“Certainly. But there is no need to apologize, Sheremy. Everyone mourns the loss of their loved ones in their own manner. May I ask you another question?”
“Sure. Anything you’d like.”
“Was your father’s passing and the depression you feel the only reason you shut down and stopped talking?
“You’re very perceptive Doctor. There is another reason why I haven’t interacted with anyone here and kept to myself. To tell you the truth… I’ve been writing a novel.”
“A novel.”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
Dr. Bichon looked down at the notes in my case file. I tried to explain.
“You know how some great actors get so lost in their parts that when you see their performances in a movie, you can’t distinguish the actor from the character they’re playing? Well, I feel that way about my writing. I’ve entered the imaginative world of my story so completely that I’ve kind of blocked out the outside world. That’s why I’ve been walking around here in a daze. I was concerned that if I tried to explain what I was doing to Dr. Billingsley, I thought he would consider me even crazier than he already did. With you, it’s different. I feel like I can open up to you about my writing, and you won’t judge me, or think I’m crazy. It’s the first time I’ve written anything like this, Dr. Bichon. It’s an exciting process, actually. Even though my story may never get published and not one soul may ever read it, I don’t care. I’m writing it, Dr. Bichon. Perhaps you know from my medical file that my Father was a brilliant physician, like I’m sure you are. I could never be as smart in the way that he was, but at least I can be a conduit of the creative force. That’s something to be proud of, isn’t it?”
Dr. Bichon glanced up at me again like I was one card short of a full deck.
“Yes, yes. I see. Tell me Sheremy, what is the title of your novel?”
“Don’t be shocked, but it’s called, ‘The Harem’. Not to offend you, but… it’s an erotic novel.”
“I see… You’ve been quite honest with me, Sheremy. May I be honest with you as well, even though being honest with a patient may involve some uncomfortable feelings?”
“Sure.”
“Please don’t be offended by what I’m about to say, but we can’t lead you back to mental health without telling you the truth, however painful it might be… Late one night, Nurse McAdams temporarily confiscated your computer and Dr. Billingsley read the documents you have stored therein. Sheremy, your novel is just a random group of letters and numbers. Perhaps you think you’ve written it in your mind, but you’re confused. Your story, ‘The Harem’, does not exist.”
“Oh I know. I saw them take the computer that night.”
“You did?”
“I was pretending to be asleep when McAdams took my laptop away. I didn’t want them to see the real novel. It’s very personal and…sexual. I thought Dr. Billingsley might be offended by it, or as an academic, read too much into it. Not to mention he plays the part of my butler in it, which he might not like. So I created a substitute novel in my computer for them to read which they found, those random letters and numbers you’re referring to.”
“OK. So if I understand you correctly, and I am trying my best to understand you, Sheremy, you know that, don’t you?”
“I do. I appreciate that, Doctor.”
“So, in your mind, you believe there is a fake version of your story, and a real one as well?”
“The way you say it makes it sound like I have a screw loose, but yes, that’s basically it.”
“Then tell me if you can, what is the real version of ‘The Harem’ about?”
“It’s kind of embarrassing to talk about, but, as I said, it’s an erotic novel. I’m both ashamed and secretly proud that this story is within me. It’s somewhat based on what happened to me when my ex-wife—”
Dr. Bichon leaned forward in her chair and looked me directly in the eyes.
“Please Sheremy, listen closely. This novel of yours, “The Harem”, does not exist.”
“I’m sorry, but you’re mistaken, Doctor. It does.”
“Sheremy. Every file in your computer was opened and there is no story there. If, in the process of recovery from a traumatic event, one holds on to particular delusions—”
“Would you like to read it, Doctor?”
“The longer you hold onto these delusions, the longer it will take for you to recover from—”
“Here it is…”
I opened my clenched fist and held out the memory stick to her.
Dr. Bichon slowly leaned back in her chair and nodded her head.
“Ahhh. This is why you have the clenched fist. You have stored the novel here, on this?”
“Yes. Go ahead and download it onto your laptop. Though it’s unfinished, I’ll let you read it. Please don’t show it to anyone else. Especially Dr. Billingsley.”
