of something twinge deeply inside her. It felt a small pin prick touching her inside, that place that seemed vague and indiscriminate. Nancy told her that even though she was doing well, she would always carry a small spot of pain around inside her, but even that would fade over time. Catherine came to the conclusion that it made sense and blew it off is a necessary part of the healing process.

Over the next month, she started to feel uneasy when she began to notice that those feelings had not changed. In fact, they were becoming more frequent, and she was beginning to experience some degree of agitation. Not long after this, Nancy caught up to her in the hallway between classes.

“Hey, Cath,” she said. “How about a girls"

night out this Friday?” Catherine stopped and turned towards her. She was clutching her books and notes tightly against her chest, and Nancy immediately noticed that she seemed unusually stressed. There was always a lot of work to do during midterms, but that was why professors had teaching assistants. And it didn't explain Catherine's general appearance and her change of mood.

“I… I don't really feel like it,” she said. “I haven't been feeling well lately.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Nancy asked.

“Look!” Catherine said. Her voice became somewhat defensive. “I just don't feel like it.”

She turned away from Nancy and quickly continued down the hallway.

Nancy was left in a state of shock and concern. She wanted to know what was happening to her friend. They had been like sisters for a very long time, and she knew that something was terribly wrong. Suddenly, she realized who might be able to help, and she turned to Frederick Markley. Dr. Markley, as he preferred to be called, was the chair of the psychology department. He was a brilliant man who had organized and directed most of the studies carried out by the Defense Department, regarding the psyche's response to battle. This included the conflict between training and the need to survive under combat conditions.

Nancy stepped up to his office door and knocked politely.

“Dr. Markley?” she said. He looked up at Nancy over his reading glasses, taking his eyes up from the minutes of a recent department meeting.

“Hi, I'm Nancy, Professor of quantum physics. I called earlier to get a few minutes of your time.”

“Yes, come in,” he said. “So, doctor, what

can I do for you?”

Nancy sat down and described Catherine's behavior as accurately as she could, and mentioned the recent passing of her father as well.

“Honestly,” Dr. Markley said. “I'm not a clinician, but it sounds like your friend is headed for some serious trouble. Agitation can be a symptom of a few different things – paranoia, depression, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, and even one or two personality disorders. Without the onset of symptoms that would be specific to a certain illness, it's hard for me to put a finger on one issue. Has she seen a therapist?”

“When she was in grief counseling, she was

seeing a psychiatrist,” Nancy replied.

“Well,” he said. “I think you should get her to go back.”

Nancy nodded her head in discouragement.

“I'm sorry I can't tell you more.” They shook hands as Nancy thanked him for his time, and she walked out feeling rather helpless. As she left the building, she was suddenly struck by a feeling of urgency that she couldn't explain. Somehow, she knew that Catherine was in trouble and ran to her office, where she found Catherine in the middle of an anxiety attack.

“Cath, what's wrong?” Nancy said, trying to sound calm.

“I don't know!” She replied. “I can't stop it! I think I'm dying!”

“Cath, you're not dying,” said

Nancy. “You're having an anxiety

attack.” “It won't leave me

alone,” she said.

“What won't leave you alone?” Nancy

asked. “I don't know… it's always there –

inside me,”

said Catherine.

She was terrified of something vague – something she felt, but couldn't understand.

“I think it wants something, but I don't know what it is!”

Nancy gently took her by the shoulder, turning her around, so they sat face-to-face. “Cath, listen to me,” Nancy said firmly. “I don't know what's going on, but we have to figure this out, and I'm not going to leave you alone with this. Now, I'm taking you to the hospital. I'll have your teaching assistant take your classes, and I'll tell Dr. Warner that you have the flu.”

After visiting the emergency room, the doctor prescribed an antidepressant and an antianxiety drug. He also recommended that Catherine take about a week off from work to get a break from the stress of the job. He faxed her records onto Dr. Beach, Catherine's psychiatrist, and told her that she was to follow up with him. When she got home, Catherine made the appointment, and a week later, she felt well enough to return to work. As the days passed, she began to feel somewhat distracted and over the following week, she again started to become agitated. She hadn't seen Nancy in a couple of days, and the antianxiety pills only made her drowsy. But beyond that, they didn't seem to be working.

Then, one afternoon, while teaching, she heard a whisper from among her class. She turned around toward her students and searched through their faces.

“Questions anyone?” she asked.

There was no response, so she turned back to the board and continued. Again, she heard a whisper, but this time it seemed to be coming from directly behind her, and for one brief instant she was able to focus her attention on it. It didn't seem to say anything that made sense and, in fact, sounded very nondescript – almost like a voice, but not sounding like anything she"d ever heard before. And when she heard it a third time, it seemed to be a bit louder. Catherine was suddenly overtaken with panic and dropped her chalk to the floor as she was momentarily frozen where she stood. She managed to force herself to turn around toward the class again, composing herself enough to release her students early.

“Sorry, everyone,” she said. “I've had the flu for a couple of days, and I'm suddenly not feeling well.”

After the students left, Catherine sat down in the front row and tried to compose herself when she heard the sound again. This time, not only did it still seem to be coming from behind her, but it was now clearer. Now, she heard only a single word – her name. She bolted up out of the chair and looked around the room.

