16: Medically Restrained

It’s your road, and yours alone.

Others may walk it with you,

but no one can walk it for you.

Rumi

“The court is now in session, the Honorable Thomas Kincaid presiding.”

After sitting, Judge Kincaid leaned forward, giving the competing parties his undivided concentration.

“I gave this my upmost attention, but it’s a difficult case. While Mr. Walker is clearly rational and competent, Drs. Punjab and Altinon make a convincing argument he’s likely to become dangerous as his disease progresses. Though the defense denies this is the case, the only evidence I can rely on argues it is. As such, I can’t rule for the defense.” There was an audible gasp from the courtroom, while Rajai pumped his fist in victory. His lawyer laid his hand on his arm, dissuading him from gloating. David ceased trying to hide his grin, flashing his teeth before the entire courtroom.

“This is highly irregular, your honor,” Mathew protested. “Why rush to to judgment? Why not a temporary stay so we have time to get a second opinion by someone with an unbiased opinion of my client? Would a few days make such a big difference?”

“Mr. Tate, as the defense council and member of the Pennsylvania bar, I don’t need to remind you of the law. I’ve already made my decision in the matter, and your protests are designed for show only. According to the statutes on civil confinement, my decision stands. There is no appeal, aside from a requirement that I revisit the case in another sixty days. It also says you can introduce new medical evidence, provided you alert the court ten days before that date.”

“At which point they’ve already have operated on my client. That doesn’t protect his rights, it’s a rush to action. Why not postpone the decision by only a few more days? Surely he won’t die in that time, even given Dr. Punjab’s dire predictions.”

“If you don’t like the law, you’re free to petition the Pennsylvania courts to write new ones, but until that point, my decision stands.” Judge Kincaid turned his attention on the defendant. “Mr. Walker, let me just add, that although you put up a brave front, I’ve found the bru ha ha surrounding this case telling. Though you’ve steadily denied any personal involvement, I find those claims unconvincing. Where there’s smoke, there’s undoubtedly fire, and that fire wouldn’t burn so brightly unless you were fanning the flames, encouraging it. As such, your own behavior convinced me of Dr. Punjab’s claims that you aren’t rational, and are suffering from delusions triggered by your periodic attacks. The fact they’ve changed your entire psyche, and decision making ability, clearly demonstrate why you’re so dangerous. You might consider that, the next time you get the brilliant idea to flaunt such nonsensical notions of mental care in front of members of the medical community.”

“Judge, you’re acknowledging you came into this case with your mind made up and based your decisions not on the facts presented,” Mathew objected, “but on your own opinion of my client. Those are indefensible actions for you to make.”

“That’s why I delivered them post factum, as a personal aside to the defendant after the case is completed, so he appreciates the effect his behavior has on rational people. Besides, as we both know, there’s nothing you can do about it. There’s no appeal in this matter. Again, if you want to come back in sixty days and reargue your case, you might want to start preparing a more legitimate defense now.

“Mr. Walker, you are to be restrained and transferred to the hospital to receive the surgery most likely to save your life.”

“You can’t do that!” Toni leapt to her feet. “You can’t force someone to do something they’re unwilling to do themselves.”

“I most surely can, young lady, and I caution you about acting out or trying to defer the courts wishes. Otherwise you’ll await your father’s surgery in jail. Do I make myself clear?”

She dropped her head, her mother clutching her arm. “I do, your honor.”

“This is ridiculous!” Phil shouted, despite Mathews restraining hold. “I can prove my claims! Just allow me to treat someone with mental illness. I can prove it, even without a psychiatric evaluation!”

“Then you should have considered that before resting your case. The time for introducing new evidence is past as I’ve already made my decision. Frankly, I don’t care what you think you can prove, I’m only interested in the facts, of which you’ve offered none.” Judge Mathews left his podium, waving dismissively. “Gentlemen, escort him out of the room.”

