Prologue
The first time James Wilson saw a therapist, it was a family dynamics specialist at the university where his father taught. The entire Wilson family gathered in the comfortable office, sitting uncomfortably in a circle, unable to meet each other's eyes. Michael refused to speak at all, and Peter sat wide-eyed and confused, so James tried to co-operate. It didn't work. His mother started to cry five minutes into the session and he was too worried about her to pay attention to the questions the counsellor was asking, so he stammered over his answers and sounded evasive. They kept up the sessions for months, but nothing changed, and then Michael left.
He tried couples counselling for all three of his marriages, sitting uncomfortably in a series of comfortable offices while his every fault and indiscretion were painstakingly dissected. He went to every session, hoping it would be penance enough, but therapy didn't work unless you were willing to change, and eventually all three wives left.
He recommended counselling for his patients on a daily basis, kept a list of excellent therapists in his address book for referrals, and willingly provided a sympathetic ear to any of his employees who needed to unburden. He played amateur shrink to House on what seemed like a daily basis--sometimes welcome, sometimes barely tolerated--but he told himself there was nothing a therapist could tell him about his own screwed-up life that he didn't already know. And then everything changed and he realised he had no one left.