The Trouble with Polly Brown (57 page)
Christmas Day saw Polly hide away under her bedclothes for the whole day, and Boxing Day was a repeat performance that saw her with her head hidden under the blankets, as once more she slept the entire day, only leaving the solace of her bed to use the bathroom or to get herself something to eat from the cold, generously unappetizing buffet that, due to staff shortages, was left out for the patients to help themselves to.
With Christmas finally over, the new year held very little promise either for young Polly, as over the next few months her outlook on life seemed as sludgy, gray, and dismal as the bleak and ferocious winter sleet that uncompromisingly held the hospital hostage as it constantly barraged the ancient building, seriously weighing down on the roof with heavy snow. If a patient or staff member even cared to look out of a locked window in search of some unexpected solace, his or her eyes would meet nothing but fields of white as well as endless, struggling trees mercilessly stripped of their leaves, their fragile boughs threatening to snap due to the weight of the snow that overnight turned to ice.
With each and every lonely day that passed, Polly, like those spindly, frail trees, felt equally on the verge of snapping, as she found herself sinking into a worsening depression that no amount of brightly colored pills could even begin to tackle. All too soon Polly was hardly recognizable as the perky, chat-filled young girl who had been sent there from the castle with a view to getting the help they believed she desperately needed.
She therefore had little choice than to attend the group therapy sessions, as well as face regular private interviews with Dr. Ninkumpoop. He used these private meetings to continuously grill her to the point of extreme exhaustion. Sadly, these meetings did very little to enlighten either Polly or the doctor as to the root cause of her so-called extreme and bizarre behavioral problems, problems, I might add, that the doctor had yet to witness for himself.
If the doctor for one moment had been able to get inside of Polly's head, he would have realized that she felt fearful and afraid to speak up and disclose anything that would undoubtedly be repeated to her guardians and would therefore find her in further deep water. She knew full well that the doctor was a close friend of Uncle Boritz, so she fully expected that he would report everything back to him. There was no way she was ever going to share anything of real significance with him. No, never in a month of Sundays!
Besides, what would this well-groomed man, dressed daily in expensive Armani suits, know of the fears and troubles she continually faced? After all, he presumably had a lovely home that came kitted out with an enticingly beautiful wife to balance on his arm. And, Polly imagined, he had at least two, if not three, adorable children waiting in earnest every night just to hear his key in the lock so they could rush to greet him. He would sit back patiently in a comfy chair while one of his beloved children gently placed slippers on his sore, aching feet while his dutiful wife busied herself making him a strong cup of tea. She would then sit at his side while he unburdened himself of all problems that persisted to perplex his troubled mind.
Then when all was said and done, they would head for the dining room to sit down for a family dinner. During this meal they would go on to enjoy the biggest luxury imaginable, which had nothing whatsoever to do with fine food, for this much-desired luxury was to bask in the warm fellowship and genuinely rich laughter that being a closely knit family brings. Oh, how Polly longed for such precious things as family with all her heart.
He surely never had to live with the fear of being removed and sent elsewhere time and time again. Did he know anything of the bullying she and others were regularly subjected to in the children's home? What's more, could he even begin to imagine what it was like to dread facing even one more horrendous day of school? No! Polly firmly believed that all Dr. Ninkumpoop's experiences of loss and suffering were simply gained from the extensive overreading of textbook upon textbook as he filled his mind to capacity with the doctrines of the learned. So what did he really know of her agonizing and consistently high levels of anxiety? Diddly squat, to be precise!
Every hideous and miserable day of her life was a cruel reminder that there would come a day in the not too distant future when, with her time finally up, she would then be mercilessly spewed up from the care system and left abandoned in the cruel, harsh world with no financial support whatsoever, just the challenge to make it if she could. Polly had one day taken the time to write out a list of some of the terrifying fears surrounding this eventuality that regularly managed to taunt her.
- How would she manage to survive when she had no real family for support or any home with as much as a bed to call her own? She shuddered when she considered these things, for she felt she had little to no ability to cope with all that life was throwing at her now, let alone when she was forced to leave. Then what? She truly believed that to be left abandoned to fend for herself was no different to that of being thrown into the lion's den.
- Heaven forbid, but would she land up like many of the other children in being sent to one of Her Majesty's prisons? She believed that she would rather end her life than allow herself to be locked up and forgotten as though the key was then thrown away. She could not bear for everyone who once knew her to think, “Good riddance,” as they remembered her only as some nasty, wicked criminal who at the end of the day got exactly what she deserved!
- With the fear of being alone terrifying her on a daily basis, what would she do to survive?
- Where would she go? She could not even imagine living on the streets at the mercy of other homeless ragamuffins, and with nowhere to lay her head at night, would she just die of cold under the stars?
- So where do you go when there's nowhere to go and you absolutely hate being just where you are?
- Could she pass enough school exams to have some sort of meaningful career? Well, that fear had now been fulfilled, as she had all too recently been expelled from school. So, next question?
- Would she ever be capable of holding down any sort of decent job?
- Would she ever even begin to feel normal or be normal enough to have a boyfriend when she was older? She put a large “no” against that question.