“Who's there!” she yelled. “This isn't funny! I'm calling campus security!” Catherine didn't know the number, but she wanted to sound threatening. She was alone, but still felt very uneasy and agitated. She quickly picked up her books and left the classroom. But as she began to pass through the doorway, she was compelled to turn her head back slightly. And through the corner of her eye, she glimpsed what appeared to be a male figure sitting in the exact chair she had occupied just moments ago. The figure was looking at her with a slight grin, and Catherine slammed the door shut. Running to her office, she locked the door behind her and sat on the floor, against the wall, watching the door in terror. After a few minutes, she saw a shadow down the hall through the frosted glass of her office door. She sat on the floor in terrified stillness, while the shadow inched closer to the door. Her knees came up to the fetal position as she covered her eyes – half crying, half hyperventilating. When Catherine brought her head back up, the shadow was gone and all she heard was her heart pounding in her ears. Crawling over to her desk, she grabbed her keys and arranged them between the fingers of her closed fist. And as she quickly walked to the door, she brought her fist up to her shoulder, with her elbow pulled back slightly.

“Don't fuck with me,” she whispered. “Don't fuck…with…me!”

She threw the door open and lunged into the hallway, only to find it empty. In a state of paranoia, Catherine slid down the side of the metal door frame, putting her hands on the floor. She began crawling around the hallways, trying to find this person before they found her.

“Where are you? You son of a bitch,” she muttered.

She looked carefully around corners and through the windows of office doors. “Catherine?” a voice came from behind her.

It was the head of the department, and he had no idea of what Catherine was now capable of.

“Catherine, what's wrong?” She backed herself into a corner, looking up at him as though she'd become possessed by a wildcat. Her hair had become disheveled, and she'd broken into a heavy sweat, with the single thought that her life was in immediate danger.

“What do you want from me?” she screamed. “Don't touch me! I swear to God, I'll fucking kill you!”

She held up her fist, still with fingers interlaced with keys.

“I mean it!” she screamed, once again. Hearing this chaos, the department secretary came running down. The department head held a hand out to her and quietly told her to call 911. The secretary disappeared and within five minutes, the sound of sirens could be heard rapidly approaching the building.

As the ambulance pulled up in front of the building, Dr. Warner carefully stepped toward Catherine, partly to comfort her and partly to help her feel in control, making it easier for her to get into the ambulance. His actions were well intended, but she got to her feet as she steps forward. And in a delusional moment of panic, Catherine threw her key-laden fist out, striking him across the left side of his face. The impact grayed his vision slightly and tore the side of his face down to the bone. Blood poured out of the deep, gaping wound as he staggered back to the wall. He put a hand up to his face and stared in shock at the amount of blood that covered it, as he slid down the wall into a sitting position. The force of Catherine"s swing left blood spattered on the wall, as well as a heavy trail of drops on the floor that followed Dr. Warner to where he sat. The paramedics appeared in the hallway with two police officers closely following behind, just as Catherine charged at him for a second assault. She was immediately restrained by the officers, while one of the paramedics went to retrieve a gurney and the other radioed to the hospital that they were bringing in a violent patient. Catherine was wrestled down to the gurney and restrained by her wrists and ankles with heavy canvas straps. Screaming the entire way to the hospital, she continued to make wild accusations about being followed through the hallways, as well is the claim that Dr. Warner tried to rape her.

“He fucking got what he deserved, that son of a bitch!” she screamed. She was wheeled into the emergency room, still screaming about being followed.

“What do they want from me?!” she asked beggingly. “You know what they want? I know what they want. They want to get inside me. They're already in my head! Get them out!” she cried.

“Please, make them get out!” One moment, Catherine was pleading for help. The next, she was making violent accusations toward whoever happened to be near her.

The doctor in charge of the emergency room was trying to assess Catherine's condition when Nancy ran in. She followed the sound of screaming, assuming that it was Catherine. When she entered the room, a nurse was attempting to calm her down, while the doctor was preparing a mild sedative for injection. As soon as she saw Nancy, Catherine began crying.

“Nancy?” she asked.

“I'm right here, sweetie,” Nancy replied.

“Please make them get out,” Catherine begged. “Please!”

“Cath,” Nancy said, trying to be reassuring. “The doctors are going to do everything they can, alright? They're all here to help you.”

“No,” Catherine said suspiciously.

“They killed daddy! And now, they're going to kill me!”

She started to become more agitated.

“They've been following me at work! You have to stop them!”

Nancy looked up hopelessly at the doctor as he injected Catherine with the sedative -- 2 milliliters of Lorazepam. And after about 10 minutes, she fell into a calm, drug-induced sleep. The doctor looked up at Nancy with a deep sigh of relief.

“So, are you family?” he asked. Nancy's eyes welled up with tears.

“No,” she said. “But we're like sisters, and her mom is way up in Farmington.”

“Can you answer a few questions about her?”

the doctor asked.

“Yeah,” she replied. “I'll do my best.” They both went into a small room designated for the families of patients, where about a 10-minute exchange of questions and answers took place. The psychiatrist on call was consulted and Catherine's doctor was notified of her condition.

