And now, the moment we've all been waiting for…Dr. Maps' evaluation of Fairoaks! :) I bet you've all been dying to know what our good doctor will think of the asylum he referred Cody to. Now, you can find out. Also, as for the conversation between Dr. Maps and Cody, if you're confused by what they're talking about, I suggest you re-read the end of chapter 3 because this is a continuation of that.
Here's some more food for thought (I meant to ask this earlier but I forgot): In the story that Cody tells Dr. Thompson in chapter 13, what do you think the cat represented? If you wish, you can refer back to it. ;)
Disclaimer: I don't own The Suite Life series.
When Dr. Maps walked past the threshold of Dr. Thompson's office doorway, he was hit with a stench that nearly made him gag. He recognized it immediately as body odor. Old sweat. Holding his breath, he stepped inside. He suspected that the smell was from all the patients who had been in the office after going hours without a shower; however, upon seeing Dr. Thompson, he knew exactly where the smell was emanating from—not patients. The plump Dr. Thompson sat hunched over at his desk, scrawling bulleted notes in a steno notebook (which was rather odd, given that he wasn't evaluating anyone right then); beads of sweat cascaded down his temples and his thick neck was shining with the moisture. He didn't even seem to notice Dr. Maps despite telling him to enter the room just a moment ago.
"Dr. Thompson?" Dr. Maps spoke.
Dr. Thompson finally looked up. A hospitable smile formed on his face. "Dr. Henry Maps, I take it?" he asked curtly.
"That is correct," Dr. Maps extended his hand. As Dr. Thompson stood up to take it, Dr. Maps caught sight of a rotund sweat stain in the underarm area of his suit. The two men shook very briefly, and then Dr. Thompson sat back down. He motioned toward the patient seat on the other side of his desk for Dr. Maps who, though feeling a bit awkward, sat down in it. "This is a…" Dr. Maps paused, eyeing the collection of reference books on Dr. Thompson's bookshelf. "…quaint little office, doctor."
Dr. Thompson nodded. "Thank you. I dare say I don't do much in the line of decorating, but I have all my necessities. I suppose that's what matters."
Dr. Maps nodded as well. "Indeed."
A moment of silence befell them, and Dr. Thompson broke it by saying, "I highly doubt you drove all the way over here to discuss office rooms. In the email you sent the other day, you mentioned that you wanted to speak to me about Cody Martin?"
"That I do. I want to know how he's been."
Dr. Thompson said nothing to that, but Instead, asked, "I forget names rather easily, but are you the one who oversaw his surgery and…saved his life?"
Dr. Maps thought before answering. He really didn't know if he was the one who'd saved Cody's life; he was beginning to think there had been something else—an invisible force—that was responsible for the phenomenon. Cody had died on the operating table…at least, by all scientific accounts he had. But then, inexplicably, he'd woken up. Could a doctor take credit for that? To humor Dr. Thompson, though, Dr. Maps said, "the very one."
Dr. Thompson's lower lip quivered, the way a child's does when they're intimidated. "My admiration goes to you, sir," he said, with more contempt in his tone than respect.
Dr. Maps noticed but didn't comment. "Why thank you, doctor," he responded kindly. "I appreciate that. However, I think a lot of that admiration should go to Cody's willpower. That boy has the strongest heart I think I've ever seen."
Dr. Thompson flashed him an unintentional look of skepticism. "He does, does he?"
"Yes. He is a remarkable young man. He and his brother both."
Dr. Thompson said nothing, but it was clear that he did not agree. He couldn't see how anything about a suicidal boy could be referred to as 'remarkable.' He began fidgeting with the inside of his collar, as he often did in stressful situations. That and pacing back and forth—as he did the last time Cody had visited him—were his nervous habits. "Well, I suspect you have a limited time here with your schedule. You came here to talk about Cody? Fire away."
Dr. Maps crossed his legs, making himself comfortable for the conversation that would follow. "Please tell me about his progress here so far," he began. "I was recently told that you hold sessions with him every week. How have they been?"
Dr. Thompson folded his hands on the surface of his desk. "Before I answer that, keep in mind that many new-time patients here have trust issues; we often don't get anywhere with them for a while, and we don't force them to talk to us. We wait for them to feel ready. In this facility, the patients lead. We, as doctors, allow them to do that because we want them to have as much control as possible."
