20 seconds
I get the hospital in a bit of a hurry for family
obligations have delayed me at home for a while. I press the button and wait
for the lift up to my floor, some people join me by the lift gate; among them
there is a tall blonde woman I had never seen before. In a minute’s time the
lift gate opens, the people inside the box step out but not Dc JMS, who I have
known and appreciated for years, he stays in instead. “Up or down?” I ask him
playful for I knew he had to go up since he doesn’t leave the lift and there
isn’t any lower level. “It seems obvious I go up” He answers. As he was saying
this, the tall blonde woman comes into the lift and asks, “How is this possible
you came down in the lift when I just saw you here in the ground floor?”, “Dc
JMS happens to be ubiquitous” I replied looking at both of them. “I wish I
were…” Dc JMS says, “so I could work in two places at the same time”. “I Think
I’ve got very enough with just one workplace so stressed I feel…” the tall
blonde woman says.” I don’t hesitate to have my say “It would be lovely to
enjoy the company of two different people in two different places at the same
time, though”, “That would be nice” Dc JMS carries on “but then it would be
starting feeling hot”. “I didn’t mean sex” I protest. “Nor did I” snaps he, “I
was thinking of room temperature”.
As soon as he utters that last bit, the lift door
opens at fourth floor and he leaves us. I mean to say my last word, but before
I can open my mouth the door closes and the lift moves up. Shocked, the tall
blonde woman just says “most intense 20 minutes ever”.
SWEET ROAR
After leaving a post
on a social network signed with his very name, Dc Rypff thinks carefully in his
car as he drives from home on the outskirts downtown to the hospital, where he
has been working as a psychiatrist for the last 10 years.
He begins his consultation
with the usual devotion, but he can’t help thinking of the comment posted on
Facebook: it is frequently said that it is not the best forum to explain a work
experience, especially when this experience depicts a trial he was called to
with some other colleagues to give their professional opinion on a rather gray
area. Furthermore, this issue was to be cast at the local mass media as he
could eventually noticed.
At noon he takes his coffee brake and thinks
he’d better delete that post just in case. He doesn’t know who might have read
it so far, but it’s been barely two hours and a half since and he’s sure little
people would have had the time to read it. He still feels uneasy so he visits
the legal consulting service at the hospital; he knows that the staff working
there is efficient and trust-worthy.
Dc Rypff has always
been a fair and observing about both professional ethics and keeping the secret
over his patients’ identity, but he had never written about his professional
experience so he is not familiar with the legal or moral consequences that may arise
from talking about it.
After a long
discussion the answer by the legal consulting team surprises him: he is not allowed to express his consulting
room experiences in any written, social network, blog or by any other mean
whatsoever. The reason supporting this is that doctors do not own the facts or
details their patients give them during their sessions, and that it wouldn’t
ever be ethical to make profit out of the situations his patients tell him of
if not to preserve their health. After this answer from the “learned”
consulters, Dc Rypff feels upset, as if knocked out. However, he carries on the
visits at his consulting room as usually.
By the end of the
morning an unexpected patient comes into the room –he didn’t have an appointment-
and obviously frantic he begs for a report about his mental health to be
presented at court the following day. Despite the oddness of his bequest, Dc
Rypff writes the man’s report and feels sorry about making the last patient on
his very long list wait.
When the day is
definitely done and Dc Rypff is getting ready to dismiss, he notices the man in
need for the report is awaiting him outside the door and so is a good-looking
woman who happens to be the man’s lawyer. The woman introduces herself as E.R.,
gives him her business card and thanks him for writing such a complete report
in so little time, especially when the contents of the report may be an
important key during the trial. Dc Rypff tries to downplay this fact declaring
that’s part of his duty and not so thankworthy. The woman gives her client a
look meaning he can go home and addresses the psychiatrist once more telling
him she’s in debt with him a not to hesitate whenever he may have a legal
concern. Suddenly, Dc Rypff remembers his question about relating his professional
experiences and asks her for advice. She, a member of the bar, tells him not to
worry so long as he neither says the actual name and circumstances of a patient
nor breaches medical confidentiality so he can write what he wishes.
Out on the road they
both smoke a cigarette while talking on medical laws and rights and other
more-down-to-ground things. When she finished her cigarette, E.R. takes her
keys out of her handbag, says goodbye to Dc Rypff friendly, goes by to a huge
Harley Davidson last model, lifts the seat to take a black helmet out, puts the
helmet on, gets on the bike like a horsewoman and starts the engine on. At
last, she makes the sign of the horns and dashes the road up. Behind her only
the sweet roar of a dream-like machine and Dc Rypff’s stunned face remain.
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