After the two had conferred with each other, it was decided that Catherine would be admitted to the hospital's psychiatric unit for a more in-depth assessment. The next day, her psychiatrist, Dr. Beach, made a visit in order to make an assessment. A few minutes later, Nancy arrived, asking if she could visit. She was told that it was too soon for Catherine to be getting visitors, as she was not yet stable and many things needed to be addressed. Nancy gave them her phone number and asked that she be called when Catherine was able to receive visitors. Nancy had also been keeping Catherine's mother up to date as to what had happened and promised to continue doing so. That evening, Catherine was started on an antipsychotic drug called Haloperidol. At first, she violently refused it, claiming that the doctors were trying to kill her. The doctor in charge of her case finally resorted to an intramuscular injection of the drug and within 15 minutes, Catherine became drowsy from its effects. A few hours later, she woke with a foggy recollection of some of the events that led to her admission. At first, she begged to go home, threatening to call a lawyer and personally sue her doctor for false imprisonment. But, after a nurse sat down with her and prompted Catherine to reflect on the previous events, she came to realize that she desperately needed help, if she was going to get her life back.

She began an intensive one-week inpatient program of daily therapy sessions and medication management. And while it was agreed that Catherine was making some limited progress, it was also agreed that she needed more treatment than the one-week program could provide. So, Catherine would be transferred to the Augusta Mental Health Institute for their one-month treatment program. When Catherine was informed of this part of the treatment plan, she understood enough to be terrified.

“Please don't lock me away in there!” she

begged. “I'll die in that place!” She was reassured by the nurse that this would not be the case and that AMHI had a very successful treatment rate. But, in Catherine's still delusional mind, she felt as though the world was coming to an end and that she would never again see the light of day.

Once she was admitted, Catherine was taken to her room. It was fairly small, with only a hospital bed in a small dresser. She walked slowly into the adjoining bathroom to relieve herself and noticed the absence of a mirror. It was then she realized how serious things had become when it dawned on her that it had been removed in order to prevent the glass from being used as a method of suicide. After leaving the bathroom, Catherine slowly walked out of the room and down the hallway. Her thinking was still foggy from the effect of the haloperidol injections, but she thought it was important to become familiar with her temporary home. She walked past the nurse's desk but had not noticed the vigilant glance they gave her. One of them opened her chart in order to become more familiar with her case. The nurse noticed immediately that a red sticker had been placed on the history page, denoting a violent and potentially dangerous patient.

Catherine walked down toward the end of the hallway when she suddenly found herself enveloped in an ear-shattering silence. She quickly looked around the now empty hallway -- there were no nurses, no patients. Catherine found herself frighteningly alone, dressed only in a hospital gown and walking in bare feet. She turned back toward the end of the hallway, having become startled by something within the silence. A white light shone furiously through a large window ahead of her, and she heard a tapping sound echo through the hallway. The sound grabbed her curiosity and pulled her towards the window. As Catherine passed the room's entrance, she noticed a sign on the door – „Transorbital Suite". She was not familiar with the word transorbital and her curiosity piqued. When she stepped in front of the window, her eyes were momentarily bleached by the light that seemed to explode from within the room. Her eyes opened wide with horror as they adjusted to the light, her mouth falling open in disbelief. A team of gowned doctors and nurses were gathered around a patient who lay naked on a surgical table. The caps and masks they wore left them unrecognizable and seemingly devoid of anything that could be thought of as human, as they stood fixed in place with their gloved hands held up near their shoulders.

Catherine saw a doctor holding a long, thin instrument between the patient"s eye and eye socket, while methodically and slowly advancing it into their brain with a stainless steel mallet. After the mallet was placed on a nearby tray, the faceless doctor wrapped his index finger around the far end of the protruding instrument and firmly pulled it up over the patient"s forehead. With this single act, Catherine gasped audibly while bringing her hands to her mouth. And when the doctors and nurses simultaneously turned and fixed their unblinking eyes on her, she became frozen with fear. Moments later, the patient, with the instrument still fixed in their eye socket, slowly sat up and fixed his gaze on her as well. Her emotions slammed Catherine back against the wall behind her as her attention was dragged to the patient"s eye, which had become partially pushed out of its socket from the pressure of the instrument that was being used to perform a procedure sometimes referred to as an „ice pick lobotomy". With both hands over her mouth, she turned her back toward the hallway she had entered from and as Catherine began to scream, a pair of muscular arms surrounded her from behind.

“Catherine,” the voice said. “You're not supposed to be down here. Didn't they tell you that bad things happen down here?”

“Let go of me!” Catherine screamed.

“Oh, not just yet, Cat,” the voice replied. “Let's have some fun first.” Catherine glanced over to one side and noticed the shoulder of a hospital scrub shirt, as the man quickly slipped a hand over her breast.

“You piece of shit!” she screamed.

“Oh, now come on, doesn't that feel better, Cat?” the voice replied. Catherine slid her hands around behind her, grabbing the faceless man by the testicles, and drove her nails into them. As he screamed and bent down toward the floor, Catherine met him halfway with her knee, planting it violently in the middle of his face. And in the ferocity of her attack, she heard the snap of breaking cartilage as she made contact, leaving blood drops on the front of her gown. Catherine broke away from his grasp, still never having seen his face, and ran down the still empty hallway towards the locked door that lay as the line between freedom and the terrors of psychiatric incarceration. She fell against the metal door, screaming and demanding to be let out. She was immediately confronted by a nurse, who firmly spun her around in order to speak with her face to face. Catherine was now looking down the hallway once again, which lay in front of her bustling with the activities of nurses and other patients -- some wandering aimlessly while others simply walked in circles.

“Catherine,” the nurse said. “You're not

supposed to go off on your own.” Catherine was dumbstruck.

