The Harem (23 page)

I dreamed about him last night. I was walking down the hallway of the clinic. Everyone was asleep. I paused at the open doorway of Jeremy’s room and looked in for a long time, watching him sleep. Suddenly, as if he was wide awake the whole time, he turned over in bed and sat up. In a warm and friendly manner, Jeremy smiled and invited me to enter his room by patting the space beside him. Though I wanted to go in, I didn’t move a muscle. Then I heard a pair of footsteps coming down the hallway, approaching me. It was the Head Nurse, Butch McAdams, who had showed me around the facilities yesterday. While giving me the tour, I had noticed him glancing down at my breasts once or twice. Nurse McAdams stopped when he saw me and then looked into the room. Jeremy appeared to be fast asleep in his bed. Strange…

11/13/12

I stayed up until the early morning hours to finish reading The Harem. From a personal standpoint, I have to admit, I enjoyed it. It reminded me of the books of Anais Nin I had read in high school. Though I’m ashamed to say it, I found the novel rather sexy.

On a professional level, it needs further study. If Jeremy’s story was more truth than fiction, I was intrigued by how he created the sexual fantasy of a Harem in his home to help him recover from the psychological shock of his wife’s infidelity and the subsequent breakup of his marriage. By writing the story, he turned the pain of his wife’s betrayal into a kind of therapy for himself. He created this uber-masculine alter ego to conquer his anxiety about being able to sexually fulfill women. In his fantasy life, he became the Dominant, Master J that the three submissive women swooned over. What he couldn’t seem to do in real life, he did in fiction. It was fascinating.

One particular line near the beginning struck me as psychologically interesting, “Around this time, a traumatic event in my life occurred, which I don’t wish to discuss in this journal, now or in the future.”

I assume the trauma event he was referring to was the death of his father, which he depicted in the story. What did he mean by this? Was there a relation between the death of his father and the infidelity of his wife?

I can see why Jeremy didn’t want to show the actual novel to Dr. Billingsley. Depicted as a zombie-like butler in the story, he may very well be offended by it, though it was Alfred Billingsley who nursed Master Jeremy back to health in the story.

And it was strange seeing my name in the pages of an erotic romance! After meeting me just once, he wrote me into his story, rescuing my character from the corrupt obsessed cop, Officer Butch McAdams. Had he noticed Nurse McAdams standing a little too close to me yesterday? Jeremy must’ve picked up on his unwanted advances toward me.

In the book, Jeremy tried to cure himself of his personal traumas, as well as help the three female patients in his therapy group with their even more serious and complex problems. I was slightly concerned about the sexual encounters depicted between the literary version of Jeremy and Sara/Sapphire, Cynthia/Carolyn and Eloise/Eve; I was fairly convinced there was no actual sexual contact between Jeremy and the three women at the clinic. I decided to go early to Potomac Fields anyway and talk to Jeremy if he was awake just to make sure. Then I planned on meeting with Dr. Billingsley in his office at 7:30 to give him an update before we do rounds.

On the drive over to the clinic, I kept thinking about our discussion at the end of our session yesterday. While I tried to create boundaries between us as Doctor and patient, Jeremy somehow was able to expose my most secret issue: my fear of intimacy with men.

“Would you say that it’s possible that the doctor could be hiding behind this general AMA ruling to avoid developing a meaningful relationship with the former patient, due to her own fear of intimacy?”

It was the only time in an interview when a patient used my reasoning against me. I think Jeremy was right. If after a period of time passed, it would not be seen as inappropriate for a doctor to associate with a former patient. However I would be on the West Coast in LA starting my Fellowship Year in six months, so the question of a future between us was not at issue. The one thing I could do was help him now as a physician and get him released from Potomac Fields, if possible, during my two week rotation there.

When I arrived at the clinic, I stopped in to check with the overnight nurse to familiarize myself with the new admissions that had come in overnight and review the charts of the admitted patients. Afterwards, I walked through the quiet corridors toward Jeremy’s room. All the patients were still asleep, except for one, of course. I paused briefly, peeking in and saw Jeremy lying in bed, his closed laptop on the table beside him, his eyes shut. Before I could turn to leave, he opened the slits of his eyes and sat up, excitedly. Had he been in the midst of composing yet another of his kinky erotic scenes when he heard footsteps, closed his laptop and pretended to be asleep?

Just as in my dream, Jeremy gestured for me to join him in his room.

