Romance between professional and client? NO a big No.
Chapter 6
The Open Door
Tony filtered his mail, making a stack of some of the pre-paid reply letters he was anticipating. The other letter which took priority was a hospital referral. Actually it stemmed from a hospital assessment. Priority was always given to such referrals. They had potential to be serious and/or demanding. Quick intervention for effectiveness was of paramount importance. Yet he could not prevent his inquisitiveness. The first letter was from Farook.
‘Salaam Alaikum.
‘Yes, I like the idea. It would be good to meet other clerics. It is what I really want, you know, getting the Moslem community more integrated. A good way to start. Put me down for the group.’
Tony spread the letter on his desk and weighed it down with a polished stone. The paperweight came from the beach at Nolton in St Bride’s bay in south Wales where a short break last year re-fuelled his mind and body. His family air loom, an ivory paper knife, sliced open the second letter. He tugged at the last moment, ripping the final corner and tearing the stamp. It disappointed him. He was not a perfectionist by far but accidents should not happen if they need not happen, he thought. The second letter was less formal.
‘Hi Tony.
What a super idea. Yes, that would be a real ecumenical scream. Can’t wait to put in my oar. The group meeting sounds a real treat. Super, yup it’s for me.’
Signed Lizzie.
Tony smiled, shaking his head. Such a letter could only come from Lizzie. A scream, an oar and a treat, all in one short letter. Life seemed to be so colourful for Lizzie. He though it would not be out of place for her to have signed off, Love Lizzie even with three kisses. No, that was an improper professional thought. He chided himself.
The third letter was from Ivan.
‘Dear Dr Scriven.
I am grateful to you for your advice and support and feel I am in a much more stable frame of mind. I feel a group meeting with other clerics would be a negative experience for me bringing me back to face my daemons amid my growing atheist outlook. I wish you well with the group’s activities.
Signed Ivan.
This letter was a disappointment. Ivan was perhaps potentially his most worrying patient, a man at an anxious crossroad in his life. He decided to continue with his individual sessions and hope he could persuade him to join the others at a later date.
Tony placed his clerical class aside, under the stone. The hospital referral was opened as a cup of coffee came his way at 11am. He looked at his watch.
‘You need not look at your watch, Dr Scriven,’ said his Madge opening his door. ‘As long as you are not consulting, you know your coffee will appear at this very moment every morning.’
He grinned at her. ‘You don’t strike me as the fastidious perfectionist.’
‘I’m not. I have radio 2 on quietly. When they announce the 11 o’clock news will follow the record playing, I boil the kettle. I make your coffee as the headlines begin. If you notice, I actually arrive at 11.02am,’ she said turning, waving her skirt in an arc as she did so.
‘Hope you catch the news too,’ he said playfully as she held the door handle. She did not reply. Of course she did.
Tony consulted his watch again. She was right it was 11.02 as he crunched his custard cream.
The referral he opened was about Miss Karen Kane.
Karen Kane was not a cleric. She was however a church organist. Her world had caved in over two days. One Sunday and the following day at school on Monday morning she lost control of reality.
When the hard-backed book flew across the classroom causing a dent in the plaster, it shocked the pupils. None could have foretold the event having seen no irritation to cause Miss Kane to have such an outburst. However one pupil put one and one together and at break, knocked on the headmaster’s door.
‘Come in,’ shouted Colin Martin, the school head teacher.
Peter Anderson took a gulp. Reporting a teacher was a brave move. He was in unchartered territory. Would the teachers close rank on him?
‘Well, what have you to say,’ urged the Head, sorting his desk papers.
‘Miss Kane, sir. She threw a book.’
Colin Martin put down his papers. After a brief silence he looked up at Peter and enquired further.
‘Was anyone injured?’
‘No sir. It hit the wall.’
‘I’m a busy man Peter. You must realise teaching is not an easy profession. There are stresses. Children have more energy than adults. From what you are saying, I think this is a mountain made out of an molehill.’
‘But sir, I was at church yesterday when she went loopy.’
‘Loopy?’
‘Yes, it was the final organ piece of the service.’
‘The recessional, you mean Peter,’ Colin wondered. How could this out of school report be relevant to a book throwing incident?
‘Er..yes. She was playing Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring....’
‘Ahh....the Bach favourite.’
‘Yes, but half way through the classical piece she changed her tune and played the Entertainer followed by that...that piece...you know.... the piece....the Stripper tune.’
The Head pondered what he was now hearing. Two unconnected incidents over twenty four hours. Something was not right.
‘Thank you Peter, you did the right thing to tell me. That is all. Now, run along.’
Colin Martin thought about confronting Karen. A denial would prove awkward. No, instead he called in Mrs Grace Brown, the head of guidance and of course female. He urged her to keep a close eye on Karen after the incidents were shared.
Then as the pupils left the school at 4:10 p.m. Karen opened her class window and yelled as loud as her lungs would permit, the most vile and uncensored language ever heard from a teaching member of staff. The words could not be misinterpreted and were heard by teachers and pupils alike. Colin Martin telephoned the police, who arrived promptly. They took a statement from Colin Martin and made their way in his company to Miss Kane’s room.