“Can you walk with me?” she asked. “I need to show you something.”

“Of course,” the nurse replied.

They walked together down to the far end of the hall to the window.

“What is it, Catherine?” asked the nurse.

“It was here! They were all here -- in that room,” she replied.

“And there was a guy on the table with something like a long nail sticking out of his eye and a doctor pounding it into his head.” But the room was bare, and the equipment lay long overdue for cleaning. Catherine stepped up to the glass and realized how much of the tiled walls had begun to chip and fall off. The room looked as though it hadn't been used for decades.

“I think we should get you back to your room -- you look very tired,” the nurse said. Catherine realized that a moment ago, the entire unit was empty, except for the doctors performing the lobotomy and the man that assaulted her. Of course, he was nowhere to be found, and the procedure room now lay in ruins. The nurse walks Catherine slowly back to her room and helped her lie down on the bed. She had now reached the full realization of the seriousness of her illness. She knew that her future would offer good days and bad days. But more painfully, Catherine realized that she would never be able to go back to complete sanity and that she would never again be the person she once was. During the next week, she was placed on a second antipsychotic drug. It was thought that the second medication would treat those features of her illness that the haloperidol alone could not. With this new combination, Catherine began experiencing more mental clarity and having better days in general. However, she occasionally would walk down to the end of the hallway where the procedure room was and simply stare at it.

“It was so real,” she thought out loud.

She shuddered in horror as she recalled the naked man sitting up, looking at her with one eye as the other had been pushed over by a tool that looked very much like an ice pick. In talking about these things with the staff psychiatrist, it was concluded that Catherine was now in a place where she was beginning to realize reality from her hallucinations. Over the following week, the medications gradually took a stronger hold on her mental state as her thinking, once again, became lucid. The only drawback seems to be a few side effects – a lack of concentration, as well as some short-term memory loss, seemed to be the most annoying.

Catherine was released by the end of the following week. Nancy thought it might be a good idea if she moved in with her for a couple of weeks so that Catherine wouldn't have to be alone. She arranged two more weeks of leave time with Bowdoin in order to regain her center. Thirty days in a psychiatric hospital had turned out to be quite traumatic, and Catherine needed the rest. However, during this time she went to see Dr. Warner. She was able to recover some degree of the events that took place during her initial breakdown in the hallway and was very anxious about meeting with him. But, she knew that this day would come and if she was to return to teaching, she would have to face him. Catherine quietly walked into Dr. Warner's office without having made an appointment and tapped on the door. As he looked up from his desk, he smiled broadly.

“Catherine!” he said. “It's good to see you!” She was shocked to hear such a pleasant tone coming from someone who had, only a few weeks ago, ended up at the business end of a fistful of keys, being swung by someone who was dangerously psychotic. Dr. Warner motioned her to a chair in front of his desk. The side of his face looked like he'd had many stitches recently removed. But, it was quite difficult to see his wounds, as he had started growing a beard in order to cover them.

“Uh… Dr. Warner… I,” she started.

“Catherine,” he said. “It's okay. I can't say that I know how you feel and honestly, I hope I never do. But, don't worry about it. Besides, my wife thinks the beard looks pretty good and the doctor said there was no permanent damage. So, it'll be just a couple of scars and that's not a big deal.” Catherine expressed an audible sigh of relief, believing that anyone else would have fired her or, worse, pressed charges.

“Just remind me never to mess with you in a dark alley,” he said jokingly. His smile was a bit more relaxed now, but Catherine felt at ease knowing that he could be approached so easily about this. After all, she had essentially knocked her boss on his ass at work, and she was certain that she'd lose her job. She brought her hands up to her cheeks as her eyes began to tear up slightly.

“And if there is anything you need,” he said.

“You let me know, okay?” Catherine nodded her head.

“Thank you,” she said, with a slightly choking voice.

“Actually, there is one thing. When can I come back to work? I've missed everyone a lot more than I expected.”

“When you're ready,” replied Dr. Warner. “You come and see me, and I'll take care of everything. However, I've been asked by the college to hold off on the issue of tenure for a while – just until you're completely recovered, then we can approach it again.”

“I understand,” Catherine replied. She thanked him again for his time and understanding, apologizing once again for his wounds. He nodded toward her with a kind smile as she left his office, feeling that the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. But, as she walked out the door, Dr. Warner glanced back up at her with a look of grave concern.

Now, she made her way to her own office, where a banner had been taped across the door that said „Welcome Back, Dr. Thomaston!" She carefully pulled the tape off and rolled up the banner, as she planned on saving it as a memento of her return. Upon opening her office door, she was suddenly faced with the ghost of that day when her life collapsed down around her ankles. She noticed her keys still on her desk and, picking them up, she found that they seemed especially clean. The thought that Nancy had probably cleaned them of any dried blood had crossed her mind. Catherine slowly sat in her chair and looked around at her desk. Her books and notes had been carefully rearranged and organized on her desk. Thank God for teaching assistants. She closed the door halfway and continued to sit in silence. There were no more voices, no shadows lurking in the hall outside her door. She would still discover that under moments of stress, she would hallucinate the smell of smoke. This happened on two occasions during her treatment at AMHI. She knew it wasn't real, but the experience terrified her nonetheless. Moments later, Nancy stuck her head in the door.

“Hey, how's it going?” she asked. “Dr. Warner said you were in the building, so I thought I'd stop by.”

