Page 2 of Ward D
A thank-you gift? Seriously? Wow, this is the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in about two years.
However, some of my excitement wanes when Mrs. Pritchett stands up from her chair. And I would say it vanishes entirely when she grabs a giant painting that I hadn’t realized was in the back of the exam room. The picture had been turned to face away from us, but now I can see it clearly.
It’s a portrait of a cat.
And it is almost as big as I am.
“This is a painting I had commissioned of Mr. Whiskers,” Mrs. Pritchett says proudly. “And I would like you to have it.”
“Oh,” I say. “Um. Thank you!”
A black cat is prominently featured in the giant portrait. Clearly, this is larger than life, unless Mr. Whiskers was a bobcat or perhaps a small lion. And why does he look soangryin the painting?
“Doesn’t it look realistic?” Mrs. Pritchett says.
Yes. He truly looks like he is about to leap out of the painting and maul me.
I lug the painting out of the exam room, unsure where I am going to put this thing in my tiny little apartment. For now, I leave it in the hallway.
Dr. Sleepy is working in the office next door to where I had been sitting with Mrs. Pritchett. This other office has a desk and a computer set up on top of it, and Dr. Sleepy is tapping away at the keys when I rap my fist against the open door. When he looks up at me, he pushes his half-moon reading glasses up the bridge of his nose and gives me one of his mild smiles.
“Hello, Amy.” Dr. Sleepy always speaks in a calm voice that is close to a monotone. I’m pretty sure he could lull most of his patients to sleep with just his voice. They probably leave the appointment and immediately drift off in their cars, possibly while driving. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Well then. Tell me about Mrs. Pritchett.”
I go through the information about Mrs. Pritchett on my little notepad. Dr. Sleepy takes it all in quietly, making slight grunts at appropriate moments. I mention the cat portrait, hoping he might offer to take it off my hands, but no such luck.
“Anyway,” I say. “That’s all.”
Dr. Sleepy rubs his white goatee thoughtfully. “And how areyoudoing, Amy? You don’t look like you’ve been sleeping very well either.”
He’s right—I didn’t sleep well last night. I’m sure I have massive bags under my eyes. “I’m just a little nervous because I’m rotating on Ward D tonight.”
“Ah, that makes sense.” I’m not sure how disturbed to be by the fact that he thinks it’s normal that I have spent half the night awake worrying about my overnight call on the locked psych unit. “It can be challenging on Ward D. But I think you’ll learn a tremendous amount tonight. Who is your attending?”
“Dr. Beck.”
He nods in approval. “One of the finest psychiatrists I’ve known. And an excellent teacher. You’ll have a great experience tonight.”
I highly doubt that.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” he says in that calm, reassuring voice of his. “Remember, you will have the code to exit the unit. You can leave at any time.”
Right. There’s apparently a keypad with a six-digit code that controls the locked door to the psychiatric unit. But I can’t memorize a phone number, and that’s only one digit more. What if I forget the code and I’m trapped?What then?
He smiles soothingly. “You have done such a great job here the last two weeks, Amy. All the patients tell me you are a wonderful listener. A lot of students seem to forget that psychiatric patients are human beings, just like you and me. They just want to get better, and part of your duty as a physician will be to give them the best possible care.”
“I know.”
He cocks his head to the side and looks at me in the thoughtful way he often does. “What are you so worried about, Amy?”
“It just seems like it could be… dangerous.”
“You’ll be fine.” He levels his watery blue eyes at me. “All the patients are very well controlled on their medications. There’s nothing to worry about.”
That sounds like a lie. If they were well controlled, the unit wouldn’t have to be locked, would it?
