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Danny E. Allen

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Member Since: Mar, 2011

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Category: 

Mystery/Suspense

Publisher:  smashwords.com
Pages: 

72

Copyright:  Nov. 20, 2012 ISBN-13:  9781452451800

Download from Smashwords (eBook)
www.smashwords.com

Two very expert psychiatrist are at odds over a friends death. The suspense builds as the entire hospital and those in-charge anticipate events. Will the Head-Unit director have it out with his worthy understudy...

Suspense, psychology and death occur in this new-take on an interesting theme.  From the beginning the doubts, despondence and sophistication are taken into account about psychiatry, mental-illness and mysterious duties and deriving as a very-competent and experience-professional become in a conflict and the story twists and turns...

Excerpt


Begin:



I'm a teacher by trade... Also a student, parent, worker and duty-master by fate. Super-imposed on life's interstitial-relevancies. ...I long to be a classical-music conductor seeing as, how the music I listen to consistently plays to the beat of my heart. Perhaps, I'm too 'superstitious' to not let it play. As the nurse brings me three small-pills, in the colors-of-passion, for me to swallow every four-hours. The regular nurse-works every day except Sunday and Tuesday, and doesn't seem impressed by me or anyone-else. But with luck I guess she just forges-on.



I've suffered a break-down. Now, I lie in bed most-days, looking-out my window. Carsen Psychiatric-Center is a hospital here in Baltimore, Maryland. ...I'm a 'Deep-thinker', by heart. The silver-'chalice', that is my toilet bed-pan, sits on a table, glowing by room-light. It'll be dark in an hour. Traffic picks-up on the street-on weekdays; and my sister Alice and her children, visit on Tuesdays. So I go-on with the watching, listening and waiting-game. Although, there seems nothing going on outside. I use my conscience, like Albert Einstein-working on the theory of Relativity. I hear the day-room down the hall holds groups, as the Nurses' station orients incoming-staff and visitors coming-and-going, compassionately. Then, there are the psychiatrists, four working on-Ward. I understand what that stands-for: it is established between superintendent, psychiatric-committee and hospital CEOs.



I sometimes wonder how that works... Yet I figure, it surrenders to antiquity. I've been here long-enough to watch hospital letter-heads change names. Perhaps, not a big-deal to anyone but like a living, breathing-creature it seems much like a ‘tooth‘-extraction. I hear about it-from companions to Unit reassignment-nurses; you can be sure, it 'hurts'. ...But I realize the depth to which people go when having M.I.-depression, bipolar, addiction, psychosis, neurosis-we are all caught in a denigrating maelstrom... So, as we recover, we grow into reflective human-beings. Now, let me return to my contemplation... The mental hospital-system is 'a-Child' full of con-function, frolic and fun, which should not be taken 'too seriously'.



Okay, our-team is run by a superintendent whose skills, talents and duties are still limited by technicality... And then there is the Unit-Director he, as both foot-soldier and General, his scope is the frontlines in the telescope-of-vision in clinical-care. Yet with this is the imperative-vision and vocalism, which are surmised. These are imparted-areas. One lives alongside of the ever-present pungent-smell of alcohol, rubber-gloves and bleach. They travel these halls as we carrying-on life of the infirmed. I've resided-here on and off, with the loss of my wife, senility and lonely retirement. Perhaps, it's okay... I've gained friends, while recovering; from 'wife-beaters' to junkies to alcoholic-mothers we've all come to be here. And the life of being a chronic M.I. is a challenge and a judgment by its infirming. Some like the pampered-life. And others, well, they go through the motions; only to face, the sincere-pain that life's 'a-bitch'. No one feels 'sorry' for them. Eventually they learn skills that they do what they should or being like 'Manna' to the self-starved...



Once you come-in through the door-either to be checked-in or in innocence you know the world has 'two-doors'. But if you stay-awhile, you understand, that 'end', is guided-by an 'unseen-hand'. But my scheme-of things, is both dependent and independent by staff con-function and that's where the administrative-protocol comes-in. ...See, I could spend my time talking about problems but if you see just a little-closer you see the life's blood of the 'clock-work', here. Perhaps, I'm a 'Clock-smith' as well. Seeing-out in the whole situation, a wondrous-theme of ‘possibilities‘...



