Unexpected Recoveries
Emile was smiling as he turned right on to Boekman Rd. He had taken the long way into work from his Lake Oswego home, opting for the lazy curves of Stafford Road over the Interstate. The turbo in his bright red Saab 900 kicked in again as he accelerated toward the final stretch of open road before the hospital. It wasn’t even 8am yet and the day was still chilly. It had been unseasonably cold for August so far, but the sun was shining brightly, and as he slowed for the final left turn into the hospital drive, he could feel it’s warmth on his face. It made him glad that he’d left the convertible top down this morning, despite the fact that his face was slightly numb and his cheeks childishly rosy.
As he pulled around the entrance on the way to the staff parking lot, Emile noticed a limousine with Oregon state government plates parked at the curb and a news van near the entrance. It appeared that some state official he didn’t recognize he was giving a press release. The man in the suit was standing in the little garden patio off to one side of the main entrance gesticulating amid some unheard explanation. The patio made a good setting with the red orange bricks of the hospital and the green gold of the August grass. Emile made his way cautiously around them and continued to his spot near Ward A, the home for the dangerous portion of the hospital’s population, absentmindedly wondering what was going on.
As he made his way down the long fenced-in walkway to the faculty entrance, he readied himself mentally for the day to come. Organizing his thoughts and going over his internal checklists, wondering whether or not he would have time to contribute to his research papers. Officially the hospital held no research positions, all of the serious research happened at learning Institutions or at the main state asylum in Salem Oregon. Dammasch on the other hand was a cast away facility, just two decades old, but already it looked more dated than the Salem’s mental hospital which had been built 85 years before it. No, Dammasch was built on the outskirts of Portland as a way to handle overflowing beds at the state capitol, and to service a growing metropolis, if you could call Portland such.
Still, despite the different wallpaper from room to room, and the muted square designs of the 1960’s, this place gave him freedom. He was allowed a modest “unofficial” research budget and given reign to experiment, so long as the participants gave informed consent, in some manner. His mood was still good as he unlocked his office and turned on the lights. While in the process of removing his driving gloves and windbreaker, Katie Wifford knocked on the open doorjamb. Katie was young looking 30-something who was four months into a six month rotation as part of her Nursing degree at OHSU. “Mr. Bachik is here to see you DR. K, he’s waiting in the recreation room.” Emile stared at her with what must have been a puzzled look, because she added, “the superintendent, George Bachik.” She paused, and then as comprehension came to him walked off, waving good morning over her shoulder.
Why was the superintendent here? Must have something to do with the … it came to him suddenly, the government official at the entrance, Bachik, of course. As some sort of sense was returning to his thought process, he found himself making excuses for the oversight. To be fair, George Bachik was the third superintendent since Dr. Brooks had retired in ‘82. Brooks, who had been at the job for 27 years, was replaced by Bradshaw who himself was replaced by Benning. Now that made Bachik the forth superintendent that Emile had worked for all of whose last names began with the letter B. He was pretty sure that Dr. Brooks had replaced Dr. Bates which seemed like a curiously long run of having a “Dr. B” as headman of State Hospitals.
George Bachik’s balding head came into view amid a bustle of activity as Dr. Klein rounded the corner from the hallway. Dr. Bachik was only a few years older than Emile, but his coarse graying hair was rapidly receding into semicircular tonsure. Adding to that he wore a full beard trimmed to just longer than stubble in failing attempt to hide the eventual sagging that come to people who wear the weight in the face. The overall impression seemed much older than Emile, which may have contributed to the obvious tension between the two men that Emile couldn’t quite move past. For his part, he resented the scrutinizing, authoritarian way in which Bachik managed. He seemed more lawyer than doctor and made his disapproval of Emile’s research no secret. Dr. Bradshaw, the second super Klein had worked for had given him the position here at Dammasch, and his successor, Benning, never seemed to question it, which made the reports Emile received from a friend back at headquarters of Bachik poking around in his files all the more annoying.
Today however was clearly not about his position, the two had only really spoken face to face a few times, and there was an air of nervous excitement about him this morning. “George, good morning,” Klein extended a hand and tried to look cheerful. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” A small flicker of annoyance washed the superintendent’s face as he shook Emile’s hand. Dr. Bachik rolled his stance away, turning back toward the room which exposed Christian Meadows and his elderly mother sitting at one of the larger tables with a woman Emile had never met before. “Dr. Klein,” he said firmly, emphasizing the formal address. “This is Willa Meadows, I think you’ve met.” Emile was enormously popular with patient families, and mothers in particular, his friend that had told him about Bachik’s unofficial investigation of him had also reassured him that no one had more positive feedback in their files than he did. “ And Mrs. Gordon and her assistant are from the Oregonian.” The Oregonian was the largest newspaper in the state, and had a decent, albeit small, national reputation for investigative reporting.
He continued, “Over the weekend someone from Senator Hatfield’s office contacted Mrs. Meadows to inform her that Christian would be entering an evaluation for full release over the next two weeks, owing to his remarkable recovery.” Bachik had partially turned to face Emile again, raising an eyebrow inquisitively at his own pronouncement, making it clear there was far more to the story.