Nancy stepped in and sat down in a chair across from her.

“So, when do you think you'll be back in front of a classroom?” Nancy asked. “Not that there's any hurry. It"d just be nice to see you get back in the saddle. And, not to pressure you, but your students miss you.”

This led Catherine to believe that she still had a future at Bowdoin and after everything she'd been through, the college once again felt like home.

Upon entering the classroom for the first time since her discharge, her students stood and applauded her return. Everyone knew that Catherine had been very ill, but very few knew why or the fact that she had attacked the head of the department. She once again jumped headfirst into what she loved most – teaching. But it wasn't long until she realized that the ongoing treatment was affecting her abilities. She was unable to focus on the concepts she was trying to convey, and her short-term memory began to suffer. Catherine started referring to her notes more often and would occasionally be caught repeating herself. More disturbingly, she saw her verbal skills changing. Before her illness, she had an ironclad command of the English language. Now, she displayed a noticeable tendency of forgetting a few of the most basic elements of usage, leaving her speech to become somewhat hesitant as she strained to find words for the simplest things. This led Catherine to feel very frustrated, and she began to question her ability to teach. When she wasn't in the classroom, she could almost always be found in her office. Catherine took the time to rearrange it in an attempt to hide from the events that led to her admission to AMHI. She needed to create a comfort zone in her office had become, not just a place to work, but a sanctuary from the frustration she felt in the classroom.

This became a topic of several conversations between Catherine and Nancy, mostly taking place in her office.

“Well, can't you lower your meds a little?” Nancy asked.

“Are you kidding?” Catherine replied. “I'm holding on by my fingernails as it is, and every once in a while, I catch the smell of smoke. The doctors at AMHI said it's part of my illness that I'm going to have to adjust to.”

“Oh, my God,” said Nancy. “Why didn't you tell me this? This could be a big deal.”

“I know,” Catherine replied. “I guess I thought that everything would just go back to normal. I just want to move on with my life.”

“I know,” said Nancy. “But the doctors

said that this was chronic. You"re going to have to find a way to deal with this every day of your life. I know that sounds impossible and even a bit harsh, but sweetie, that's just the way it is.” Catherine began to feel a bit sick at heart over the realization that she would, essentially, be sick for the rest of her life. That weekend, she went to Farmington to spend some long overdue time with her mother. This would be the first time she'd seen her since her father died, and Catherine arrived prepared to spend a few days with her. Her mother met her on the front walk.

“Catherine!” she said. “How are you ?”

Her mother walked up and put both arms around her waist, hugging her with all the strength her frail body could muster. She led Catherine in by the hand and insisted that she have some tea. Her mother then cut to the chase.

“How are you feeling?” she asked,

while gently taking her hand.

“Nancy kept me up on your treatment when you were in the hospital. That must have been so terrifying. You know I would have been there for you, but…”

“Mom,” Catherine replied. “It's okay. They didn't want me to have visitors anyway.” Her mother nodded her head, but Catherine still sensed her mother"s regret of not being there for her when she was at the lowest point of her life. Her mother returned to the kitchen table with two mugs of hot tea. She set them on the table and began to speak a bit hesitantly.

“Catherine,” she started. “A long time ago, your father started a trust for you -- just a little rainy day fund. He saw such promise in you and, well, your brother… he was just never on at all. We never could figure him out. But, your father left something for you.” She got up from her chair and retrieved the envelope.

“I asked them to send the current value of the account and I haven't opened it. I thought you should be the one to do that.” She handed Catherine the envelope, which bore the return address of a local bank. “I know it's not much,” her mother said. “But, nowadays, anything helps.” Catherine opened the envelope and scanned over the letter. As she read the letter, her eyes slowly widened with shock.

“Holy Shit!” she exclaimed. “Mom, this is seven million dollars!” Her mother began giggling.

“Yes, I know,” she said. “But you should see your face!”

“But, Mom,” Catherine replied, still in a state of shock. “I have a job, and you need this more than I do.”

“Catherine,” her mother said. “Your father left me with more than I'll ever need and considering what you've been through, you may someday be unable to work. But, your father set this up for your retirement, so you wouldn't have to struggle.”

“Mom,” Catherine replied. “My job is fine.”

“And what about tenure?” her mother asked. After Catherine's father had been the president of Farmington College long enough, her mother had picked up on how the system works.

“Well,” Catherine replied. “The college has

decided to hold off on that for a while.” Her mother raised an eyebrow and gave Catherine that „I told you so" look. She tried to be convincing, telling her mother that things would be okay. But deep down, she began to feel a faint gnawing that told her that her mother might be right. They spent the weekend talking, as mother and daughter and as friends. They seemed to spend a considerable amount of time talking about William -- both the husband and the father. Sunday afternoon came far too soon and, Catherine found herself on the road, headed back to Bowdoin after giving her mother a much-needed hug and a kiss on the cheek. And after an uneventful two-hour drive, she pulled into her driveway, carried her bags into her house, and collapsed on the couch. She missed her mother already and reached the unfortunate conclusion that considering her brother's attitude, her mother was all she had left. This was a difficult idea for her to grasp, but she tried not to think about it. Catherine returned to the classroom on Monday, feeling recharged, and made a surprise visit to Nancy's office.

“Hey, girl!” Catherine said from the doorway.

“Hey, Cath,” Nancy replied. “How's your mom doing?”