"I understand perfectly, Dr. Thompson. So…Cody hasn't told you anything yet?"
Dr. Thompson sighed. "No. I'm afraid not. Nothing about his emotional problems, anyway."
"But other things?"
"Random things mostly. He makes it a habit to state what he's sees…and what he observes. But he doesn't talk about what bothers him."
"And you've been...waiting for him to talk about that?"
"Naturally. That's my job."
Dr. Maps took that in. Analyzed it. "And supposing he never wants to talk about that? What then?"
Dr. Thompson flashed him a curious, and somewhat critical, look. "What do you mean when you say 'he never wants to talk about it'?"
"Suppose…suppose your waiting is a waste of time. Suppose he never feels comfortable telling you what bothers him. Suppose he would feel more comfortable telling someone else. What would you do about that? I mean, I'm no psychiatrist, but I think it goes without saying that some patients don't ever come to trust their doctors…some patients just need someone else to open up to."
Dr. Thompson's expression morphed into one that said, "Like who? You?" But his actual words were: "If that were the case, the patient's wishes would be our priority. We would see to it that they be transferred to a different doctor."
"And what if the patient refused to confide in a doctor? What if they felt more comfortable talking to someone else—someone who wasn't a professional? Like a friend, or a family member."
Dr. Thompson glanced down at his still-opened notebook before him and slowly closed it. "I don't see how that would be prudent, doctor. Speaking as a man who's worked in the psychiatric department for over a decade, it has been my experience that intimate relationships are often the source of emotional problems. Therefore they should be…"
"Avoided?"
"Well…no, but…held at arm's length, so to speak. Until they're healthy enough to be resumed."
"When do you assess that they're healthy enough?"
"That depends."
"On what?"
Dr. Thompson, clearly getting annoyed, decided not to answer that question. "I'm sorry," he said disdainfully, "but what exactly are you looking for by this interrogation? Are you trying to vilify me?"
"Of course not!" Dr. Maps replied immediately. "I just feel that it is my responsibility, as the one who referred Cody to this place, to see…how this place is helping him."
"I'm Cody's doctor too, sir, and I can honestly say that I am doing everything within my power to ensure his well-being, both physically and mentally."
"I know full well who you are, doctor, so the first part of your sentence was completely unnecessary. And I do not doubt, in the slightest, that you are credible in your field. But I think I should tell you, I do not take anything at face value. As a scientist, I dig deeper than what I see. I'm sure you understand that, as a fellow scientist."
Dr. Thompson's eyes were glaring daggers at Dr. Maps, but all he said was, "I do understand. I understand that with perfect clarity."
Dr. Maps continued, "So I ask again, what classifies a relationship as being healthy enough to be resumed?"
"Many factors—the patient's age, their mental status, their ability to deal with problems in a sensible way, their comprehensive capacity…things of that nature. In short, if they show they can live and function in society, they will be granted the freedom to do so."
"And if not?"
"If not, then they will be kept here."
"And I take it you have patients here like that… patients who'll be kept here for the rest of their lives."
It wasn't a question, but Dr. Thompson nevertheless said, "We do."
Dr. Maps sighed, not sure how he felt about that. He decided, however, not to dwell on it. "Apart from that, tell me a little about the facility itself. I've heard some things, but not much. What is a typical day like here at Fairoaks?"
"Well, breakfast is at nine; then it's shower time; then room time for a while, and then they get to go outside—that is, unless the weather is bad. After that, they go back to their rooms, and then they have lunch. In the afternoon, they're taken to the entertainment room; they have dinner at six; and then they go back to their rooms, and it's lights out at nine p.m. They're given six restroom breaks per day and they each have a therapy session with their doctor once a week—early in the week for newcomers, later in the week for those who've been here a while. Lifers typically have their meetings on Fridays or Saturdays."
"Ah-huh. It's good that they have some variety. Please tell me, how many different patients do you meet with during the week?"
"Five. One for every day. Since Cody is the newest of the batch, his meeting is on Monday. He's the first one I see."
"Do any of your patients give you trouble?"
