After Cafrune’s death, I believed I needed to shake things up a little. The thought that maybe I had become somehow too attached, if that could even be, to my patient was enough to produce a brainwave. I’d try being a group therapist. By seeing many people at once, I would not be able to involve myself in a way that could lead to attachment. The drawback, I diligently noticed was exactly the same, I would not be able to engage in a more personalised manner with the patient. But I had to try. Soon, I had my first appointment with three women.
The three ladies arrived together. I was certainly not expecting what I met. They were different ages from one another, with unique appearances, but with some sort of general physical “theme” that united them. The eldest one, a grey-haired old bird introduced herself as Moira Speicher. Chirpily, she said it was wonderful to see me again, which caught me completely off guard. This time I wasn’t only “generally known” but “actually” known. I politely excused myself for not remembering her. A middle-aged brunette, styling herself as Moira Courant, bid me ignore her, as Speicher did that all the time. As for the third woman, a very pretty young redhead was dubbed Moira Dopo by the brunette. Allegedly, she wasn’t much of a talker, a fact which I later confirmed.
I sat them down and launched on my enquiry over what had brought them to me. Courant took the initiative. “We get along fine, most of the time, but…”, she began, before being interrupted by Speicher confessing that they used to work better before. I asked Dopo for her impressions and was provided with a meek “I don’t know”. I proceeded to change tack and asked them to relay to me the story of how they’d met, but they dismissed the idea, with the old woman saying that it was long ago and Courant deciding adamantly that it wasn’t worth hearing. Dopo shrugged.
I was then driven to ask for more details about them. I demanded their cooperation if I was to understand and reach the bottom of their collective problem. I asked about their jobs. Speicher said she had been a historian. Courant described herself as a journalist and before Dopo could muster up some courage to inform me, the brunette commandeered her response suggesting she was still wondering what to do with herself. In the meantime, Dopo knitted, and according to Courant, she did so quite well, enhanced by a vivid imagination. When I asked the artisan if there was something she enjoyed knitting, a theme, she numbly responded, “I don’t know. They’re variations mostly”.
In my professional opinion, there was nothing wrong with them, per se. I thought of dismissing them. But, as soon as I dared hint at the idea, chaos reigned. “What kind of professional drives away his patients?”, Courant spat. I suggested they come separately, but I was overruled. They were determined to come together. I said I’d give them one last chance to describe their real ailment to me. If I considered it a valid issue, I would then dedicate my time and resources to weekly sessions to hear and help them. However, if I did not find it worth my time, they would leave. They agreed. So, after a small parley outside my office, they provided me with an answer. As fate, or rather them three, would have it, I was stuck with them for the foreseeable future.
© Roger Garrett 2023-08-02