- What about one day getting married? She could not imagine anyone ever wanting to marry someone as ugly and messed up in the head as she believed herself to be.
- Would she ever have a key to her own door? Yes, would she ever have a place of her own where she could hide away undisturbed, for that would be more than a dream come true?
- Come to think of it, would she ever know a time in her life when she would finally feel really safe and secure? A place where she could just be herself, warts and all? A place where she could take a day of her life to just lie tucked up in warm bed listening to her kind of music, eating whatever comfort food she fancied from an unlocked fridge while watching a sad movie with a box of hankies and luxury chocolates at her side? Would there ever come a day when such immense privileges would be hers for the taking? She very much doubted it.
Polly shuddered some more as she gave serious thought to all these questions that constantly plagued and tormented her. She struggled daily to ward off the constant, nagging array of issues that stalked her miserable, overactive mind, as they filled her with constant fear for her future. And this was just the daytime! At night there was even less to look forward to, other than a continuation of even more extreme anxieties as she wrestled and beat her pillow to a pulp while silently begging for sleep to come and put an end to yet another round of harrowing, nightly tortured thoughts.
So as Polly observed the quirky, portentous self-satisfied doctor sitting with his feet up on his desk as he alternated his frequent tea drinking with the smoking of a pipe, all the while bombarding her with question after irrelevant question, he gave her no reason for hope. Sadly for him, he was wasting his precious time, for she knew with the greatest assurance that he had nothing whatsoever in common with “Patient 579,” for this particular specimen could receive no consolation, for she considered herself to be way beyond all help. She was, indeed, a most broken, battle-wearied patient.
To be fair, the learned doctor, for his part, put Polly through a battery of his more favored psychological tests, none of which provided him with even the smallest glimmer of encouragement, so much so that there came a time when he privately began to despair he would ever get the breakthrough he had promised not only the Scumberrys but also, and more importantly, a number of very influential medical journals. The temporary solution to the problem was to once more hike up the dosage of her medication. But surprise, surprise! All this additional medication only made her more docile than ever.
The Journal of Dr. N. Ninkumpoop
Feb. 3
Having sat in the room in total silence for well over half an hour, I decided to ask Patient 579 about any friends she might have in her life.
At first she looked at me, and with eyes blazing she sadly announced, “Nobody, for you, doctor, are looking at a real Billy-No-Mates.” As she spoke of her extreme loneliness I felt pierced to the heart by her seemingly ruthless yet tragic honesty. Finally, after much coercion, I got her to talk about her brothers and about a new school friend called Will, although I have to say she was reluctant to share anything of importance regarding any of them. She did, however, care to speak of two boys named Justin Kase and Justin Thyme, who she had once trusted and believed to be friends, that is, until they had let her down so badly; although once again she was unwilling to specify anything or enlighten me as to what these specific wrongs were that had been done to her.
There came a point in this meeting where I believed I was utterly wasting my time when suddenly, quite out of the blue, she started talking about so-called friends she had met on her journey to an imaginary place she liked to call Piadora. These extraordinary strangers had names such as Captain Codswallop and Captain Humdinger as well as Captain Plimsol, a pilot who befriended her when she last traveled the world on Concorde! Apparently Captain Plimsol was not only very handsome but also a very good tennis player who invited the patient to accompany him to the yearly Wimbledon Tournament at some future date.
Patient 579 also informed me that both air hostesses Amanda and Annabel had both fancied him so terribly much that they often fought over who would make and then serve him his next cup of tea. Apparently they even tried to outwit one and other as they plied him with extra delicious chocolate biscuits. Patient 579 casually remarked that she was of the opinion that by the end of the trip the handsome pilot had put on more than a few extra, unwanted pounds.
Then add a lanky SAS soldier named Corporal Beanpod to the private party going on in her head, and one is left wondering, Where on earth do we go from here? This likable soldier apparently gave her a survival bookas a present, as he felt so concerned on her behalf.
Next in line was a savvy French soldier who went by the mystifying title of Napoli Bonaparti. Oh, I almost forgot to add that this unusual and wacky French soldier was on a mission of his own, which was to come to England with the express desire being to give Lord Nelson a jolly good beating. As we all know, Lord Nelson has long departed this earth, but my patient did not hesitate or even question thisâor anything else nonsensical that this gentleman cared to tell her with regard to his mission to the shores of Great Britain.
As I listened on, my therapeutic ears on full alert, Iattempted to decipher what really was going on inside her head, for I knew without a shadow of a doubt that we were on a one-way ticket heading straight for la-la land, better known in my circles as “the land of no return.” This is, indeed, one of the most remarkable and fascinating cases I have ever had the pleasure of being involved in, in the many years I have worked at this hospital.
When at a later appointment I dared suggest that these people were definitely little more than figments of her illustrious imagination, she shook her head and whimpered that I was terribly wrong. She remained adamant that Napoli, the delightfully boastful Frenchman, had saved her from a wicked witch named Soogara when both she and Langdon were held hostage in some murky dungeon of a castle that no one I know has ever heard of.
She also shed many tears when she talked about meeting a young, poor Brazilian boy named Pedro when she found herself being imprisoned in his country. Sadly, it all left me questioning, Is their any end to this young girl's seriously potent imagination?
