What will Steve do?

Dr. Willis sat at her desk across from Steve Wilbert and peered at him between the stacks of files and documents on her desk. The man was as much an enigma as his crafty wife. Yet, she saw in him an authenticity that belied her suspicions. How could she share months of clinical testing of Ramona and not hurt him further? He continued to care for his wife, even when she pushed him away. Dr. Willis knew he was looking to her to vindicate Ramona, so he could take her home.

Over the seven months Ramona had been under her care, she’d looked at as many causes of her illness as the hospital’s budget would allow. Ramona’s treatments ranged from series of psychiatric tests that also included illicit substances and toxins to general medical diseases. Dr. Willis wanted to arrive at a combination of factors in order to narrow them down by way of differential diagnoses. This included autoimmune disorders. Despite test after test, she’d been unable to establish a strong clinical suspicion for a particular disease that would help her arrive at a definitive clinical diagnosis.

“Mr. Wilbert, thank you for seeing me today,” Dr. Willis said by way of greeting.

Steve sat looking at the doctor. He sighed deeply and sat back in the comfortable chair she offered him when he entered her office. He placed both hands on the arm rests and wondered about the chair. It was plush. He had an omen he was being prepared for what was to come. The chair was gold. He wondered why the color seemed to explode in his brain. He said nothing as he continued to look vacuously at the doctor.

“Mr. Wilbert, this hospital has done everything it can do for your wife. I have consulted with our own team of experts as well as some from the outside. All are perplexed that Mrs. Wilbert is exhibiting many of the behaviors she presented upon admission, despite medication that should have inhibited most, or all of them.”

“Dr. Willis, I don’t mean no disrespect, but what has your inability to diagnose my wife’s illness has to do with me? I don’t think you realize how difficult this has been for me.”

“You’re wrong, Mr. Wilbert. I do have some idea of your difficulty, but the issue at the moment is what is to be done with Mrs. Wilbert?”

“What are you suggesting?”

Dr. Willis looked at the pencil she held in her hand, before she looked at the distraught man that sat before her. “It is the opinion of this hospital, including myself, that your wife is not psychotic, at least not clinically, because there are antipsychotic medications that can control the behavior.” She stopped and looked directly at Steve Wilbert.

“Well, what the hell is wrong with her?”

“Do you understand what it means to be psychotic?

“I believe so.”

“Psychosis is not a condition in itself; it is caused by other conditions that range from mental health issues like Bipolar disorder, or schizophrenia to physical triggers like brain tumors and Parkinson’s disease. Psychosis means an individual has lost contact with reality; it is manifest by either delusions, or hallucinations. I’ve provided you ample literature on all those conditions, Mr. Wilbert.”

“Yes, you have, Doctor.”

“Over the last three months, we’ve noticed some consistent patterns in Mrs. Wilbert’s behavior.”

“I sure as hell would like to know what they are, because one thing’s for sure, they haven’t included me,” Steve said bitterly.

Dr. Willis kept on speaking; she ignored the pain she heard in the man’s voice.

“Mrs. Wilbert has been manipulative in the way she attempts to control others for her benefit. Remember the incident when she attempted to strangle her roommate so she would not have to share the room? She encourages some of the patients to leave the security doors unlocked so she can come and go as she pleases. No matter what she does, she finds ways to make herself blameless. In seven months, the seventh floor has become practically unmanageable, and it’s all because of a war of wills between Mrs. Wilbert and our hospital staff. Your wife has demonstrated a willful disregard for the consequences of her actions. Can you imagine what can happen if some of our more dangerous patients walk through those doors she engineers to keep unlocked and reach the streets?”

Steve knew what he was about to hear would devastate him, because the doctor was stating in words what he had begun to believe. His heart pounded. “Yes, Dr. Willis. I can imagine that, and so much more."

