The Seer by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 3

After going through the convoluted process of provider approval with the insurance companies, Gordon acquired a small rental property where he would set up his practice. An office on Saint John Street was not what he had initially envisioned, yet it was a good location, and there was an additional space for a secretary. He knew that money would be tight, and for the time being, he would have to field his own calls. This was not as difficult as he had first imagined. He gave himself ten to fifteen minutes between sessions to check his voice mail, return calls, and make appointments. For now, it seemed to be a well-working system. Soon after he began circulating his name amongst primary care physicians, his appointment book began to fill up. People came to him with a variety of problems, some more serious than others. One young woman, referred to him by the court, had been in trouble with the law since her early teens. He noticed her gaunt, aged face, and the lines of red inflamed needle marks alone her arms. After her initial assessment, he reached the diagnosis of bipolar disorder, with symptoms ranging from tears and fits of anger to uncontrollable bouts of physical activity and racing thoughts. With its rate of suicide, he wrote her a prescription for Lithium. There were newer drugs available, but Lithium was an older drug, and there was more data regarding its use.

It was during this first visit that Gordon also inquired about any use of street drugs. Self-conscious about her track marks, the woman slid a hand up one of her arms, as if trying to conceal them. But after a few moments, she explained that she'd been using heroin since the age of thirteen, and that once, while in a hospital, she was caught in her room while cooking up the substance in a spoon. And yes, she was still using. The doctor referred her to an addiction center in Portland for methadone treatment, and scheduled her for weekly sessions. Knowing how much she needed the help, the young woman agreed to attend, and true to her word, she was there every week. Recovery would be lengthy, and managing her medication would be a lifelong process.

It was at some point during the first months of his practice that Gordon's mother passed away. She was being treated for an aggressive brain cancer, and the family knew that death was inevitable. But, knowing it would soon arrive didn't make things any easier when the time came. Her death was merciful. Soon after her fourth treatment, she slipped into a coma and was gone within a matter of days.

When he was younger, she had always told him, 'pick one thing to do with your life, and commit yourself to being better at it than anyone else'. As he stood in front of his mother's open casket, he wondered, for only a moment, what advice she might have given him as his life unfolded as a practicing psychiatrist. Two days later, he returned to Portland, and was back behind his desk, trying with some difficulty to come to terms with his mother’s death.