It has been, how Mr. McBride M.D. is, and yet finesses-up 'daily' to making his jogging-run with Brutus, his Chesapeake Bay retriever. He's a spin-off between President Clinton and Dr. Welby. 43, having a wife and daughter, a-way at Purdue. ...In '85, he promised himself he'd send his first-child to a special University, and by '93, he graduated sixth in his-class and went into clinical-psychological. It took me a little-time to figure-out but Sylvia, his wife, is a Real estate agent because she calls him at 4:45 p.m. every Wednesday to invite him to dinner. Sylvia, is some 'kind-of-gal', a quiet-type, reserve and eloquent. After the run, he calls 'Jeannie' his early-shift secretary, who’s at his office by four a.m. So he heads home by five, which is about the time he is released from duties. At work, with the 'glassy-eyed' rites-nurses and attendants, he only asks crucial-questions and resigns to his office until six a.m.-protocol. Now, for Pete, the '90s were his-time. Dr. P. was an educated-mind, thus an essentially, worry-free man. I've watched him; consistent, determined and insightful. Yet looks and behavior, deceive. I wasn't the first to enter Carsen PC-MH but I was one of the 'wiser' ones. One can stand-back and observe, with steeled emotions. My compatriots, all seemed to 'dialed-up' a different-drummer



While I sat around debilitated and with old-age, doing nothing but vegetate in 'vision'. I could catch many of the ingénues of in-sense, integrity and instilling. Like when I studied Buddhism at 30, I know some people had thought it ‘strange’ but me and Hillary; my one-time live-in girlfriend wanted to take the Hippy-route. But as I said, these things didn’t come to me until I had time on my hands. So with a bit of superior-naiveté and a-lot of ex parte, I came to this 'doubly', intended-conclusion. People can only see so much of themselves, then it becomes second-nature... That second-nature, is there for the whole-world to see. Mind you, I don’t pride myself on luxury of interceding; but with a life-time, can show you how things stand-still allaying you to catch any number-of things.



When I first came here, I figured I’d ended-up at one of the lowest-points of my life. But I digress, or perhaps, being ‘overdue’. You see, being ‘evident’, is the name of the game. With all the essentially, reliant and reverent-instances in clinical, patient and mental health-work: one wonders as to why the 'drumbeat and pendulum' in time sways and continues-on, irreverently... So that ‘pride’ and permissiveness, revolves in-routine. Now, if I had known-presumptively, I wouldn’t be here. It is a staunch-reality in how, why and what events may occur daily, weekly, monthly and so on... ...Dr. P. and Dr. Doule, I mention, because their-work effects so many in treatments, theories and therapies. They're only-human, so with professional-resolve, they work. ...And, that’s where, with all those in-ceded 'principles'; in mental, emotional and clinical-resound that certain-events take shape. Most people know of the incurring 'resolution' by which a technical-recompense as, in veritable instances and issues, becomes 'blurred'...



Probably, like most adept-fields social-'graces', from people to practitioner, 'flex' and bend. Like a promissory-vision either becomes ‘alert’, or is left to indiscriminately, loom in the foster of 'amniotic-fissures'. I’m a discretionary-person. I’ve gained my sensibleness by my childhood in the ‘40s. When things were simpler. And now I remember that up-bringing. But in ‘10s, set disparage-in upheavals, drugs and poverty; looking people in the face, and many ‘blink’. With all this, the morphing-forms of self-intention is a courageous, un-defining and discouraging-appliqué... Yet with time I believe many come to make it...



As those fragrant-duplicities, and what has come to be a dangerous-astounding, have come to be exacted by many. Only, it helps, but being a reactive-person becomes agonized, actuated, and accepted. If it were my-vision of things, wisdom would have been settled-by way of avoiding partition-bondage. ...Yet, in a theme-of honor in 'past-time' is all but gone. And that’s where it leaves me. And so, after my actuality as patient, settles-in. I’ve come to be an 'Ogre at the Gate'. And that leads-to a 'scenario', which exacted and astounded me. Though, I am not a doctor, far from it. But common-sense goes a long-way. Perhaps ‘age’, carries the day. Yet those people, in whatever-order and proclivity are professionals. And with little-exception, are all responsible for a dedicated-exaction. By clinical-rule of perspective, premise and promise in-terms of exemplary-components, in clinical-stewardship. As far this goes, I can not explain, or promise in expectation... If then, it were proper persistence may be it exists, in any avocation. But what one does even in a hospital-setting, must be a code of ‘honor‘.



And that’s were I stand... I meet the staff, take my medicines, eat and sleep in the name of ‘progress‘. But life is more complicated than that. And you begin to notice that perhaps as some others it becomes lines-crossed. I try not to be too demanding, or of a demeanor, above-others. Yet the envelope-of-time and attest go on. I've been preparing to leave, but I feel I leave a little of myself-behind. Perhaps, I stayed too long and maybe, my story is the exception. Duty and deeds, affects all of us...