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of this news, Mr. Wilbert, but this is my clinical diagnosis: your wife’s a psychopath. We do not have the means to continue treating her for that diagnosis. We are not even sure whether there is a cure for psychopathic behavior, which can range from an inability to experience shame, guilt or remorse to madness.  Because your wife admitted to murdering two ex-husbands, the hospital’s findings will be turned over to the District Attorney as it was his decision for her to be here in our facility. I’m so sorry, Mr. Wilbert. I'll prescribe Zyprexa to handle Mrs. Wilbert’s hallucinations. We will release her this afternoon to your care.”

Steve Wilbert crumbled in his chair as he held his head in his hands. Dr. Willis sat thinking about her own life. Why wasn’t she able to find such a sensitive man in her own life? Because she could find nothing more to add to their exchange, and wishing to spare him further humiliation, she exited the room.

**************

Henry sat by the window with his mother as he waited for Steve. Dr. Willis had asked to speak with him alone. On his days off he often stopped by the hospital to spend an hour or two with his mother. Sometimes she would talk, and other times she would stare off into space. It seemed his relationship with his mother was growing darker and darker.

Angela has grown to care for the tall, dark handsome young man. She surmised they were around the same age. During his weekly visits she never missed an opportunity to send a smile his way. Today, she sensed his despair.

“You like the young man, don’t you, my young friend?” Lucinda would say as she'd  hide giggles behind her cupped hands.

Angela neither denied nor confirmed her feelings for the silent young man with the chiseled  good looks. It was obvious he worked out. She did too.

In desperation, Henry turned toward his mother.” Mom, I need you out of here. I’m trying to keep things going, but there seems to be no let up. The insurance companies are on my back, and I don’t know what to say to them. I don’t believe you killed dad, but since you confessed,  the police are demanding answers.”

Henry could hear the anguish in his voice, and he despised her for it, but he had to get through to her. He had been able to keep most of what was happening away from Steve, but he had to make her see what was at stake. He looked around the floor at the bustling goings-on. Some patients were being physically restrained, while others sat like babies being fed from their high chairs. Others rocked back and forth seemingly lost in their own miserable worlds. The room reeked of Lysol and piss. He felt sick to his stomach. At the moment, he felt about as alive as the plastic palm trees stationed in each corner of the sanitized room.

Ramona turned and looked at him, and for a moment Henry thought he saw a glimpse of his mother; his heart leaped.

"Mom?"

“Son, you’ve got to get outside more. You're too pale.  Why are you always with that awful man who's pretending to be my darling Steve? You aren’t gay are you?”

Henry stood up and looked down at his mother. For an instant he wanted to strangle her. If not for Steve he could not have managed over the many months of her confinement. How dare she? He left without saying goodbye,  or looking back.

Ramona watched Henry leave. She saw Angela unlock the metal doubled doors to allow him to exit. They smiled at each other, and she stood looking after him. Romana continued to watch her son walk quickly down the hall and into Dr. Willis’s office. Then she searched the room for Angela, she spotted her with a group of hospital staffs. She sent a contemptuous glare in her direction before turning around to watch the street activities below.

Lucinda shivered. She wanted  to share with Angela what she’d discovered the night before, but she swore to Dr. Willis and Nurse Ramos she’d keep quiet. Around two that morning, when most patients were sleep, she heard low moans that made her think someone was ill. She looked in on each patient as she walked along the hallway. About halfway, she discovered the sounds were coming from Ramona’s room.

When she peeked in she nearly keeled over.

 Ramona and George Pinkerton were stark naked, and in the throes of quivering ecstasy. They were oblivious to anything, or anyone around them.  Lucinda pulled out her camera and snapped a picture of the couple engaged in coitus; she was not about to interrupt them. She knew without evidence, Ramona would concoct a lie to make it seem she was the culprit.

On her way to her office, she wondered how long they’d been sneaking into each other’s room at night, and causing havoc on the ward each day.

Lucinda always believed Ramona was evil, but now she knew she was also amoral. She had to warn young Angela to tread very carefully around the witch. Very carefully.