“You don’t expect me to pay them for this, do you?” Phil demanded, quieting substantially.

“That’s a matter for you to resolve with the hospital,” Thomas stated.

“Meaning they’ll destroy my credit rating when I refuse to pay them for butchering me! That sounds ‘fair and equitable’ to me.”

“How they handle that is beyond the scope of this decision. I can’t dictate how they handle their internal affairs.” Here, the judge turned to the plaintiff’s table. “However, I’ll remind you that it’s terrible public relations to force someone to pay for something a court ordered them to submit to. If such a case came before me, I’d be inclined to find for the defense.”

“A fat load of good that will do if I’m paralyzed or reduced to a blubbering idiot after they’re done,” Phil mumbled.

As the judge exited the courtroom, Mathew addressed his client. “This is clearly a flagrant violation of judicial impartiality. This was clearly an ad-hominem decision, one based on his feelings about you personally. I’ll file a complaint with the bar, but it’s extremely unlikely they’ll cite a sitting judge. Even if they do, there’s no way they’ll act in time to prevent them from operating on you.”

“If it’s unavoidable, I’m not as concerned for myself. I’m worried about the hundreds I may have helped. He’s not only sentencing me; he’s condemning everyone with a mental disorder. That’s a huge class-action contingent.”

Mathew awarded him a baleful grin. “If you find a way to organize them, I’ll be glad to hear the case.”

The bailiff approached their table. “Please stand, putting your hands behind your back.”

“Please!” cried Toni and Jane, rushing forward. “Allow us to say goodbye first.”

He nodded, standing back but watching their actions.

“Will we be allowed to visit,” Jane asked, “or will the hospital dictate that, too?”

“Dad, if you’d only been allowed to demonstrate what you do, surely they’d have to accept it.”

Phil shook his head. “Sadly, no, it wouldn’t. Once the authorities decide that you’re a threat to their understanding of the world, they rarely stop to listen to reason. Once he made up his mind, the entire thing was over.”

Toni threw her arms over her father, crying on his shoulder. “As upset as I am, I pray the surgery is at least successful.”

“It likely will be. However, I’m certain it will destroy my ability to help others. If there are complications, I’ll be in worse mental and physical shape. Frankly, I have no desire to face such a life after what I’ve been through.”

As Toni backed up, Jane launched herself at her husband, whom she’d recently thrown out of their house. “This is terrible. While I hate the idea of losing you, I respect what you’ve done so much. We’ll be there by your side,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks, “whatever develops. You can depend on that.”

“Again, at this point, it scarcely matters what happens to me. I’m simply one man, unable to achieve much in the span of a single lifetime. However, I lament all those I may have helped. They’d make a more significant impact than what little I’ve achieved before now.”

“All right, ladies, you’ve had enough time,” the bailiff announced, stepping forward. “I’m taking Mr. Walker into protective custody until we can transfer him to the hospital.”

It was hardly a short trip to the hospital. Instead, the court waited until there were enough people to warrant a bus. Thus Phil was restricted to a small room with various criminals awaiting transport to the prison. Most had their own creatures surrounding them, but Phil couldn’t do anything other than watch and listen to them prattle on. It never ceased to amaze him that these beings, for the intense effort they poured into tormenting humans, paid such little attention to them. Other than the object of their torment, they didn’t notice anyone else. That included the one man capable of harming them, sitting defenseless beside them. He briefly considered choking one and allowing the others to end his life, but couldn’t do it. He still hoped, against all odds, that he might continue his struggles against these mythical creatures after the surgery. If nothing else, Toni and Jane still depended on him, even if his son and his family’s friends were uninterested in his fate.

Late in the afternoon, he and the other prisoners were herded on a prison bus under heavy guard. The sound of a protest echoed from around front, but he was too preoccupied to give it much thought. His mind had been churning all day. The vehicle departed from the back of the building, so few noted its departure.