Aftermath
“I don’t understand, what does any of this have to do with the senator’s office?” Emile was trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. They had spent the better part of hour in the rec room answering questions about the hospital, Christian’s progress, and Dr Kleins’s special techniques. Now they were in his office, but superintendent Bachik had seated himself behind Emile’s desk adding to his level of irritation and a growing sense of dis-ease.
“You know as well as I that the senator doesn’t have any real authority here, but he has pull and he sits on several influential boards and panels.” Bachik leaned back forcing the chair to recline as he pushed himself far enough away from the desk to allow him to stretch his leg, crossing them under the desk. “I know you have your thing here and everybody thinks you’re doing great things, but this had better not blow up in my face Klein.”
He continued, pushing back even further as he began to rise. “ if anything gives you the tiniest inkling that Meadow’s is regressing, you pull the plug and you,” he forcefully moved the chair into position as he stepped around the desk to loom over Emile, “you will contact Ms. Gordon yourself and come clean about your apparent god complex and explain how you’ve misled everyone into thinking you knew what the fuck you were doing.” He didn’t look back or rush, just straightened his suit and strolled casually out of the office and made his way down the hall to his waiting car.
A few minutes later still sitting on the wrong side of the desk Emile was startled by Katie Wifford’s hand on his shoulder. “ Rough morning?” She gave him a gentle squeeze, “ you’re going to be late for group,” and she too, was out the door.
Group Confusion
Emile Klein was not smiling as he rushed down the hall to his 10am, his pleasant morning drive had been drowned out in the chaos and confusion of the last two hours. He stopped just before the door and centered himself, banishing the mob-lawyer caricature he had been constructing out of Bachik, and repeating a little mantra he had developed for himself. With a final exhalation he stepped across the threshold with a calm and composed smile.
The first thing Emile noticed as he made his way to his usual chair in the circle, was the mood is the room. After the slow burning anxiety of the last few hours, the room felt light, and calm. There was a constant soft murmur of multiple amiable conversations.
“Good morning Dr. Klein,” a strong baritone voice rose above babel with lounge singer like theatrics. Emile turned to see Nick Star Seated with his back to the door, exactly opposite of the seat he was about to take. The room had gone silent, the anxiety was back, he forced a smile over the rising discomfort. “Good Morning everyone”, he said, his own sense of theatrics taking over in response, as if to a challenge.
“So glad you decided to join us Dr. K,” Nick replied smoothly. “Is everything okay?” Marveling at how easily this 18 year old took control, he smiled around at the circle, he recognized the verbal trap. If he responded to Nick and as normal conversation would dictate, asked how he was doing, it would be tantamount to giving Nick the reins. “Yes, My apologies to the group, I was finalizing some of the paperwork that will be needed for Christian’s release” Emile continued smoothly “Mr. Meadows will be leaving us immediately, to return to a normal life” He gazed around the room and could tell from the way in which no one was making direct eye contact that this had been the source of the animated conversations he had interrupted upon entering. As he opened his mouth to follow up, he caught sight of a slight smirk on Nick’s face. While it faded in a near instant the was still an intensity to gaze that suggested he was very pleased with himself. If Emile had been a slightly more poetic man, he might have thought that Nick hid a mischievous Twinkle to his eyes.
“Does anyone care to talk about how Christian leaving might affect us or maybe how it might make you feel?”
“I heard that mutha-fucka has some rich ass connections or something” Deandre spoke up. “fucking white people,” he sat back crossing his arms.
“Now Deandre, why do you think any of this has anything to do with race? “
“Aaah sheeet doc, when does it not?”
A long pause, no one seemed talkative suddenly. Finally Deandre continued, “fine, look Dr. K, you know Christian was a mess. Jus the other day he was yelling about crazy shit, sayin’ the new kid gonna carve us up. Then yesterday I seen him, he didn’t call me names, wasn’t yelling or nothin, jus walks right up to me, like we were friends or something an start telling me that aliens exist an that the new guy,” Nearly every pair of eyes now shot toward Nick, “that he’s one of em. Aliens ya feel me” Deandre looked over at Nick,” jus sayin what he said dawg, no disrespect.”
“Look, don’t mater now , alls I’m saying is it don’t mater who might call who for me or for Alejandro, cause we ain’t white they ain’t lettin-us go, till you say so doc.’’ He shuffled, “might not even then, ya feel me?”
“So are you implying that I didn’t give Christian in the all clear?”
“Nobody would believe you if you said you did doc” Rick Hart spoke up. “It’s like the spook said, we all know Chris was bat-shit”
“Rick, I can’t remember the last time you talked in group, but you know we don’t allow that type of talk in here,” Emile was on high alert now, Rick Hart was supposed to be on enough Thorazine to keep him very, very passive. He usually only had the energy to get out few words at a time.
“Sorry doc, he knows I don’t mean nothin by it”
“The fuck I do cracker”
Emile was on the edge of panic, he had to regain control and do it quickly. It had been months since there had been a violent episode in the unit, let alone on his shift. His latitude with Bachik was clearly already being pushed to the limit.
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