"How is that relevant to Cody?"
"Stress effects attitude, doctor. And attitude effects…well, in this case, everything. Stress plays a significant role in how you conduct yourself, and your patients respond to that."
"Obviously." Dr. Thompson's fingers were instantly at his collar, fiddling with it. "Patient difficulties tend to be minor. That is—and I must be brutally honest with you—except when it comes to Cody. He is quite possibly the most colorful patient I've been ever been assigned to. But he sure is a defiant one."
"Why do you say that?"
"He…" Dr. Thompson paused and thought of the best way to phrase what he wanted to say. "He speaks to me in such a way that I feel as though he's challenging me."
"Challenging you? How?" Dr. Maps did not find that unlikely. Bits and pieces of his and Cody's conversation in the hospital recovery room sped through his memory, and he could not deny that Cody had acted quite defiantly to him. Then, however, he had just failed at an intentional suicide.
"He…he's…" Dr. Thompson seemed to struggle for the right word to use.
"Yes?" Dr. Maps urged, wondering how well this doctor even knew Cody if he had no idea how to describe him.
"Insolent."
Dr. Maps stared at Dr. Thompson for a long minute after that word left his mouth. He'd never thought of Cody as insolent. Angry, yes. Confused, sure. Misguided, absolutely. But not insolent. Insolence seemed, as far as he was concerned, to have nothing to do with Cody. Insolence was a derogatory word—a word used to discredit or humiliate someone for not following standards. Granted, suicide was nowhere near a standard; but nevertheless, Dr. Maps felt that "insolent" was not an appropriate word to depict Cody. "Why is he insolent?" he finally asked.
"He rejects any amount of therapy, regardless of how much he needs it. And the funny thing is, I think he knows he needs it; he just has something against me…a vendetta, if you will. The way he speaks to me—I always feel like he's trying to cause a dispute between us."
"I hardly think that qualifies him as insolent."
"Call it what you will. He can be quite insufferable."
Dr. Maps rolled his tongue over his bottom lip, unsatisfied. Feeling the need for more details. "Just how does he reject therapy, doctor?" he wanted to know. "Could you explain that a bit more?"
"For example," Dr. Thompson offered, "just the other day, he told me he wanted to talk—"
"Oh, he did?"
"Yes, but he didn't tell me anything of value. He told me this morbid story that didn't have much of a point." Actually, the story did have a point and Dr. Thompson was fully aware of that. He merely did not want to discuss it.
"What was the story about, if you don't mind my asking?"
Dr. Thompson shook his head. "Just some little story he heard in the second grade about a bird that nearly freezes to death, but ends up getting eaten by a cat. That's all. A total waste of time."
Dr. Maps found this rather intriguing. "Did he tell you the significance of the story?"
"He said it was a representation of what's been going on in his life. Utter nonsense!"
"How is that nonsense?"
"How could a childish story—which wasn't even all that childish—represent the vastness and complexity of what he's going through?"
Well, I don't know, Dr. Maps inwardly answered, but I still believe it's possible. "Would you…maybe…tell me the story?"
"I'd really rather not repeat it, if it's all the same to you."
Dr. Maps exhaled, disappointed, and glanced down at his lap. Deftly—as his mind contemplated where to take the conversation—he straightened his crinkled pants. "Well, what else has he said?"
"Like I told you, he basically just states what he sees."
"Such as?"
"In our last session, he made note of a wasp that was buzzing in my office…made it sound like he was bringing it to my attention…when I already knew it was there. And I could tell that he knew I knew."
A wasp? "Did you once think that he might be afraid of wasps? Or allergic to them?"
This was a lie: "No. Cody never mentioned any allergies to wasps." Cody, in fact, had…and Dr. Thompson remembered it clearly. He just had no intention of admitting such a detail to a fellow doctor. Whether or not that doctor was associated with Fairoaks. Healthcare providers, be their field mental or physical, had the responsibility to ensure the safety of their patients. If they saw something that could harm a patient in any way—even something as small as a bee—they were required to take care of it. Since Cody had said that he was allergic to wasp stings, Dr. Thompson should have killed the wasp, or at least gotten it out of his office and away from Cody. Owning up to the truth that he hadn't could have resulted in his being reported and written up. The reason he had done nothing was merely because he had been busy writing notes in his notebook. A horrible excuse—not valid at all. But the truth.