Aside from feeling depressed and humiliated, Phil felt he’d disappointed everyone. Toni and Jane, who relied on him, the hundreds he’d worked to cure and the thousands he’d never get to. He wondered whether his role would have been more successful if given to someone else. If he hadn’t taken so long to figure out what was happening, or been more circumspect, he might have escaped notice. If he dealt with a couple individuals at a time, rather than accosting them in public, he might not have created such a stir. He also fumbled his own public relations, doing a terrible job of expressing what he was attempting. Conversely, his excuses that he wasn’t doing anything were exceedingly weak.

He felt if he’d been better prepared, quicker on his feet, or had a greater grasp of his capabilities, he might not have failed so many.

Sitting towards the front of the bus—shouts and protest songs carrying over the distance—his seatmate’s demons kept encouraging the man to ‘kill the pigs!’ Thus he didn’t note the outside distractions. Trying not to stare, Phil studied the man. Despite his many hate-filled tattoos, he didn’t appear so dangerous. He seemed a quiet family man, except he was continually prodded—by tiny devils with pitchforks—to hurt other people. Phil considered the life the man might have led if they’d met earlier. Before he screwed up and pissed off the wrong people. He couldn’t save the people the man injured, but he might give meaning to the rest of his life. Allowed him to make amends, or reach out to others in his situation.

Glancing around the bus, it was filled with people in similar straits. Many were extremely dangerous, but they were people he alone could have helped—beyond the reach of professionals. They might talk some sense into them, but they couldn’t curtail the urge to hurt, belittle, torment or abuse. Yet, instead of helping, Phil had wasted his talents by first hiding it, denying it once word leaked out, and then fumbling his way into squandering it.

The one thing which didn’t plague him was the doubts he suffered during the trial. As Rajai lectured the court about how he manufactured his own reality, Phil was momentarily unsure—despite the many people who’d confirmed what he confronted every day. Still, his new world was so far afield from what everyone faced, he had trouble accepting it. Facing these thieves, murderers and assorted criminals brought the reality of his situation home.

He heard the whispers of each man’s tormentors degrading them, urging them to commit suicide, hurt others, and that they could never succeed. It was all he could do not to strangle even one of those horrendous creatures. In the face of such hostility, any doubts he had evaporated in the beckoning light of their need—these men who’d shown their victims no mercy.

As the bus pulled away from the courthouse, he never saw the city’s homeless, including many of his friends, protesting the judge’s decision. Nor the heavy police and media presence in the face of overwhelming numbers for such an otherwise unremarkable case. Instead, he glanced through the slats of the barred windows, observing people on the street as they passed. Many of whom had their own creatures assaulting them. In his uncertain hands, he’d allowed a precious gift to slip from his fingers, spoiling the lives of everyone surrounding him.

How many would commit suicide because of him, end up strangling their lovers or hurting their children, either physically or emotionally. He had not only failed them, but their families, relatives and associates. All because he hadn’t known how to process the challenges of his new life, or kept his mouth shut when confronted. Instead he mouthed off, insulting someone who convinced a judge to remove his ability to assist others—literally cutting it from his brain.

Yet, as preoccupied as he was with his failures, he considered alternatives. How he might have overcome his various faults. How, if he had to do it over, he’d approach each situation differently. In the end, he wasn’t sure it was possible. Whether it was due to his own failings, the need to rescue those who never requested it, or the maliciousness of those who couldn’t see what he did. There were too many points of failure to succeed for long. In each scenario, he eventually stumbled somewhere. Every solution led to further complications, ending in the same position he found himself in.

The bus, traveling painfully slowly through the city, finally stopped in front of the hospital—a side trip from its normal route scheduled exclusively for him. As the officers hustled him off, they were met by two security personnel and an intern. After signing for the exchange, the prison guards boarded their vehicle and left him in the care of his new guardians.