“She"s actually doing pretty well,” Catherine said, somewhat hesitantly.

“Alright, come on in,” said Nancy. Catherine sat down next to her desk as Nancy got up and closed the door.

“Okay, spill it. What's going on?” They were such close friends, that they almost seemed to know what the other was thinking. Catherine sat back into the chair, sliding down into a relaxed position, and sighed with concern.

“I'm starting to wonder about my ability to teach,” she said.

Nancy looked at her with both surprise and deep concern.

“Cath,” she said. “You love to teach! Teaching is your life! What the hell else would you do?”

“I haven't gotten that far yet,” Catherine

answered. “My mom seems to have this idea that my teaching days may be numbered by my illness, and her instincts have always been right.”

“Yeah,” Nancy replied. “Doesn't that just piss

you off? How did they do that, anyway?” After a brief pause, Catherine added,

“I'm starting to think she might be right.”

“Look,” Nancy said, rather sternly. “Sure,

your mom may have a point, but you have to think this through yourself. It's your career, and it's your life.”

“I know,” said Catherine. “I just want all this to go away. Why the fuck can't I just go back to the way it used to be?!”

“I wish I had an answer for you,” Nancy

replied.

A few weeks later, Catherine was notified that she'd been selected to serve on the college"s doctoral committee. She was now one of a handful of professors in the physics department who would read the dissertations of doctoral candidates to question them on the soundness of their ideas and research. In effect, challenging their work and acting as part of a key approval process in the awarding of Ph.D.'s. And while Catherine felt honored to be chosen for the committee, she also realized that meant more responsibility and therefore more stress. But, she also thought it would be a good career move and maybe make her more valuable to the department.

It was now finals week, and they were exams to give, papers to read, and grades to post. Every professor felt the stress of finals week. But for Catherine, this became magnified by her illness and she still had difficulty concentrating, which only made matters worse. She began losing sleep and started to become irritable. The people working in her department now noticed a change in her demeanor, and most simply thought it was the stress of finals week. After all, every professor – even the teaching assistants – felt the stress. But, Catherine was not handling it well at all. In fact, she was just barely holding on to her sanity. Then, during the last exam of the semester, everything unraveled.

In the middle of the exam, Catherine felt her heart begin to race as she detected the strong smell of smoke in the room. She thought it was just stress, but when the smell made her cough, she cleared the classroom for fear of an electrical fire and pulled the alarm. The fire department rushed to the college and upon entering the classroom they began a careful search for any signs of a fire. They found nothing and by the time the students were allowed back into the room, forty-five minutes had passed and many were not able to finish the exam. So it was decided that it would be graded on a curve, based on the questions that each student had already answered.

At the end of the exam, Catherine ran to her office. She could no longer hide from what the stress of her job was doing to her. She threw open her office door and went to sit in her chair when she discovered her legs would no longer work. She began hyperventilating as her muscles progressively tightened, leaving her unable to walk. Catherine braced herself as she fell to the floor, shaking uncontrollably. The department secretary heard what she thought was the sound of someone falling and began searching nearby offices. It didn't take long to find Catherine lying on the floor of her office. The secretary immediately called an ambulance, fearing that Catherine may be having a seizure or worse.

By the time the ambulance arrived, the episode had largely passed. But it was insisted that Catherine go to the hospital for evaluation. And after spending about twenty minutes with the emergency room's attending physician, it was strongly suspected that she'd experienced a panic attack. And upon discharge, she was told to go home, take one milligram of Lorazepam and get some sleep. She began to fearfully anticipate that if an ambulance ever came for her again, she would find herself back within the familiar white walls of AMHI. This frightened her almost as much as the thought that she might someday lose her mind forever, and it was this terrifying possibility that would, on some level, always be with her – never releasing her from its grip.

However, when Catherine got home, the first thing she did was to call Nancy, who arrived about twenty minutes later. Catherine was still visibly shaken by what she had experienced and felt that it was time for some soul-searching.

“I thought I was dying,” she told Nancy, with tears coming to her eyes. “I can't do this anymore. It's too hard!”

Nancy could only sit and listen while holding her hand and watch as Catherine's life, once again, began to fall apart.

“I don't think I can go back,” she said. “This

is such bullshit! I can't do this anymore!”

“Cath,” Nancy said. “We'll find a way. There

has to be an answer.”

She was trying to be reassuring, but Nancy knew that Catherine was right and this was very likely the end of her career. She breathed a heavy sigh of frustration.

“Okay,” she said. “Let's just say that you made the decision to resign. Then what? How are you going to make a living? What are you going to do?”

Catherine had not yet told her about the trust her father had left her, as her intention was to use it for retirement.

“Well, actually,” she started, with a grin. “I was at my mom's house for a couple of days recently, and she gave me a letter from a local bank.”

“Yeah…” Nancy said inquisitively.

“It seems that my father set up a trust for me when I was a kid,” Catherine said, rather hesitantly. “I was going to use it for retirement, but when this shit started, I thought that maybe, if I was forced to retire early…”

“Okay,” Nancy interrupted. “How much are we talking about, a couple hundred thousand? That's petty cash these days, and it's not going to get you through retirement, is it?” Catherine looked at Nancy a bit teasingly and momentarily bit at the side of her lip.

“Um … actually,” she began. “The value of the trust is seven million dollars.” Nancy sat with her elbows on the table and her hands on the sides of her head. Her mouth had fallen open in sheer disbelief at what she had just heard.

