Chapter 5: A Unique Individual
Tuesday.
"I was an unwanted child."
Martin paused to take a drink from the water glass Dr. Milligan had provided.
"I failed to develop a normal attachment to my parents, resulting in an inability to form adult relationships. I exhibit poor communication skills, I have unrealistic expectations of others, and a blood phobia."
"Yes, I remember from what you've told me about your sessions with Dr. Timoney. You diagnosed yourself with attachment disorder. She agreed and, from what you've previously described about your childhood, so do I. So your cousin is part of that whole family dynamic and is associated with unpleasant memories. But it must still be hard to say those words about yourself - 'unwanted child.'"
"Mm," Martin acknowledged. He took another to take a drink, clearly taking a moment to gather his thoughts, and then went on.
"It's not strictly accurate, that word 'unwanted.' My father wanted a son, as I said. Like most men of his time he wanted someone to follow in his footsteps and to a certain extent I did. He wanted me to study medicine and I was fine with that. Ever since I can remember I was fascinated by his medical books, I would slip into his library and leaf through the photographs and diagrams until I was old enough to read and understand. I went to medical school and was top of my class. I became a surgeon like him. But it was never enough. He was always finding fault. He tried to bully me into joining the Royal Navy, as he had done, but I put my foot down. I had no interest in being in uniform and abiding by military discipline."
Dr. Milligan regarded Martin's uniform-like suit and stiff bearing and thought he seemed a natural fit for the military life. He had seen Martin straighten a slightly askew painting on the wall in the reception room and noticed him just now uncomfortably eyeing a small but untidy pile of pens on his desk. Certainly the man seemed to have a passion for neatness and order. However, Dr. Milligan had also seen and heard enough of Martin to sense that he had an unusual combination of strength and vulnerability. He certainly was a… unique individual, perhaps not truly suited to an externally regimented life.
He smiled and thought of the famous quote from Thoreau: "If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music he hears, however measured or far away." He reached out and collected the pile of pens, dropping them neatly into a cup. He could see Martin visibly relax, well… as relaxed as Martin ever was.
"My mother would sometimes take my side early on, but I think now she only did it to annoy my father," Martin continued. "As an adult I lost touch with them, we had no contact for seven years. They only came to visit me here a few years ago. I thought they wanted to reconcile but my father only wanted money. And Mummy, er my mother, well I've told you in previous sessions she finally disabused me of the notion that she cared about me at all."
"And now Malcolm has intruded on the new life you have created for yourself here."
Martin looked startled for a moment, like he had lost himself in the unpleasant reminiscence. He wiped his palms with his handkerchief.
"Yes, Malcolm, the golden child," he said, with a touch of sarcasm. He frowned. "My mother doted on him. She was always frowning at me and insisting I should try to be more like him. In reality, he always seemed to me ingratiating and phoney."
Dr. Milligan scribbled some quick notes.
"We went to the same boarding school, he was two years ahead of me," Martin said. "Public schools still had the well deserved reputation back then of institutionalized bullying. Teachers bullied the students, older students bullied the younger students. You might have thought having my older cousin there he would look out for me but in truth he seemed to have it in for me worst of all. I was so miserable in my early years there I developed a bed wetting problem, which just made everything worse. For weeks at a time I would spend the nights in the nurse's office. Gradually I matured and was able to overcome the problem. I could stand up for myself and stand up to Malcolm."
More scribbled notes by Dr. Milligan.
"As an adult I never saw him, but early on my mother would keep me updated on his progress. She was oblivious to whether I cared or not, which I didn't. 'Your cousin Malcolm is excelling at Cambridge. He's making a fortune in real estate. He's doing this, doing that. He married some investment banker, then she divorced him, then he married some actress, she divorced him, and so on.' Hadn't heard anything about him for years until he turned up here in Portwenn with this development scheme."
"So you're opposed to his scheme."
"I certainly am."
"Do you think you can evaluate it fairly, on its on merits? I mean, if you're so personally ill disposed toward the man behind it?"
"I suspect Louisa thinks I'm incapable of it. All she sees is a good looking, charming man who appears to be highly successful and persuasive. I suspect that's what a lot of these villagers will see. What I see is a man who is adept at using people and manipulating them for his own selfish purposes. I don't want to see this place get taken in."
"I thought you didn't care for Portwenn."
Martin seemed reluctant to dispute that statement.
Dr. Milligan prodded him. "Can you name three things you like about the place?"
"Well, I met my wife and started a family here," Martin said. He thought a moment. "It offers more medical diagnostic challenges than one would expect in such a small village." He thought some more. "It gave me a chance to reconnect with my paternal aunts, whom I've discussed with you. And there's a lovely view of the harbour from my front terrace."
Dr. Milligan smiled. "That's actually four things."
"Mm. It perhaps has more to offer than I initially thought."
"I think, perhaps, Portwenn has become your refuge from the stresses of city life and a high profile career, and yes from the dysfunctional family dynamics that were behind you developing your haemophobia. Maybe you're simply reluctant to see that disturbed."
"Dr. Timoney attributed my fear of blood to control issues. As I've told you, she said 'from what I have observed Martin, you are clearly someone who likes to be in control at all times. I believe the sight of blood brings about a psychological feeling of loss of control, and it's this feeling that manifests itself in your physical reactions of nausea and vomiting.'"
Dr. Milligan smiled and scribbled some more. Although he had observed Martin to be poor at remembering social details such as names, he seemed to have an extraordinary memory for diagnostic details like this and the therapist had no doubt Martin was recalling Dr. Timoney's words exactly.
"I told her I disagree," Martin continued. "It was when I started to recognize my patients I was operating on as genuine human beings and not just bodies."
"I don't necessarily disagree with either of you," Dr. Milligan said. "But I do think your family background exacerbated your natural tendency to disassociate from the people in your life. As you yourself put it, you failed to develop a normal attachment to your parents. And then there's your initial choice of career. Successful surgeons are often known for their ability to detach from their patients."
Dr. Milligan didn't want to dwell on the negative stereotype of surgeons, that they tended to be arrogant, dominant, and impersonal toward their patients and the registrars and nurses on their team. He could certainly imagine that Martin once fit that stereotype, but it seemed the man had had a spontaneous personal epiphany that ruined his career but set him on a rocky path toward personal growth he might never have experienced otherwise.
"That ability to detach served you well, until suddenly it didn't," was all Dr. Milligan said.
Martin was silent, uneasily shifting in his chair.
"If the thought of a commercial development changing the character of the village distresses you, no matter who is behind the development, you could consider taking steps to prevent it, even organizing with your fellow villagers in the opposition."
"Hm," was Martin's reply.
"Just march to your own drummer and you'll figure out how to deal with this."
To be continued…