Two hours later I was working at my computer, and Robert Goren was sound asleep in my office. We had talked a few minutes about sleep. It was clear to me that his lack of sleep was interfering with his focus. I had a feeling lack of sleep was also a factor in his lack of judgment and his apparent erratic behavior. I felt we were not going to get very far until he got a little more rest.
I decided to introduce some strategies to help him get some sleep, so I asked him to lie down in the ergonomically designed relaxation chair in my office. He looked at me skeptically, but he did as I asked. It really was a spectacularly comfortable chair. Within 20 minutes, he was sound asleep.
I had not meant for him to actually fall asleep. I had simply intended to walk him through some things. When I realized he had fallen asleep I decided to leave it be. I did not have another patient for three hours, and I had plenty of work I needed to attend to at my desk, so I left well enough alone.
I could see him stir, first by lifting his hand to his head, then by moving his legs. I remained sitting, finishing up what I was working on. He moved slowly to sitting, running his hands through his hair. He looked even more disheveled than he had when he walked in, but when he looked at me; I could see that his mind felt a bit clearer. I watched him start a bit as he glanced at his watch. It occurred to me that he probably thought he had nodded off for a few minutes, and was surprised to see he had been asleep so long.
I stood, smoothed my skirt, checked my shirt, and ran my hands across my hair.
"You, uh, you probably do that every time you stand up from your desk." He waved his hand in my direction.
"Probably." I said, I knew that he knew he was right.
"That sleep stuff, you were talking me through, I guess that works pretty well." He smiled.
I walked around from behind my desk. He stood up from the chair; again I realized just how big he was as he towered over me.
"Same time tomorrow." I said. For new patients, sometimes I saw them each day for three days, and then I made a recommendation about how to proceed. He knew this, so it was not news to him that I would see him the same time tomorrow.
"Mr. Goren." I stopped him as he started to walk across the office.
"Bobby." He replied, inviting me to call him by the diminutive of his first name.
"Bobby." I said. "Tonight I need you to sleep. And, I need you to eat right."
He looked at me; again I realized that he was finding my approach a bit unorthodox. But, sometimes people needed to take care of basic things before they could address the larger things. He nodded, and I watched him go.
XxXxXxXxX
The next day when he came into my office, even though he had not shaved, and his hair was a bit rumpled, he looked better. I thought that maybe he had managed to do as I suggested.
"So? How did it go?" I asked, jumping right in as I followed him across my office. "How much sleep did you manage last night?"
"6 hours." He said, as he sat down in the middle of the couch. He picked up one of the large chenille throw pillows, running his hand across the soft fabric.
"6 hours." I repeated, sitting down as well. He nodded.
"To eat?" I asked.
"For breakfast, a bagel, some coffee. For lunch, some soup and a sandwich." He replied, still running his hand across the soft fabric.
"Well, maybe two bagels." He allowed. I knew this was not a typical eating pattern for him. I could tell he probably did not pay much attention to what he had to eat in a day. But, I also knew that since I asked him to eat right, he probably would try.
"Sounds good." I nodded, "what kinds of dinners did you have to eat growing up?" I asked, shifting the conversation a bit. I could tell he could see what I was doing, for a moment he stopped running his hand across the soft fabric of the throw pillow.
"I don't know." He said. And, I knew that he was not really making that up, or dodging the question. He looked at me for a while, and I waited, watching him. Then he flipped the pillow over, to touch the other side, and he started talking. I started piecing together bits of his family composition, mom, dad, and an older brother. Mom was sick, dad was not around much, and then not around at all, big brother was the apple of everyone's eyes, Bobby was lost. We stayed talking about family for about 20 minutes. It was enough for me to begin to understand potential correlates for certain aspects of his behavior.
"I remember, one time, my mother, she made a turkey and it wasn't even Thanksgiving." Bobby kind of looked around the office as he talked, his eyes kind of staying on the cold exterior window.
"Frank and I, we got home from school, I think it was warm outside, like spring time. The table was all set, the kitchen was full of food." He continued to stare toward the window.
"It was nice." He shrugged. I waited, feeling that there was more.
"She cleaned up by throwing everything away. Pots, dishes, pans, everything." He looked at me for a moment.
"The next day, I stayed home from school, saved what wasn't broken from the trash." He offered. Again, I waiting, feeling that there was more.
"School didn't miss me. Mom didn't miss me. Frank, he didn't miss me. Dad wasn't around." He returned his gaze to the window. And, there it was. I knew that he knew the memory wasn't about Thanksgiving in the spring, it wasn't that his mom had thrown away the pots and pans, it was the first time that he clearly realized that no one really kept track of him, that he felt he could disappear and he would not be missed. I thought that that was enough about family for one day. So, I changed the subject.
"Tell me, what was it like to be on Sodium Pentothal?" He paused from fiddling with the pillow. He knew that I had reviewed his recent experiences in the mental observation unit, so I knew it was my question that surprised him, not my knowledge of the event.
"Heavy." He said. "Well, light." He changed his mind. I looked at him, I really had no idea what it actually felt like to be on the drug.
"My body was heavy. My brain was light." He elaborated.
"How did you do?" I asked.
"What do you mean?" He replied.
"You were there under a false identity. Do, you remember, were you able to maintain that under the influence of the drug?" I asked. He knew that I realized that in as much as Sodium Pentothal inhibited higher cortical functioning, it really did not make someone tell the truth. Certain people would be able to maintain their cover under such drugs.
"I'm not sure." He said. "I'm not sure I remember." He thought about it. "I think I mixed it together, I think that is why they diagnosed me they way they did. I think I revealed both Robert Goren and my AKA under the drug. So, to them, I was kind of two personalities, or maybe I seemed delusional." He offered. I let that thought sit out there for a minute, before changing the conversation.
"Tell me again about your brother Frank, and his son, Donny." I watched him shift the pillow. He visibly tensed. His hands were splayed open, palms down on the pillow, he stopped fidgeting.
I listened to him give kind of a cops recounting of the situation, but his body language revealed his anger. At the end of his recounting, he alluded to the fact that even though his brother was a drug addict, and was often living on the street, at the time of their mother's death, Frank was still golden in her eyes. I could tell this was especially difficult for him.
Our session was nearing close, so I decided to shift the level of the discussion to something lighter.
"So, when you said you had soup and a sandwich for lunch, what did you have?" I was not surprised by the change in his body language; he loosened the pressure on the pillow, and return to running his fingers idly across the soft fabric.
"Vegetable soup and a grilled cheese sandwich." He said. "Well two." He allowed.
"Two?" I asked.
"Two sandwiches. They were good." He smiled.
"Same time tomorrow." I stood. "And, I have the same request. Try to get some sleep tonight, and please, try to eat right." He stood, looking down at me. For a moment he did not move, and I thought he was going to say something more. But, he seemed to decide against whatever he was thinking about saying.
"Same time tomorrow." He said, and I watched him go.
Tomorrow I knew that I needed to finalize my preliminary recommendation. I was scheduled to meet with Captain Ross in person for about 30 minutes. I would follow-up the in-person with a written letter for the disciplinary committee. So tomorrow, I planned to talk with him a bit about work, and try to get a feel for his relationship with his partner, his Captain, his co-workers.
A/N: What do you think? Would you like to read more?