They viewed him skeptically, questioning his mental health, and the probability they’d need to subdue him for any perceived infraction. He wanted to protest that wasn’t him, but realized it was pointless. To everyone outside his small sphere of influence—and many inside it—he was nothing more than a witless freak spouting nonsense. It was the mantra of every reasonable person who confronts those who don’t obey societal rules. Yet, the rational world had no place for those who spoke of invisible creatures, whether he helped others or not. Phil challenged everything they knew, arguing for something they couldn’t conceive of. If he persisted on arguing medical facts with people whose careers were steeped in unfathomable details, they’d cart him off to the loony bin each time. For the people committed to acknowledged wisdom, there were no other facts than established medical dogma. Anything else were the ramblings of the hopelessly insane, even if it cured hundreds.

The security personnel escorted him through the hospital, attracting the stare of everyone they passed. Despite taking service elevators—warning doctors and nurses to take another—there were still plenty of people who saw and passed judgment on his mental state. Dressed in restraints, his feet shackled to prevent his escape and his shoelaces stripped to curtail suicide attempts, he shuffled on as everyone stepped aside. They wondered what horrors he’d committed to be brought into a house of healing in chains.

Reaching the neurology wing, he was escorted to a semi-private room shared by someone with a shattered skull. Yet his injury did nothing to hamper his demons, who continued tormenting him.

It was then Phil realized he didn’t require otherworldly creatures to torture him. Instead, he chose to persecute himself. Shaking off his self-doubt, he decided to march to his fate proudly. He’d done no wrong, and refused to tear his confidence apart asking impossible questions about a destiny he couldn’t avoid. He’d performed his best and should be proud of his accomplishments. He hadn’t cured the world, but he’d made a difference in people’s lives, however limited it was. There was nothing to be ashamed of, despite how others viewed his efforts.

Without his cane, he’d stumbled several times. Each time, the guards would stand back, prepared for him to attack as the intern nervously helped him to his feet. He faltered so frequently, his leg ached and he was ready when they lay him on the bed and shackled him to the railing. As the guard observed over him and his roommate, life in the hospital continued as normal. Doctors, nurses, administrators mixed with patients and family, rushing to and fro. Left alone again, Phil considered what life would be like without his many otherworldly foes.

It was a future he didn’t relish—realizing what everyone around him faced—but unable to affect any changes. There was a slim chance his abilities may remain, but he doubted his ability to suddenly see the invisible wasn’t tied to whatever was occurring in his brain. Nor was he convinced he’d survive the surgery. Despite the risks of complications, he doubted he’d last long with such a serious medical condition. Although he remained sure his reality was more real than the one everyone considered rational, he doubted such insights came cheaply. Having one’s brain sliced open was eerily similar to the fate of others like Joan of Arc. They saw and heard things no one else could, using them to achieve fame and widespread praise. Only they were later prosecuted and put to death for their successes. One way or another, he’d pay for his gift. He considered the irony of the situation. While able to observe the ultimate reality behind mental illness, his visions were as much a curse as the schizophrenics he treated. His life was as chaotic as theirs. The ability to see is a burden few would choose, but one the sufferer couldn’t turn his back on. This was his life, whether his visions endured or not.

“Here he is, Mom!”

Phil opened his eyes, diverted from his philosophical wrangling by the sound of Toni’s voice.

“You would not believe how difficult they made it to reach you,” Toni exclaimed, as Jane reached out to hug him.

“Sorry, Ma’am, but you’re not authorized to touch the prisoner,” the guard warned.

She stood and confronted the security guard. “He’s not a prisoner. He’s a wonderful man who’s done nothing but help others. You would be proud to accomplish what he has. He hasn’t hurt anyone, though I seriously question how you can sleep at night!”

“Leave the man be,” Phil said, waving his hand which rattled his handcuff. “He’s doing what he’s been trained to do. He doesn’t mean anything by it.” He nodded towards his roommate with his head wound. “It’s not entirely uncalled for.”

“Still, he should be aware of the need for compassion!”