Karl - A Psychiatric Story
Karl
A Psychiatric Story
By
John Rocha
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PUBLISHED BY:
Karl
Copyright 2012 by John Rocha
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
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I hope you enjoy the story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
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Karl
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It was when I first started in this profession that one of the High Grades told me that the nurses often ended up as patients. Of course I pretended to agree to this nonsense, having been warned that they were not to be believed.
And it was nonsense certainly. There were, naturally enough, some nurses who took it up because of some abnormality in their character, but most of them were as sane as you or I. They had to be. It takes a certain amount of strength to distinguish the real from the unreal when you are so occupied with the unreal that it becomes the paradigm. Perhaps I should explain. Inside, all is order. Outside it is the same but the order is entirely different. Outside the grey walls everyone, within the limits of civil life, goes as he pleases and is his own master. Inside, everyone is confined and regimented for their own good. Outside, so that there can be leisure, the accent is on efficiency. Inside, so that there may be no leisure, the accent is on inefficiency. This struck me forcibly when I first took charge of the floor polishing. Fifteen or sixteen patients were employed to do the work of one floor polisher, with mops so heavy that I could hardly swing them. You can see from this that strength is needed, strength to keep you from weeping, strength to stop you from giving in.
Conditions are on the whole much better now. In fact, the only way I know that some of the nurses do succumb, I learnt through my early friendship with a nurse called Karl. I would tease him about this, and told him that a German name was ideal for a man who made a special study of schizophrenia. He just told me with real Teutonic gravity that schizophrenia was a serious subject and that I would be surprised how suddenly it could strike and how inexplicable its causes were. He took some pleasure in telling me of a classic case where the poor victim in one of her six identities had cut off her legs, and woke up in one of her other identities only to find herself legless.
I found this interest excessively morbid and told him so. Still, all went well until Karl started to behave strangely. I tended to think nothing of it at first because, to tell you the truth, many nurses are a little eccentric. In addition our exams were rapidly approaching and he, in order to facilitate his work, had elected to live in the hospital. I was afraid that these factors might have disturbed him somewhat and I got a little alarmed. I might still have done nothing though, except that I too was studying and wanted nothing to stand in the way of my concentration and peace of mind. I stayed in town precisely for that reason, to enable me to lead a normal life in my off-duty hours. What finally decided me was that Karl began looking at me strangely and when I looked round he would glance away furtively.
Even when I had made up my mind, I didn't know quite what to do. I didn't want to speak to any of the senior staff, the sisters or the doctors because as well as their being busy and somewhat remote, I did not really have anything concrete to say. At last I decided to have a word with the Charge Nurse.
Charge, as we called him, was a small thin-lipped man with an ebullient manner and a sense of the humorous to go with it. We actually called him Charge to his face and he liked this, saying it reminded him of Sarge. He had actually been a Sergeant Major, and his long experience of community life and controlling men made him ideal for the job.
I had been, at first, a little afraid of him as, I imagine, his troops had been, but there had been one small incident, insignificant enough in itself, which I liked to think had created a kind of bond between us. When I first arrived the whole system was very badly organised and we young nurses were pitched right into the middle of things. Soon after I arrived I was told to shave the patients. I called some of the High Grades and told them to take the others into the washroom. This was a long damp room with a row of basins with no plugs. Everything moveable had been removed. I felt as though I was preparing victims for the sacrificial knife. The blades were of poor quality and blunted from overuse. In addition to this many of the patients had nervous tics, syphilis sores and other facial disfigurements that made my task very hard.
At last, however, I finished and with the help of the High Grades washed out the basins and sent the others back to the main ward. It was then that one of the most obliging High Grades said that he would take the razor and mug back to the Charge Nurse's room. I was only too willing, being tired and not very inclined to disturb him. I was just about to hand the articles over when I suddenly thought to myself,' 'Supposing he doesn't take it back to the Charge Nurse? This lot could create havoc with a razor blade." So, instead of handing it over I said, "Actually, I've got to see him anyway." I knew from the fallen faces that my suspicions had been fully justified. When I went to see Charge-who I didn't call Charge then-he told me that no-one should have let me do the shaving without instruction, and that I must get hold of the razor at once. I told him how it had only seemed common sense to keep the razor myself, and about my suspicions. He then told me: "Common sense is what most people lack. You obviously have it." It was not until much later that I realised that this was the highest compliment he could pay, but it established me as one of his favourites.
It was because of this wholly unearned goodwill that I felt I could approach him about Karl, which I duly did. As I expected he took the matter calmly, and helped me to view it in a similar light. He told me, though, that it was still a serious matter because if there was even the slightest chance of one of the nurses departing from sanity there could be terrible consequences. This attitude eased my mind without deflating my ego. I was filled with admiration at his tact and knowledge of practical psychology. Naturally I was not fully conscious of this till afterwards. I was too busy at the time listening to his advice.
He stressed that the important thing was not to depart from the normal routine in any way and not to take action on my own account because that was why he was there. He promised to keep a special look out himself. The only thing, it seemed, I could do was to keep an eye on Karl as this was what I did anyway as his closest friend in the hospital.
That is what I have been doing now for several months. And they have been eventful months. I am afraid to say that my worst forebodings have been confirmed. The fact that Karl did extremely well in his examinations, indeed as well as I did, was no comfort to me. Everyone knows that certain lunatics-that is the term I feel obliged to use-certain lunatics are possessed of great cunning. I was certain that Karl's brilliant results in his special subject were obtained by an intimate study of personal experience.
When I say that the last few months have been eventful, I do not mean that the hospital authorities have made any great steps with regard to Karl. This is not surprising because I believe he has only manifested his true self, if one can use this term in such cases, to me, his most intimate friend. With me he behaves very oddly, sometimes even absentmindedly, treating me as though I were a patient.
No, all the hospital authorities have as
ked me to do is to live in with Karl, as then, they tell me, he'll no longer feel the urge to go out himself.
The past few months have been eventful also because of the changes in the staffing and organization of the hospital. At last the Government seems to have recognised the terrible problem of mental illness and more money has been provided. For me, life has changed quite a lot. The new outlook is that nurses should not try to differentiate themselves too much from their patients except by their natural abilities. With this I agreed wholeheartedly as it discourages the sadists and paranoiacs who are sometimes attracted to my profession. Karl, however, still wears the old striped jacket and will clearly do so as long as he is allowed to. Some of the changes seem less useful than others to me but Charge assures me that they are for the best.
Sometimes Karl still seems quite normal and we can discuss things as fluently as we did once in the early days. The trouble is that you can never tell when a person with his problem will change his mood. This was particularly impressed upon me once, when, during a conversation which was so natural that I grew careless, I said to him, "I say, Karl, d'you remember that High Grade who told us that nurses tended to become deranged?" Immediately I regretted my words. His face changed instantly, not expressing the vicious anger and suppressed rage which is the characteristic of the usual case, but to an expression of such intense sorrow, that out of sheer pity I have never returned to that subject again.
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