Dr. Doule, was a consummate-professional. While Dr. P., is a 'tour de force'. Each contributed as 'A-list' professionals, working along-side each other in the Carsen... With skill, and professionalism each has affected-their clients for the better and extended-each in fostering-function. The prospect was fulfilling a centrist-role in an adoption by psychiatric-care. From classes, independent-therapy, and treatment defining its effectual-influences the 'tides' of the mentally, troubled. Each fought-to help that over-and-above, mental-proclivity... They both loved their-work, closely working to bring healing to the ill. Their friendship had been a cordial-one. They went about by going to lunch-out with their-wives and being a part of the hospital-system. Which meant professionalism, duty and honor. These were developmental-terms... But 'terminology', were not stood in-place for very long. Things change. Time passed-on, people moved-on. Society evolves, divulging many new-terms and contentions. Psychology is a living-creature.



Breathing, growing and dying-back... And many on the edge, transition-to new-awakening... Yet still, life is beyond-reason. Some patients exploded-into violence, fell-into depression, and dissolved-into insanity. ...Each doctor is assigned by presence, while feeling the leg of the journey of M.I., meeting certain sophisticate-standards, told to never to judge-themselves. But with any job, one comes to realize personally, as to have satisfaction, dutifully. As care-takers, they-accept certain-temptations as necessary. Still, being human, as well as one's healing.



Pat Smith was an average clinical-housekeeper. She spent twenty-years on the job. She saw also, to changes in the Center. Beloved by most staff and respected, by clients. Although Dr. P. didn't know everything about her, he adored her early-on. She saw-after him and brought him soup and baked-bread. Sometimes driving her home, when she was late, and they had swell-times talking about-life. She-was like a mentor when he'd had rough-going... In the duly, largesse... Dr. P. was an excellent-doctor. Yet, where he'd had feelings; personally, burdened; professionally, extended, or unexpected-by explicate Pat was there like a lady-'sage'. It was no wonder she was a devout Baptist. She even was helping to teach young-people from all walks-of-life. ...A 'heart' for everyone, without judgment. Many thought, although she worked, she was a great hospital-credit. Improving, the 'morale' while cleaning with zeal... Teaching new-workers and affirming them when needed, nominal and nascent. She fed a 'power', to doctors and nurses, either-way. He and they had been or was rewarded, by it. Clinical-staff were especially, keen to a hospital's trying-times. Yet Pat Smith, was never moved-by times or trials. Her-love came from a vision-to live, with 'nothing happening'...



Affection, endurance and duty tended to 'cement' medical-protocol rather than dissolve it. Mrs. Smith, never relinquished contentedness, for contention. Yet a 'sieve' of justice never-fully 'sates' the impulsive, impractical or implicate. There would always be eliciting, to advantage. In what became a depreciative by some, inordinate, 'impasse'... Though surreal, the importance or 'virtue'-of healing did more with the direction, absolving and predication, by a self-discipline... Mrs. Smith seemed to impact that 'theory'... Dr. P., seemed sincerely, moved by her-enthusiasm. Although, he wanted to be as self-resolute as Pat was. He soon came to see that 'authoritarianism', was beyond inner-virtue. He tried to internalize as much as he could, yet innate-understanding, was fleeting.




Over twelve-years, he had taken a little time-out to hear words, and emotes-of wisdom, love and grace. Till he could truly-marvel as she cleaned, mopped and polish... As he and the team-Unit went about their technical-guises. Over the years, with issues, conflicts and absolving-intervention, things were obvious, operative and overcoming with resolution. ...Purpose, propriety and propensity were affected, averse and obviate... Whether in-pretense perplexing, personified or perverse-things were obligated. Perceptional, as some-times pragmatically, propagated. It was as if the 'atmosphere' of the hospital had both going as beneficence; sought and learned a-lesson about 'humanity'. Love, is unconditional-not all who have it can be given 'authority' to use it. So Mrs. Smith revolved-through the hospital. With others knowing her as a friend, were thankful for it... Pat had one day, a long-talk with Dr. P. whom she-felt was anything-by influence. It seemed, as everything was about to change. Peter knew this in his-childhood. When he was going somewhere alone, as when a loved-one was going away, yet this time felt like no-other. He thought-back, when as a resident he was accredited, a mentor moving-on or a 'truth'-for making the decision to move- she might be dying soon, Dr. Doule didn't seem the least bit moved.


away. He was maturing, then with all the stigmas. He felt the center of the hospital had decided to leave the entire Center-to him. He'd never known such true-'abundance' and now it had shaken his world down to its 'roots'. Head of the Unit, his friend, Dr. Doule seemed unmoved. When his-friend had told him








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