“You're fucking kidding me,” she said in a state of shock. “Your father left you seven million dollars, and you're worried about keeping your job?! Seriously?”

Catherine glanced down at the table.

“The plan was to save it until retirement and I love teaching so much,” she replied. “But it doesn't look like things have worked out the way I'd hoped. I don't know, maybe it's time. With the way things have been going, it kind of seems like I'm not much of a teacher anymore.”

“Don't you think you're being a bit too hard on yourself?” Nancy asked. “You could still do research and get published. You can still make your mark.”

“Yeah, I could do that,” said Catherine

thoughtfully. “But I still need the college to back up my research.”

“Mmm… maybe,” Nancy wondered aloud. “Maybe the college would be willing to keep you on as an unpaid adjunct. That way, you can still contribute to the sciences and be involved with the college, to some degree. You could still feel a sense of purpose, Cath.”

“It's definitely worth looking into,” Catherine agreed. “But, I need to take this one step at a time.”

The next day, Catherine composed her letter of resignation to Dr. Warner. Even as she typed it up, she still found it unbelievable that she was about to leave a job she had centered her life around. Teaching physics was all she knew as she sat in front of her PC, wondering what the next step would be. She thought about the possibility of staying with her mother for a while, just until her trust fund started to pay out. But, it didn't take much time for Catherine to decide that she didn't want to burden her mother and that it might be a better idea to simply move a bit closer to her instead. Nancy had already offered to take her in for as long as it took for her to begin receiving her trust fund, but Catherine told her that she'd think about it while she considered all of her options. After the letter printed out, Catherine decided to leave it on her desk at home for a couple of days. She felt that it was important to absorb what she was about to do before she did it. The following day, she called the bank that was administering her trust fund. She was told that the funds would be released in monthly payments when she turned forty.

“You don't understand,” she said. “I can't work anymore because I have a mental illness.” She paused for a moment on the phone to let those words sink in. Catherine had never actually thought of herself as being mentally ill until she heard she heard herself say it. The woman on the phone told her that the only way to get access to the account was to have a judge sign off on a statement of disability. She would also have to provide records that demonstrated the severity of her illness, as well as a statement from her psychiatrist. The statement wouldn't be a problem, and she could file a „request of information" with AMHI for her inpatient records. She would later keep these documents so that she could study them further.

Now, Catherine needed the paperwork for a statement of disability, and she knew that the County Clerk's office would probably have what she needed. So she called their office and had them forward the correct forms to her. She explained her situation to her psychiatrist at her next visit, as well as the decision she made to leave her job. Dr. Beach understood her reasons and had the statement produced by his office. Upon meeting with her attorney, he told Catherine that he would present all the records she gathered to a judge as the larger part of her case. An appointment was made and Catherine's attorney accompanied her as she stood before the judge to argue her case. And it didn't take long for the judge to see that Catherine was in a very unfortunate situation, and freed up the funds that she so desperately needed. She would not receive a lump sum but, instead, Catherine was to receive a monthly stipend of five thousand dollars. This would be enough money to pay all her bills, mortgage, car payments, and insurance, as well as the necessities of life. The next day, she delivered her letter of resignation to Dr. Warner's office.

Catherine walked into his office without an appointment and knocked on the door.

“Please, come in and have a seat,” he said. He seemed glad to see her and motioned to the chair in front of his desk.

“So, how are you?” Dr. Warner asked.

“Well, I'm doing okay,” Catherine replied. “I wanted to apologize for what happened during finals week. I guess I was having a bad day.”

“Catherine,” he replied reassuringly. “The important thing is that you're okay. Besides, everything worked out.” After a few moment's pause, Catherine handed him an envelope.

“There is something else I wanted to talk to you about,” she said.

Dr. Warner took the envelope and skimmed over the letter.

“You're leaving us?” he asked, looking up at her quizzically.

“Things just aren't working anymore,” she said. “My illness has affected my ability to teach. I can't be around people anymore because I get this feeling like everyone's constantly judging me and when I get stressed, I start to smell smoke. I just don't think I can do this anymore, and the department needs a reliable teacher.”

Dr. Warner let out a sigh of resolve.

“Well,” he started. “You've obviously put a great deal of thought into your decision and having seen some of the things you've gone through, I can't say I'm completely surprised. But, I have to say that I've developed a considerable degree of respect for you. In your place, I'm not sure how I'd handle it. You must be a very strong person.”

“Sometimes, I'm not so sure,” Catherine replied.

She had become somewhat uncomfortable and wanted nothing more than to leave. “I know that my resignation says two weeks, but I like to leave before the semester starts.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Dr. Warner said. “Tell you what. If you want today to be your last day, that's fine with me. I"ll make sure you get paid for the full two weeks. Sound okay?”

“Thank you very much,” Catherine replied. She stood up from the chair rather awkwardly, and Dr. Warner stood up as well.

“Good luck, Catherine,” he said. “And if there's anything you need, just pick up the phone.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” she said. “Thank you

again.”

She did her best to control her emotions, but her eyes began to tear up even before she left his office. Walking quickly out of the building, Catherine sat in her car and began crying. She felt a twinge of doubt as to what she'd just done, but she also knew that it was for the best. She made a short drive home to get some rest, as well as to give some thought about what the next step should be. After all, teaching was her life and she would always miss it. During her previous soul-searching, she thought maybe at some point, she could become a tutor. Not for the money, but for the joy of teaching. But that was a decision for another time, and she needed to prioritize. Fifteen minutes later, Nancy knocked on her door. She had called Catherine earlier but only got her answering machine. So, feeling a bit uneasy, she decided to go over to Catherine's place just to make sure everything was okay.