"Then I suppose it makes no difference," Dr. Maps articulated. "But you mentioned that he has a 'vendetta' against you…or at least you think he does. What made you come to that assessment? How does making simple observations mean you have a vendetta? His noticing a wasp gave you the impression that he's out to get you?"
"It's not only that!" Dr. Thompson hastened to add, thoroughly affronted by the condescending tone in which he had been spoken to. "It's…it's not what he says that bothers me; it's how he says it."
"Please elaborate."
"It's…" Dr. Thompson gave into his over-boiling aggravation. "It's the look in his eyes!" he spat. "And the tone of his voice, and the way he smiles crookedly! I swear, this kid hates me! I keep racking my brain, trying to figure out why, but I never do! I regret to say this, but I think he's a lost cause, Dr. Maps."
Dr. Maps suddenly felt an impending desire to reach over the desk and pummel Dr. Thompson. How dare he call my miracle patient a lost cause! He mentally screamed. Cody's no lost cause, and if this idiot had half the sense of a good doctor—or a person, for that matter—he'd be able to see that! "Well, thank you, Dr. Thompson, for the information," he said, striving to sound indifferent but failing miserably. "Now I would very much like to see Cody, so if you could take me to his room…"
"With all due respect, I'd advise against that."
"May I ask why?"
"He recently saw his family in the visiting room…"
"Yes, I caught them as they were leaving. I said hi to his brother and ex-girlfriend."
"Yes, well, he's just been taken back to his room, and visiting time is almost over." Dr. Thompson's lips upturned in a slight smile—a bragging smile that was meant to belittle Dr. Maps. "You should come back at another time. Besides, after seeing people who are close to him, one can only imagine what emotional state he's in. And seeing you might magnify those feelings. You did ruin his attempted suicide, after all. I wouldn't be surprised if there was still some resentment."
"I promise not to spend too much time with him," Dr. Maps insisted. "But as his medical doctor, I must examine him. That is, in fact, another reason why I came."
Dr. Thompson's sneer disappeared. "You never said anything about that in your email."
"I told you a week ago that I would make trips here once in a while to check up on him. I need to make sure he is in good condition. It's my job to do so." He bent over and picked up a black binder that he had brought with him and had situated against the front right leg of his chair. He opened it up to a chart and a list of personal questions. "I brought official documents with me, see? It's standard protocol to have him fill these out every once in a while so the hospital has records of his progress. It's just to make sure that everything with his heart is good. I'm sure you can understand that. So I must see Cody, Dr. Thompson. And if you would be so kind as to bring me in contact with him, I would be very grateful."
Dr. Thompson's lower lip protruded outward in indignation. He knew he was defeated. He already had a great deal of contempt for this Dr. Maps fellow, and certainly did not want him coming in contact with Cody at all (mostly for fear of what they might talk about), but refusing to allow it would lead to a write-up for sure. Perhaps even a suspension. Thus, he leaned over towards his phone, picked up the receiver, punched in an extension, and then ordered for Cody Martin to be brought back to the visiting room.
…
Cody was taken aback when Jenny Kroft reopened the door to his and George's room and told him that he had another visitor. He thought, first Bailey and now someone else? Dang! People must really want to see me today.
Even George was somewhat stunned. "More visitors?" he mused. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Cody…you're pretty popular today, aren't ya?" He winked teasingly.
On the way back to the visiting room, Cody thought about who his visitor was. It's probably Zack, he reasoned. He's come back to speak to me in private. I knew he wanted to. While he was talking in front of our parents, and in front of Bailey, I knew that what he really wanted was to talk to me alone. Brother to brother. The thought of that made his spirits uplift. For the first time in days. Cody wanted it to be Zack—wanted it with a sudden passion that arose out of nowhere and took hold of him, causing him to pray that he was right. He didn't know for sure. There was no way to know for sure until he saw the person. But he could hope, all the same. He could keep hoping until he was in the room and whoever it really was stood directly in front of him.