“Good morning, Dr. Bichon!”

“Shhh… Sheremy, all the patients are still asleep.”

“Oh yes, sorry. Why don’t you shut the door? We could have some privacy.”

“I’m doing pre-rounds. I only have a moment. Why aren’t you asleep? I could prescribe you a sleeping aid to help you rest.”

“No thanks. I usually get my ideas in the middle of the night and I don’t want to be knocked out when I’m inspired to write. How did you sleep last night, Dr. Bichon?”

“I slept well, thank you.”

“Did you get a chance to do a little light reading last night? Perhaps an erotic romance novel?” Jeremy asked.

“I did.”

“And what did you think of the story,” Jeremy asked with a slight trepidation in his voice.

I smiled.

“If you ever want to be discharged from Potomac Fields, I wouldn’t talk about yourself in the third person, Sheremy.”

“Good advice, Doctor. So, the novel?”

“I found it… illuminating. I do think I understand you much better now that I’ve read it and may be able to better assist you here. I found it interesting how you worked through the sadness of your father’s passing in your story. We can discuss all this further in our next session, but I have a few questions. They may be uncomfortable and painful for you to answer, but I have to ask them. And I need you to be completely honest in your response. Can you do that?”

“I can.”

“I realize ‘The Harem’ is a work of fiction, but did some of the events occur in real life as they did in your novel?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“A month ago, when you had your nervous breakdown, your family and friends were gathered at your house to comfort each other after your father’s funeral. Was your wife with you that day, Jeremy?”

“No.”

“Forgive me for being so blunt, but at the beginning of your novel you walk in on your wife engaging in sexual intercourse with another man. Did this actually happen? In reality?”

Jeremy looked away, staring at a point on the opposite wall.

“Sheremy?”

He nodded.

“I see. That must have been quite painful. I’m so sorry she betrayed you. Tell me Sheremy. Is there a connection between your father’s death and your wife’s infidelity? If I may ask, exactly when did the infidelity take place? Do you remember, Sheremy? When did you discover your wife having sex with that actor?”

“When?”

“Yes. When was it? Was it… close in proximity to the time when your father passed away? Sheremy?”

He nodded again.

“Did you discover your wife’s infidelity… on the same evening your father died? Is that when it happened? Sheremy?”

Jeremy took a breath and closed his eyes to compose himself.

“Yes…”

“I see. That explains a lot, Sheremy. It must have been devastating for you.”

“It wasn’t one of my better days.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you… Now I must ask one more question now. Sheremy… have you had any sexual contact in the ward with Carolyn, Eloise, Sara or any of the other patients or staff at Potomac Fields?”

“No… Absolutely not. I have had no physical contact with anyone at this hospital in the four weeks I’ve been here. You’re the first person I’ve spoken to Dr. Bichon. I hear McAdams coming. I recognize his footsteps.”

I looked over my shoulder and Nurse McAdams was indeed on his way down the corridor at a quickening pace. Seeing the door ajar, McAdams entered briskly. Jeremy pretended to be asleep.

“Dr. Bichon, is everything alright in here?”

“Yes, yes, it’s fine.”

“What are you doing in here?” Nurse McAdams had the effrontery to ask.

I know I should’ve taken the nurse out into the hallway and discussed the issue privately, but part of me wanted to do it in front of Jeremy. Why? It was unprofessional. Did I want to convey to Jeremy that McAdams had no chance with me, that I was not like his wife, ready to have sex with anyone who was attracted to me? Was I trying to subtly indicate to Jeremy that, unlike his wife, I would be faithful and he could trust me? McAdams thought Jeremy was asleep, so I just said what I had to say.

“Nurse McAdams, I know I’m just a visiting resident from Georgetown, rounding here at Potomac Fields, but Dr. Billingsley has put me in charge of four patients in his absence and you have no business questioning me, especially in front of one of them. If you wish to discuss the treatment plan, I can organize a meeting with Dr. Billingsley, but over the next month while I’m here, never again challenge me in front of a patient, or a complaint will be written up in your file.”

Nurse McAdams cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, Dr. Bichon, I didn’t mean to—”

“Secondly, I know I am a woman in a male dominated field, and because of this I expect not to be treated equally or given the same respect as a male physician, but it was highly unprofessional of you, again, in front of a patient, to ask me out on a date. This isn’t a singles club Nurse; it’s your place of employment. Stay focused on your job. Again, I don’t wish to get you in trouble, so I will overlook your attempt to “take me sightseeing”. I don’t mean to appear rude, but here is your business card back.”