“Come on in,” Catherine yelled. Nancy opened the door and walked in.

“Things okay?” she asked.

“Uh… yeah,” replied Catherine. “I turned in

my resignation today. I guess I would have done it sooner, but I had to deal with my trust first.”

“That's a good idea,” Nancy said. “You want to make sure you're not going to end up in the poor house.”

Catherine nodded her head in agreement and then became noticeably quiet.

“You want to talk about it?” Nancy asked.

“I'm not sure there"s anything to talk about,” replied Catherine. “I've already had a good cry about it. But now, I feel like it's over. I almost feel relieved.”

“That's great, Cath!” Nancy said. “I was really worried about you, and I wasn't sure how you"d handle resigning from your job. So how did Dr. Warner handle it?” “He wasn't completely surprised. But, he now thinks of me as a stronger person,” Catherine replied.

“So, what's next?” Nancy asked.

“Well,” Catherine said with a slight smirk.

“You want to go house hunting?” Nancy became visibly excited over this.

“Hell, yeah!” She exclaimed. “I love house hunting! Where were you thinking of going?”

“Some place isolated, but closer to my mom,” Catherine answered.

“You know, just in case something happens.”

“Have you talked to your doctor lately, just to bring him up to speed on everything?” Nancy asked.

“I have an appointment tomorrow,” Catherine

said. “He'll get the full story then.”

“Okay,” said Nancy. “Hey, I'll go get some newspapers, and we can start looking at houses. And let's order some pizza.”

“Sounds good,” said Catherine. They were up late into the night, eating pizza and looking at the real estate pages of every newspaper Nancy could find.

“How about a colonial?” Nancy asked. “You

know something dignified.”

“Sounds expensive,” replied Catherine. “Besides, I'm looking for something a bit rustic – something down-to-earth.”

“I hear you,” said Nancy. “Oh, look at this

one. This is a log cabin in the Carrabassett Valley, just north of Farmington. It's near the edge of Stratton Pond, right below the south face of Mount Bigelow. Cath, it's perfect. It's fairly close to your mom, and it's in a fantastic location!”

“Sounds great!” Catherine replied. “But how much?”

Nancy pointed to the article.

“That's not bad,” she said.

“Oh, I don't know,” replied Catherine. “It's half a million dollars.”

“Cath,” Nancy started. “You have seven million dollars, and you don't have to pay for the house outright. So, you make mortgage payments like anyone else – big deal. This looks like a really nice place!”

Catherine paused a bit to compose her thoughts.

“I need to see it before I make an offer,” Catherine said.

“I would love to see this place,” Nancy

replied. “Hey! It'll be a road trip!” Catherine looked over at her.

“A road trip it is!” Catherine said. They turned and high-fived each other and made plans to call the number on the listing for an appointment. But, in spite of the choice that was made, they continued looking through the real estate listings. However, it seemed that there was nothing else that was remotely comparable to a cabin near a pond in the mountains. She got on the web, looking at the real estate market for the entire state of Maine. But somehow, she always found herself going back to the cabin that Nancy found in the newspaper. She investigated it more thoroughly and began making some phone calls. Catherine didn't dare handle all of this on her own, so she hired a real estate agent. An appointment was made to go up and look at the property, and Nancy quickly volunteered to go along. So, they made the four-hour drive to Carrabassett Valley and upon seeing the cabin, Catherine immediately fell in love with it.

“You have to make an offer,” said Nancy. “Don't let this one get away. You'll be closer to your mom but still have your space, and this place is gorgeous.”

Upon talking to the real estate agent, Catherine was told that because of the location, the asking price had gone up a bit. But, she wanted it enough that she made an offer anyway. Over the next week, the only other offer had been withdrawn. A contract was signed, and now it was only a matter of time. Catherine spent that time packing and making other arrangements. Again, burying herself in the process. She wouldn't have to think about what she feared the most if she could lose herself in the complexities of purchasing a home. During the month and a half before closing, Catherine involved herself in every aspect of the process – from the inspection to some basic home repairs. She spent several nights there, and Nancy thought it might be a good idea to go up with her. After all, Catherine would, essentially, be living in the middle of nowhere and Nancy wanted to be sure she could acclimate to living in such isolation. But, in spite of her concerns, Catherine seemed to be in her glory. She had purchased her first home in a location that seemed fit for the setting of a storybook.

“Imagine what this place will look like in the fall,” Catherine said excitedly.

It had been a long time since she felt this good, and it now seemed that she was on a mission to start her life over again. Hopefully, Nancy thought, there was indeed such a thing as second chances.

A week before the closing, Catherine began planning for the move. She thought about hiring a moving company but wanted to save some money, and she thought that doing it herself might be something of an adventure. But, when the day came, Catherine looked around her apartment and realized just how much there was to move. So, she decided it would be a good idea to rent a truck and wasted no time picking up the phone and calling the nearest rental company. Her next call was to Nancy. Catherine needed to update her on the moving van. It would be a lot easier to simply pack up one moving van, instead of making multiple car trips, and who knows how long that would take.