“OK. I will keep the contents of this document confidential.”
She took the memory stick from my palm and plugged it into the side of her laptop.
“Keep in mind it’s an unfinished draft,” I said. “And it’s boldly erotic. I’m hoping you have the liberal open mind of the French. Please don’t be offended by it, Dr. Bichon. I know erotica, as a genre of literature, is certainly not for everyone, but I hope you don’t find it distasteful. It’s meant to invite the reader into a sensual world, but not to offend them, although I know unbridled sensuality is offensive to some people, most people really. Maybe you may find it interesting from a psychological perspective, seeing my subconscious mind spill into the story. Actually, I found that writing about my Father’s death was part of the healing process, as well as about another embarrassing and traumatic event which is depicted early in the story. After reading it, at least you won’t think I’m such a loony, I hope. When I’m finished writing it, I’m going to email it out to several e-book publishers in this genre and try to get it published. What the hell, right? So anyway, that’s what I’ve been up to here over the last four weeks. Writing. Oh and uh, don’t be alarmed, but… you’re a character in it.”
“I am?”
“Yes. You’re in Chapter Fourteen, the section I wrote last night. I’ve used your real name. I might change your first name to Sandrine perhaps, but I can’t think of another suitable last name other than Bichon, which is just the perfect last name. It sounds so French to me. I will, of course, change your name before it ever gets published, if it ever does. Do you see it there? Has it downloaded onto your computer?”
“Yes. I see it. “The Harem” is real.”
“Then I wasn’t imagining that I wrote it. Everyone thinks I’m crazy in this place. That’s a relief. I was beginning to doubt whether I wrote it myself. I’ve not gone bonkers after all.”
“No. You’re not gone, as you say, bonkers. My apologies, Sheremy. I’m sorry for not believing you. I will try to read your manuscript tonight.”
Dr. Bichon gave the memory stick back to me.
“Hey, no worries, Doctor. Thank you for reading it. In the end, you may be the only one that ever will…”
“I’m afraid we are nearly out of time. There is one more issue I need to discuss with you, before we end the session.”
“OK.”
“Again, this may be uncomfortable for you, and it’s not my wish to make you feel uneasy, but it’s better to get this out in the open. Please don’t take this the wrong way… The way you winked at me during group yesterday, and when you called me by my first name earlier and told me I was pretty, I’m sensing you have… an attraction to me, Sheremy. Is this true? There’s no need to be ashamed to admit it. It is all very natural and often happens in the course of treatment. Are you sexually attracted to me, Sheremy?”
Dr. Bichon just came right out and asked it. I was afraid my cheeks had turned a deep shade of red. Beet-red. I told her the truth.
“I am, Dr. Bishon, but believe me, what I feel… is so much more than just a sexual attraction.”
“In the process of psychotherapy, which we have begun today, there is what is called in the jargon of our profession, a transference that takes place, often stemming from childhood, from the patient to his or her physician. As the trust and emotional dependence grows into an attachment, the patient often feels a sexual attraction and even romantic love toward his physician. The American Medical Association strictly prohibits any and all intimate relationships with patients, for good reason. There is a power imbalance that exists and when the vulnerable patient is taken advantage of emotionally or sexually, intense feelings of abandonment and betrayal are sure to follow. There have been numerous reported cases of physicians, especially in the field of psychology, who have taken advantage of their patients, receiving fines, public censure and even the loss of their hospital privileges and medical licensure. Contact between a physician and his patient outside of the clinical relationship is forbidden.”
“Yes, Dr. Bichon. I did a little research on the topic myself last night and I agree, certainly. But how do you feel about contact with former patients?”
Dr. Bichon did not have an immediate answer. I don’t think she was expecting me to ask that. She took a breath and responded.
“Based on the power imbalance in the relationship, and the personal information the physician learns during treatment which can be easily exploited, a sexual or romantic relationship with former patients are rendered unethical as well, and would still be considered sexual misconduct by the AMA.”
I noticed Dr. Bichon was perspiring slightly and took a tissue from her purse and touched her forehead with it. I remained, as they say, cool as a cucumber.