I handed him his card back.

“So let’s just put this little matter behind us, shall we? Please return to the Nurse’s Station so the overnight staff can update you on the new admissions. Thank you.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Butch left, tail between his legs, and I looked over at Jeremy, who had watched the scene play out though hooded eyelids.

“So I guess this means you won’t be going on that hike with him this weekend?” Jeremy said.

“No, I need to prepare for rounds. I’ll be meeting with Dr. Billingsley in thirty minutes. I’ll have a nurse come for you when I can arrange some time for the Doctor to speak with you.”

“Great. Thank you, Dr. Bichon.”

“Also, here is the material on the Seven Stages of Grief I printed out for you.”

“Thank you very much, Dr. Bichon. I’ll be sure to study it closely.”

When I handed him the papers and felt his fingers brush mine, I looked into his eyes, smiled and left the room.

Thirty minutes later I was in Dr. Billingsley’s office, updating him on the breakthrough in Jeremy’s case. At first, he couldn’t believe it. He asked the other physicians on duty to do the rounds without him this morning and present the cases to him afterwards, so he could see first-hand the progress I made with Jeremy. I informed Dr. Billingsley of the specific guilt issues surrounding his father’s death and how the infidelity of his wife played a major part in this case. I finished by telling Dr. Billingsley that novel which everyone at the clinic thought was a fabrication actually existed! It was stored on a memory stick which he carried around with him in his clenched fist. Jeremy allowed me to read it last night, I told him. That was how I discovered the connection between the death of the father and the infidelity of the wife. Dr. Billingsley shook his head and smiled.

“Ahh. The key to this case was right in front of us and no one saw it, except for you, Dr. Bichon,” Dr. Billingsley said.

“After evaluating this patient, it is my opinion that he suffers nothing more than a mild depression and he should be discharged immediately,” I said.

“I will call a short meeting of the physicians involved in this case and you may present your findings to them, Doctor Bichon,” the Chief of Staff said.

Dr. Billingsley summoned a nurse to bring Jeremy directly to his office. We waited together, standing beside his desk, discussing the other cases briefly and chatting. Dr. Billingsley asked what I was doing after my rotation at Potomac Fields was over and I told him I was flying out to see my parents in Nice for the last two weeks of December for Christmas vacation. He also asked if I was doing a fellowship and I was proud to tell him I had been accepted at UCLA for a Clinical Fellowship in Addiction Psychiatry, starting next July. Dr. Billingsley stroked his chin, raised his eyebrows and nodded, clearly impressed.

A moment later, Jeremy swept in, with an exaggerated verve and vigor, speaking with a French accent, all for my amusement, no doubt.

“Dr. Billingsley, Dr. Bichon! Bonjour, Mademoiselle! Bonjour, Monsieur! Not only did Dr. Bichon cure me while you were gone, Dr. Billingsley, she taught me a few words of French!”

Jeremy took Dr. Billingsley’s hand and shook it with gusto, smiling at us in a warm charming fashion. Dr. Billingsley sat back down at his desk, astonished.

“Well, it is good to see you talking, Jeremy,” Dr. Billingsley said, leaning back in his chair and smiling.

“So how was your conference, Dr. Billingsley? We missed you here,” I said.

“It was fine, Jeremy,” Dr. Billingsley said.

“You left me in very good hands with Dr. Bichon. She put me at ease right away. Really, it was due to her that I was able to open up. She’s an exceptionally skilled therapist and is helping guide me through the seven stages of grief over my father’s death. I’m facing my issues head on now, Dr. Billingsley, rather than retreating from them in silence.”

“That’s good. Very good, Jeremy. I’m so happy to hear that.”

“I wanted to thank you, Dr. Billingsley, for all the work you did with me over the last month. I was so unresponsive with you, but you never gave up on me. Even though I seemed like I was in another world, I was listening to what you said to me, as well as the other patients in group, and I did benefit from it. I want to thank you in words, but also in deeds. If you don’t mind allowing me to give my mother a quick call, I wanted to get her approval on a six figure family contribution to support the work of Potomac Fields. I’ve noticed several sections and rooms of the hospital are named after various benefactors. If there are naming opportunities available, I’d like to have a room or section named in memory of my father.”