breakdown.”
“Exactly. All at once it hits them and pow!
Pathological grief reaction.”
“Doesn’t sound like the boy has much support.”
“The mother. She’s got to be the most unliberated
thing I’ve ever seen—Garland Swope is the king of his castle—but she
does seem to be a good mother—nurturant, gives lots of hugs and kisses, goes
into the unit a lot, and without any hesitation. You know how scary the
spacesuit can be for lots of parents. She jumped right in. The nurses
see her go off into the corner and cry when she thinks no one’s looking, but
when Garland comes around she puts on a great big smile, lots of ‘Yes, Dears’
and ‘No, Dears.’ It’s really sad.”
“Why do you think they want to pull the kid out?” I
asked.
“I know Raoul believes it was those people from the
Touch—he’s so paranoid about anything holistic—but how can he be so sure? Could
be he’s to blame for the whole thing. Maybe he screwed up communication with
them—he’s very aggressive when he describes the treatment protocols and lots of
people are put off.”
“He seemed to think the Fellow was at fault.”
“Augie Valcroix? Augie marches to his own drummer but
he’s a good guy. One of the few docs who actually takes time to sit down with
the families and act like a human being. He and Raoul hate each other’s guts,
which makes sense if you know them. Augie thinks Raoul’s a fascist and Raoul
sees him as a subversive influence. It’s been great fun working in this
department, Alex.”
“What about those cultists?”
She shrugged.
“What can I say? Another group of lost souls. I don’t
know much about them—there are so many fringe groups it would take a specialist
to understand all of them. Two of them showed up a couple of days ago. The guy
looked like a teacher—glasses, scuzzy beard, wimpy manner, brown oxfords. The
lady was older, in her forties or fifties, the kind who was probably a hot
number when she was younger but lost it. Both of them had that glazed look in
their eyes—the I-know-the-secret-of-the-universe-but-I-won’t-tell-you trance.
Moonies, Krishnas, esties, Touchers, they’re all the same.”
“You don’t think they turned the Swopes around?”
“They may have been the straw that broke it,” she
conceded, “but I don’t see how they could be entirely responsible. Raoul’s
looking for a scapegoat, for easy answers. That’s his style. Most of the docs
are like that. Instant fix-its for complex issues.”
She looked away and folded her arms across her chest.
“I’m really tired of all of it,” she said softly.
I steered her back to the Swopes.
“Raoul wondered if the parents’ being older had
anything to do with it. You pick up any hints the boy was an unwanted accident?”
“I didn’t get close enough to even touch on stuff like
that. I was lucky to get enough for a bare-bones intake. The father smiled and
called me “dear” and made sure I never got enough time alone with his wife to
develop a relationship. This family’s armored. Maybe they’ve got lots of
secrets they don’t want coming out.”
Maybe. Or maybe they’re terrified at being in a
strange environment so far from home with a gravely ill child and don’t want to
strip themselves bare in front of strangers. Maybe they don’t like social
workers. Maybe they’re simply private people. Lots of maybes…
“What about Woody?”
“A cutie pie. He’s been sick since he got here, so it’s
hard to judge what kind of kid he really is. Seems like a little sweetie—isn’t
it always the sweet ones who suffer?” She took out a tissue and blew her nose. “Can’t
stand the air in here. Woody’s a nice little boy who’s agreeable and kind of
passive. A people pleaser. He cries during procedures—the spinal tap really
hurt him—but he holds still and gives no serious problems.” She stopped for a
moment and fought tears.
“It’s a goddamn crime, their pulling him out of
treatment. I
“Exactly. All at once it hits them and pow!
Pathological grief reaction.”
“Doesn’t sound like the boy has much support.”
“The mother. She’s got to be the most unliberated
thing I’ve ever seen—Garland Swope is the king of his castle—but she
does seem to be a good mother—nurturant, gives lots of hugs and kisses, goes
into the unit a lot, and without any hesitation. You know how scary the
spacesuit can be for lots of parents. She jumped right in. The nurses
see her go off into the corner and cry when she thinks no one’s looking, but
when Garland comes around she puts on a great big smile, lots of ‘Yes, Dears’
and ‘No, Dears.’ It’s really sad.”
“Why do you think they want to pull the kid out?” I
asked.
“I know Raoul believes it was those people from the
Touch—he’s so paranoid about anything holistic—but how can he be so sure? Could
be he’s to blame for the whole thing. Maybe he screwed up communication with
them—he’s very aggressive when he describes the treatment protocols and lots of
people are put off.”
“He seemed to think the Fellow was at fault.”
“Augie Valcroix? Augie marches to his own drummer but
he’s a good guy. One of the few docs who actually takes time to sit down with
the families and act like a human being. He and Raoul hate each other’s guts,
which makes sense if you know them. Augie thinks Raoul’s a fascist and Raoul
sees him as a subversive influence. It’s been great fun working in this
department, Alex.”
“What about those cultists?”
She shrugged.
“What can I say? Another group of lost souls. I don’t
know much about them—there are so many fringe groups it would take a specialist
to understand all of them. Two of them showed up a couple of days ago. The guy
looked like a teacher—glasses, scuzzy beard, wimpy manner, brown oxfords. The
lady was older, in her forties or fifties, the kind who was probably a hot
number when she was younger but lost it. Both of them had that glazed look in
their eyes—the I-know-the-secret-of-the-universe-but-I-won’t-tell-you trance.
Moonies, Krishnas, esties, Touchers, they’re all the same.”
“You don’t think they turned the Swopes around?”
“They may have been the straw that broke it,” she
conceded, “but I don’t see how they could be entirely responsible. Raoul’s
looking for a scapegoat, for easy answers. That’s his style. Most of the docs
are like that. Instant fix-its for complex issues.”
She looked away and folded her arms across her chest.
“I’m really tired of all of it,” she said softly.
I steered her back to the Swopes.
“Raoul wondered if the parents’ being older had
anything to do with it. You pick up any hints the boy was an unwanted accident?”
“I didn’t get close enough to even touch on stuff like
that. I was lucky to get enough for a bare-bones intake. The father smiled and
called me “dear” and made sure I never got enough time alone with his wife to
develop a relationship. This family’s armored. Maybe they’ve got lots of
secrets they don’t want coming out.”
Maybe. Or maybe they’re terrified at being in a
strange environment so far from home with a gravely ill child and don’t want to
strip themselves bare in front of strangers. Maybe they don’t like social
workers. Maybe they’re simply private people. Lots of maybes…
“What about Woody?”
“A cutie pie. He’s been sick since he got here, so it’s
hard to judge what kind of kid he really is. Seems like a little sweetie—isn’t
it always the sweet ones who suffer?” She took out a tissue and blew her nose. “Can’t
stand the air in here. Woody’s a nice little boy who’s agreeable and kind of
passive. A people pleaser. He cries during procedures—the spinal tap really
hurt him—but he holds still and gives no serious problems.” She stopped for a
moment and fought tears.
“It’s a goddamn crime, their pulling him out of
treatment. I
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