Feb. 28
Over the months that I have gotten to examine Patient 579, both her character and her disconcerting behavior have seriously led me to believe that she may well be suffering from the most severe case of multiple personalities that I have ever had the privilege of seeing, with each of the characters being played out. This is just one of many individual compartments within her seriously disturbed mind.
I find it most interesting that almost all these peopleshe met on her journey have responded most sympathetically to her extremely dire and openly manifest need to be loved, and all have found their way into her heart by so gallantly coming to her rescue. She therefore feels an immense sense of appreciation and gratitude toward each and every one of these imaginary characters.
Yet we need to stop here and become mindful of what those adults who to date have raised her have to say, and sadly, with regard to her guardians' experiences of her, they would suggest that she knows very little about love and kindness. They would also contend that she openly displays nothing but hostility toward everyone she meets. So perhaps when all is said and done, the girl is indeed grappling with some serious identity issues.
I also find it very interesting that most of the characters she mentions are people in authority. Take, for instance, Captain Codswallop, Captain Humdinger, and Captain Plimsol, to mention just a few.
All these male figures represent power, control, and stability, and so I firmly believe that Polly is crying out for some kind of solid father figure to come into her life, a somewhat mature, disciplined man who would ultimately help bring her actively spiraling-downward life under some form of control.
March 6
Today when Patient 579 came to have her individual session with me, she surprised me by bringing with her a large number of handwritten notes.
She told me that for some time now these letters had rather inexplicably appeared from out of the belly of her blue elephant, named Langdon. Naturally I was very suspicious, and therefore I asked to see some of the notes. At first she was reluctant to hand them over, as she said they were for her eyes only, but eventually after much coercion she finally agreed to allow me to be privy to a small selection of them.
As I read through the small pile she had brought down to my office I was taken by complete surprise to see that each and every note contained words of immense encouragement that were clearly designed to lift the girl's otherwise melancholic spirit.
Of course, I challenged her honesty by saying that I did not believe the notes to be real, and so I was just as certain that she had made them all up. Her immediate response to my very direct accusation was to stare me directly in the eye, and with the most haunting look of deep sadness she quietly insisted that not only had she never seen any these notes before, but since coming to this hospital she had not written as much as her name at the top of a piece of paper, let alone a chat-filled letter to anybody. Her story certainly checked out with the nurses, who confirmed that not only did she lie in the bed like a corpse every day with a sheet covering her head, but no one had ever borne witness to her ever sitting upright with pen and paper in hand. She had never asked a member of staff for an envelope, or a postage stamp for that matter.
I have to say here that it is quite plain that as each and every note has entirely different handwriting I am therefore left feeling inexplicably baffled and seriously unnerved by Patient 579.
March 16
Today on my usual ward rounds I asked one of the nurses to let me know when Patient 579 was out of the ward using the bathroom, for I wanted to see for myself if there was any truth to her story that Langdon, her elephant, was giving birth to one affirmation note after another. As soon as I had the signal I raced down the ward toward her bed, but even after stripping off the bedclothes it was abundantly clear that her elephant was nowhere to be found. Apparently, according to the ward sister, itappears that Langdon needs to use the bathroom as well! I felt like a prize idiot sent on a fool's errand!
I therefore decided to sit by her bedside and wait for them to return. Of course, all this had me feeling ridiculously stupid, as all the nurses appeared to know that I was only waiting around as I wishedto check out Langdon's stomach contents.
When Patient 579 finally returned to her bed she did not seem the least perturbed when I asked if I could give Langdon a quick, on-the-spot medical examination. On checking over the blue elephant I discovered a small, shiny zipper deep into his stomach but well hidden by his fur. I smiled, as I now felt I finally had half the answer to this rather extraordinary puzzle. Now all that remained to be discovered was quite how many of the patients were in cahoots with her by agreeing to write the notes, and, if so, at what point of the day or night was this unashamedly magnanimous letter-writing class taking place?
However, when I informed her that I believed I knew what was really taking place, she immediately became most indignant. She went to great lengths to assure me that she had only recently discovered the secret zipper in his belly, and it certainly wasn't there beforeshe came to this hospital. She then stated just as categorically that none of the patients had helped her out by writing any of the notes, for she did not really talk to anyone on the ward. She admitted that she had tried to make friends with some of them, but she claimed they were all so doped up with hospital medication that in the end she gave up even trying to converse with any of them. Once again I was left with no rhyme or reason, because having satisfied myself that I had just solved the mystery puzzle, I was once more left feeling more mystified then ever.
June 24
Today the patient came to down my office holding a small basket of strawberries that she insisted I take home to my family. I asked her who gave her the strawberries, and she said that when she woke up, they were already on her locker. She said that she had no use of them, and that is why she had brought them down to my office.
As I was in no frame of mind to believe such a wild story, I tongue in cheek suggested that next time she should offer them to the nurses on her ward. Her immediate response had me reeling with shock.
Patient 579 informed me that the nurses had been eating the strawberries nonstop for the past few weeks, as every day a fresh supply was left sitting on her bedside locker.