When Cody was led into the visiting room for the second time, his visitor was there before he was. Cody felt his spirits sink back down and get replaced with curiosity—if not a little bit of resentment—as he saw that it was not Zack at all. It was Dr. Maps.
"Hi Cody," he said. "Do you remember me?"
Cody remembered him perfectly well. He was the man who had, supposedly, saved him. The man who had performed a not-so-successful surgery on his fragile chest to save his life. Cody recognized him. The auburn hair streaked with gray, the same lined face…the same compassionate eyes. Cody was able to trace it all back to that day in the recovery room. It had existed, consistently, in the rear of his mind ever since then. Only this time, he wasn't lying weak in a bed. "Yeah," he said. "You're Dr. Maps."
Dr. Maps nodded and gave him a strained smile. He had to smile at Cody—still alive, after shooting himself in the chest. His miracle patient. But at the same time, he wanted to cry. A burst of pain jerked within him at seeing Cody so wan and feeble.
"What are you doing here?" Cody wanted to know.
"I came to see how you've been doing." Dr. Maps lifted up his binder, which had been sitting on the mahogany table. "And to have you fill out some documents."
"Documents on what?"
"Your surgery."
Dr. Maps took a seat in one of the chairs and motioned for Cody to sit next to him. Cody didn't particularly want to, but he figured refusing to do so would seem rude; so he pulled back the chair situated right beside Dr. Maps' and sat down in it.
Dr. Maps slid the now-opened binder over to him. "It's just some basic questions and a small chart to fill out. That's all. And while you're doing that, we can talk."
"About what?" Cody asked.
"About anything you want."
Cody looked down at the first question on the list: "Have you experienced any chronic or acute pain in your chest area since the surgery?" Yeah, Cody thought, all the time. But, of course, the emotional level didn't count for this record. So in the blank space following the question, he wrote in a no.
As he wrote and read the items on the paper one by one, he began to speak to Dr. Maps. "Did you come here because you wanted you? Or did you absolutely have to?"
Dr. Maps paused, wondering whether he should tell Cody the truth. He hadn't been expecting that inquiry, and sure as hell had not decided what to say.
As it turned out, he didn't have to say anything. His silence gave it away.
"Zack sent you, didn't he?"
Thinking it best not to argue (knowing that it would be pointless if he did), Dr. Maps answered with a simple, "Yeah."
The corner of Cody's lip curled upward in amusement. "Of course he did."
"He's worried about you," Dr. Maps explained. "He…er…he thinks I made a mistake in sending you here."
The amusement vanished from Cody's face. "You mean all of you made a mistake," he corrected.
"I beg your pardon?"
"My family could have done something to stop you. They could have at least vouched for me by telling you I wasn't crazy. But they didn't. I think they should share some of the blame."
Without realizing what he was doing, Dr. Maps placed his hand on the tip of Cody's shoulder. "Your being sent here was my choice, Cody. It was my call. And I take full responsibility for that."
Cody turned his head for a moment and gazed at Dr. Maps, staring through his eyes and into—what could only have been—his soul. It was tired, and worried, and filled with empathy, but at the same time angry. Angry at himself. Cody knew, with every bone in his body, that Dr. Maps would never forgive himself for his decision, had it been a wrong one. "Well," he said, a tad more gently, "if it's any consolation, I'm sure you did what you thought was best. That says a lot."
Cody had mixed feelings about ending up in Fairoaks. He hated the place itself, but there had been some good that had come out of it; he was grateful for the people he got to meet—people like Doris, and Jenny, and George. George most of all. He was fully aware of how much he would miss these people if he were to leave Fairoaks…which he had every intention of doing.
"I did do what I thought was best," Dr. Maps consented. "But I'm beginning to think your brother may be right."
"What made you change your mind?" Cody wanted to know.
"I spoke to your psychiatrist."
Oh, that's what. "Dr. Thompson? When?"
"Just a few minutes ago."
"How'd it go?"
"It was an…interesting experience. Nothing like what I expected."
Really? When I met Dr. Thompson, he was exactly what I expected—a manipulative bastard. "What did you expect?"
"In one word, intelligence."
Dr. Maps and Cody looked at each other in mute understanding and agreement, and then—at the precise same moment—both of them burst out laughing.