“Yes. I read that as well, Dr. Bichon. I’m just curious though. I read in a blog written by a medical expert on this subject that most stories involve male doctors taking terrible advantage of female patients. But in this one instance, a woman responded that she and her former doctor had fallen into the unethical relationship of the kind you described, yet they’ve been happily married for eight years. Interesting, don’t you think?”
Dr. Bichon cleared her throat.
“Yes… I suppose there are exceptions to every rule.”
“Also, I did read that in some specialties in medicine a relationship with a former patient may not be seen as unethical if a period of time has passed, such as six months to a year, after the clinical relationship has ended. Have you read that before, Doctor?”
“Yes, I… I may have read that somewhere before.”
“Also I was wondering about something. I know that male doctors wouldn’t think twice about throwing their career away for the first pretty patient they see, we all know what men are like. But do you know if there has been any research done on the sexual misconduct of female physicians? The statistics in the article I read didn’t delineate the sex of the physician in the results of the—”
“No study on this topic has been done, as far as I’m aware.”
“But say a patient meets his former doctor six or seven months after his treatment is over, and the doctor is single but she still doesn’t allow herself to respond emotionally or sexually to her former patient, even though she’s quite obviously attracted to him. Would you say that it’s possible that the Doctor could be hiding behind this general AMA ruling to avoid developing a meaningful relationship with the former patient, due to her own fear of intimacy?”
My question left Dr. Bichon speechless. Score one for the mental patient.
“Sheremy… I must apologize. Our time is up.”
“Of course. Until tomorrow then. Thanks, Dr. Bichon. It’s been a pleasure to talking to you.”
“Yes. Of course, Sheremy. Please send Carolyn in, if she’s waiting outside.”
“I will.”
I stood up.
“I hope what I said didn’t make you uncomfortable, but we must be honest, as you say, during the recovery process, right Doctor?” I said with a mischievous smile.
I didn’t wait for her answer and walked out, shutting the thick white door behind me.
When I was certain Dr. Bichon couldn’t see me, I peeked in through the small steel mesh window at the top and my heart raced. Dr. Bichon sat down with her laptop and started reading the first page of my novel, “The Harem”.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dr. Chantelle Bichon
11/12/12
I haven’t written in my diary in years. I finally have something to write about.
I started my new rotation yesterday at Potomac Fields. One of my patients is a 34 year old man named Jeremy. When I introduced myself to the small group, Jeremy winked at me in a flirtatious and subtle manner. I’ve had other patients develop an infatuation with me and I’m quite used to dealing with the transference that naturally occurs between the psychiatrist and patient. Usually I take it all in stride, but this patient made me catch my breath.
I know it breaks the most fundamental rules of the practice of medicine, but I find myself attracted to this patient. Despite the fact that he looks to be a rather unassuming fellow… dare I say it… Jeremy is quite handsome to me. He’s of medium height, with blonde hair, blue eyes, a thin face and a slender boyish frame. He’s takes very good care of his appearance and is exceptionally well-dressed, which is odd to see in a mental hospital. And he smells good. While most patients I’ve treated in mental hospitals need to be constantly reminded to take care of their personal hygiene, Jeremy smells like soap.
So despite my position of authority and my years of training and study in the field of medicine, my heart raced like a teenage girl when I first saw this patient. I realize it is in Jeremy’s best interest to remove myself from the case. But when Dr. Billingsley inevitably asks why I wish to have this particular patient assigned to another physician, the admission of my feelings would not only be intensely embarrassing, but could jeopardize my entire career…
At the end of the group session, after the other three patients had left the room, Jeremy spoke to me. He actually tried to make me laugh by making a funny joke from one of my favorite movies. It was a significant break though for him. He’d been admitted to the clinic a month ago and has not spoken or made eye contact with a single person until today. Apparently he chose me to open up to, to confide in. It would be wrong of me now to abandon this patient, so I decided to keep a close watch on my emotions while in treatment and keep my inappropriate feelings to myself. The rest of my rotation went smoothly. I was quite busy doing intake exams of several patients, I thought about Jeremy several times.