Quiet Room - Lori Schiller [88]
My decision seemed like a good idea at the time I made it. In fact, having made a decision gave me hope. If I had an illness, maybe it could be cured. If I was sick, maybe I could be made well. Maybe they could pull these Voices right out of my skull. Maybe I could have a real life. I agreed to transfer to the long-term unit.
Yes, back at that time it had all made sense. Now that I was here however everything seemed different.
It was clear that this wasn't going to be easy. This was going to be war, a war against the Voices. And the Voices weren't going to give up without a fight. They were going to struggle against me—and anyone else who tried to conquer them.
The Voices were yelling so loud I could barely hear over them when, later on that afternoon, I had my first meeting with Dr. Doller.
Dr. Jane Doller. Jane Doller, M.D. I had first met her on my old unit, during the months I was waiting to be transferred here to 3 South. She often came through to visit another patient on the unit where I was staying. Once I found out her name, I instantly became part of her fan club. For some reason, I got such a kick out of the pun in her name that I looked forward to her visits just so I could greet her.
“Hello, Dr. Doller!” I called out. “Hi, Dr. Doller!” I just loved saying that name. Dr. Doller. Dr. Doller. Each time, she returned the acknowledgment with a nod of her head, or a quiet hello.
I knew she was a psychiatrist. But she didn't look like a psychiatrist. She didn't look like any kind of doctor I had ever seen before. She wasn't angular and crisp like so many of the young professionals I had met. Instead, she looked like the Pillsbury Dough Girl, all pudgy and squeezable. She was always rushing and busy whenever I saw her, but somehow her manner was different from that of the other doctors. She wasn't brisk and businesslike like so many of the others. She was soft. Her face was soft. Her hair was a soft brown. Her manner was soft, and almost retiring. Her voice was soft. Her words were soft. Everything about her seemed soft. I liked her immediately, without knowing why.
Still, except for the several-times-a-week hello, Dr. Doller and I had nothing else to do with each other until I transferred over to 3 South. So when she came to my room, and gently steered me to a bank of chairs in the hall of the unit, I was nervous and apprehensive. I had just found out that she was not just any psychiatrist. She was one of this unit's bosses. She was staff psychiatrist of 3 South, and she was going to be the administrator of my case. I was impressed immediately.
The Voices chattered and wailed and screamed as Dr. Doller asked me questions about my experiences. It amazed me that she was not writing everything else down as psychiatrists usually did. She was just listening, her head tipped slightly to the side, a quizzical look on her face.
I knew that as my administrator she would be the person in charge of my overall treatment, from prescribing my medications to assigning my privileges and my status. What she wanted to know, though, was who should be my therapist. The therapist would be the person who would work with me closely, one on one as Dr. Rockland had, to try to find out what was going on in my head. The choice of therapist was hers; she was trying to find out what I wanted before she made her decision.
I tried to concentrate over the din of the Voices. I would like a woman this time, I said. Over all my years in and out of the hospital, I had mostly worked with men. There had been a few women, but only for very brief periods. In Futura House, I had felt so comfortable with Deanna. It made me realize I related better to women, and wanted to give it a try. It amazed me how well I was able to verbalize my wants and my needs.
Dr. Doller listened to me very carefully, occasionally