Cody felt he shouldn't have laughed. It wasn't funny in the least. But he couldn't help it.
Dr. Maps finished laughing before he did. "However, he told me that you've been giving him trouble."
Cody didn't even think twice before replying: "I could say the same of him."
And then they both laughed again.
"I'm inclined to believe you," said Dr. Maps humorously.
"You are?" asked Cody. "Was your talk with him that bad?"
"It's not that the talk was bad, per se. But the fact of the matter is he's not a very proficient doctor. I know it's not wise to judge based on first appearances but, being a professional doctor myself, I believe I know a quack when I see one."
Cody let out another chuckle. Mostly at Dr. Maps' use of the word 'quack' to describe Dr. Thompson. "I bet you do," he said under his breath.
Dr. Maps had heard him. He smiled shrewdly and then pointed his finger at the unfinished document that Cody had just been ignoring. Cody turned back to it and began writing again. "Has your opinion of me changed?" he asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Last time you saw me, you said I was disrupted…mentally disrupted. Look at me now, doctor. Do I still look that way to you?"
Dr. Maps sighed heavily. He'd been afraid that Cody was going to bring this up. He didn't blame him for wanting an explanation. But, nevertheless, he did not wish to talk about their last, and much more hostile, encounter. He was fully aware that he had to give some sort of answer though. Cody deserved that much, and for all he knew, this was his only chance to do so. "Perhaps disrupted was the wrong word," he confessed. "Then again, you did try to kill yourself. What else could I have said? Crazy? You broke the hearts of everyone who loved you. What word do you use to describe that?"
Cody said nothing to that, feeling he didn't have the right to. Instead, he switched subjects. "Zack's…changed."
"I imagine he has."
"He and I can't have a conversation without arguing…or without him getting excessively emotional."
Dr. Maps attacked that with the best explanation he could—reverse psychology. "Well, put yourself in his position, Cody," he instructed seriously. "How would you feel if you found him dying on the floor of your room… right after shooting himself with your gun?"
Almost instantly, Cody felt like he was going to vomit. He couldn't even picture such a thing. Trying to picture it induced a spasm of pain erupting in his already-delicate chest. "I would be scared," he said in a cracking voice. "Oh God, I would be so devastated."
Dr. Maps shot him an I-rest-my-case sort of look and Cody, despite wanting to shrink away and duck guiltily under the table, figured he needed to compliment it with his own side if the situation. "But when you're depressed," he muttered, "you don't think about that. You just think about your pain and how much you want to end it. That's all you care about…at least for the time being."
"That may be," Dr. Maps agreed. "But that simply makes it a bigger problem. I'm no psychiatrist, but I know a little about depression. It makes selfish people of us all."
"So I'm selfish," Cody deduced.
Dr. Maps nodded. He had to agree with that much. "I would say you were, doing something like that."
"You know, selfish and crazy are two different things."
Dr. Maps had to agree with that too. "They are."
They were both silent for a while and Cody finished filling out the document. When he was done, he passed the binder back to Dr. Maps and decided to speak a little more.
Dr. Maps said he needed to get back to the hospital, but Cody was curious about something and felt a relentless urge to ask him one more question.
"Dr. Maps?" he said as the doctor stood up and closed the binder.
"Yes?"
"You said you knew a little bit about depression. May I ask how?"
Dr. Maps stared at him unblinkingly. For a long moment. He eventually looked down at his watch and saw that only thirty seconds had slipped by after Cody's question, though it seemed as though two full minutes did. Finally, he told Cody the truth—something he never told anyone. "I lost someone once. Someone I loved."
Cody knew he shouldn't pry, but he couldn't help himself. "Who?"
Dr. Maps let out an unsteady, nervous breath, and swallowed. "My little brother," he said. "He was born epileptic and died in a car accident when he and I were in our twenties. He had a seizure when he was driving on an interstate, and his car swerved to the other side of the road right when a semi was passing. The police said he died instantly, but…no one was ever sure."
"I'm sorry," Cody said gently.
"Ironically," Dr. Maps added, "he's the reason I became a doctor."
Then he left and Cody waited for Jenny to come and take him back to his room. As he waited, he wondered whether Dr. Maps had told Zack about his brother.