They did not knock. They had a view of her through the frosted glass. They entered and found Karen with her head in her hands and tears flowing down her cheeks splashing her desk.
‘I’m very sorry, really sorry. I don’t know why this is happening to me. I didn’t mean to swear. I don’t know...I didn’t...’ But her tears were now accompanied with cries of sorrow drowning her explanation.
Constable Amy Stevenson stepped forward and placed her hand round Karen’s shoulder.
‘Not been a good day for you,’ she said.
Karen looked up and agreed in a head nodding movement.
‘Let’s go, come along with us.’
‘Where to?’
‘Hospital. That’s the best place to go just now.’
Karen looked at the uniformed police and reflected on the decision to go to hospital. ‘So, no charge?’
‘No Karen. I suspect you are ill.’
The hospital detected a first episode of schizophrenia and released her two days later with an instruction to attend treatment from her GP and then with Dr. Tony Scriven. Prompt intervention with the patient was essential and Tony knew group sessions were crucial to aid Karen’s recovery. The treatment of schizophrenia often required a combination of antipsychotic, antidepressant, and anti anxiety medication. Dozes and ratios would have to be tried and monitored. But so too was a need for Karen to be integrated. It was a tenuous link but a church organist might add a certain interest to the clerical minds about to meet.
When Tony had his first consultation with Karen Kane, he realised she was a very special patient. A warm feeling drained through his veins. He was unable to prevent the feeling, so too the restraining collar of professional ethics encroaching. Karen appeared as a woman in her prime. A woman who took care about her appearance and a dimpled smile greeted him. But she was anxious to inform him that the events over the last four days were not recognisable to her. Voices in her head made her throw that book. And as for the music, she felt it was someone else who took over the keys of the organ. It could not have just been her playing inappropriate music. It was just not like her.
‘Yes, hearing voices ...’ Tony said nodding his head.
‘You are under 45 years aren’t you?’
‘Yes 37, three weeks ago. Why?’
Tony had not anticipated her questioning. He scratched his neck. ‘First onset is significant and usually before 45.’
‘So I will have many episodes?’
‘No, not if we can agree a medicinal plan. One that gets you out and about, circulating in society. Doing things you enjoy doing, while not forgetting your medication .Will that be difficult?’
Karen looked lost. She was studying the artex ceiling thinking about what activities she enjoyed. ‘I’ve not got many interests outside work. I don’t play bridge, don’t go to the gym. I spend time playing the piano of course,’ said Karen.
‘Dedicated to work, I am sure you are. Musicians are known for that. Not a bad thing but perhaps you should concentrate on people for a change. They can effect change. You should find a new outlet to meet non colleagues.’
‘And keep up the medication?’ she asked.
‘I should keep an eye on that. Cures are not an exact science despite society knowing about schizophrenia for centuries. We fine–tune your medication, make it suit what you need. It can take time. But with this ailment, you are in good company.’
‘Really?’ asked Karen with eyes lit up.
Tony nodded. ‘You are among many creative people. Vaslov Nijinsky, Jack Keronac, Pete Green of Fleetwood Mac, Syd Barrett of Pink Floyd so you see some pretty smart folk.’
‘Are you suggesting creative people have mental health problems?’ she asked in surprise.
‘As I say, many do. Beethoven was bi-polar as is Russell Brand, Dusty Springfield was and so is Britney Spears. I’m sure there is a doctorate in that statistic for someone. But there are many more not listed because they are unknown. Unknown because they are not really ill. They are by far the majority.’
‘A doctorate? I don’t make much of my doctorate.’
Tony looked at her case notes. He flipped through them.
‘But you are known as Miss Karen Kane at school, not Dr Kane’
‘Yes, I know. I find it’s a bit pretentious. That’s why I don’t bother with it.’
‘So what’s your doctorate in, may I ask?’
‘Doctor of medieval keyboard music.’
‘Wow, that’s a niche of its own. I mean there can’t be many of you with that.’
‘There are a few of us. Another girl in my year did a similar thesis on medieval song music.’
‘I see. At which university was that?’
‘King’s College Cambridge. You see I really don’t want to be forward, with that background.’
Tony smiled at her choice of words. ‘That is an achievement not many can claim certainly, but no reason to hide your accomplishment.’
Karen gave a resigned sigh. ‘You are right. Actually your advice has made me think. I should get out more.’
Tony smiled. She was prepared to take a step in the right direction towards her recovery.
‘Yes, I have heard about a local rambler’s group. Active Ramblers they call themselves. I think I’ll join that. Won’t that be good for me?’
Tony shuddered in his shoes with a bolt from his heart. Of course it was good for her but ......honesty was required, the best solution.
‘That’s a group I’m in.’
Karen’s dimples deepened as her smile grew. A natural chemistry was at play. Each was aware of the stirrings. But Tony had to keep his interest in check. It would be unprofessional to take one step further with this patient.
‘So I should think of some other activity?’
Tony grinned. ‘No, I think you will be in good company.’
Karen’s face was split by a smile.
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"heirloom" rather than air loom? Noted that there are a few commas missing that would improve pacing of the reading.