Round two came back in the mail after only three days. I was rushing out the door, and almost missed it. I'd sent out maybe a dozen or so documents and, lo and behold, back came an envelope containing a dozen or so sheets of paper.
I chucked the rest of the mail on the couch, balanced my bag on the handrail - and ripped it open. It had a cover letter. One hand reaching for my keys, I looked for the check box.
But there wasn't one. This was a genuine letter, signed even. It said "Enclosed are the documents you requested."
I'm halfway out of the house, swinging the door closed, reading-
George _________ - Born March 20, 1887.
Hospitalized: August 31, 1921 - April 17, 1923.
There it was, in black and white. I sat down on the porch and began reading.
It was not a happy story.
It began with interview notes. In them, the patient is described as a common laborer. In the blank next to "education," the doctor has entered - "not much." The patient is asked a series of questions about the world around him; He knows who the president is, he knows that the Mississippi is the largest river in the US, and so on.
He doesn't know why he's here. He knows he owns his own house; he's had trouble with his wife over the children. He did threaten to kill her, but he didn't mean it. He thinks his wife doesn't care for him, that she might be unfaithful. She's been saying things, you see.
The diagnosis is brief.
The other documents were a chronology of patient behavior and disposition. Every month or so, the patient gets three or more lines of text.
Lines like:
...patient does no work...
...sits and stares into space...
...wanders the ward aimlessly...
...dull and stupid.
The last entries record a change in demeanor: the patient has "a high opinion of himself" and occasionally attacks staff. The final entry has an almost exasperated tone:
Transferred by order of the Board of Control. Condition unimproved
If there is more to be had, I'll find it.
