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The door opened and Dr. Elias Aquino walked through, armed with nothing but a clipboard. A neatly dressed man, complete with wire-rimmed spectacles and bow tie, his lab coat identified him as an attending physician, and the close-clipped beard branded him as a psychiatrist, even to Manny. "Mr. Veracruz, I'm Dr. Aquino, how are you feeling this morning?"
"What's happening to me, Doctor?"
"Well, that's what we're going to try to find out. First of all, what do you like to be called?"
"Most people call me Manny," he said, "that’s what I prefer."
"Okay, Manny it is, then. Tell me, Manny, do you know where you are?" he said, taking off his glasses. He cleaned them with his handkerchief as he paused to listen.
Manny thought the man’s eyes looked much smaller without the glasses, rather beady, and the wrinkles in his forehead stood out, as he strained to focus on Manny's face.
"No, I honestly can't, but I can tell you where I was before I passed out. I was in the jail cell in Bethany, Oklahoma. I presume I'm in the hospital, since there's a blood pressure machine, a call button, a TV mounted on the ceiling, and women walking around in white clothing; but I guess I could be mistaken. Lord knows I've had a few other thoughts that haven't made a lot of sense lately."
With this pronouncement, Manny could feel the mood lighten, as the doctor looked away, trying to hide the grin which covered his face.
"Yes, well...aha... I guess I had that coming, I'll try not to insult your obvious intelligence, again, Manny."
Both men laughed out loud as the doctor set the clipboard on the bed and clapped his hands several times. He looked like an altar boy from Manny's past, with his hands together, fingers extended at his chin. "Umm...let's start over... Manny, how can I help you?"
The two men talked for the better part of an hour. Manny felt more like a parishioner seeking absolution than a patient. Dr. Aquino kept his distance, emotionally, as all good psychiatrists do.
"Tell me, Manny, who do you think Harold is?" and "What is your concept of Hell?" and "Have you drank to excess within the last year?" were questions the analyst incorporated into his conversation with Manny.
Finally, he stopped making notes, set the clipboard on the bed, and stood up. "Manny, as I'm sure you probably know, psychiatry is not an exact science. It is more of an art. Over a period of time, a practitioner learns to focus his efforts on the real and imagined perceptions of the patient. The first attempts are made to rule out physical conditions or anomalies that would cause the patient to experience thoughts, feelings or actions out of the sphere of normal consideration. Normally, a fully physical exam is conducted, as we try to determine if physical trauma, such as blunt force blows to the head have influenced a behavior. In the absence of trauma, we look for abnormal blood or enzyme changes that might trigger the symptoms you are experiencing, and last, we examine short or long term environmental stress such as substance abuse.
Frankly, I see no correlation to any of these conditions which would cause the type of visions or hallucinations which you have experienced. Admittedly, I can't learn very much about you in such a short time, and it's very possible that I have missed entirely the catalyst which is producing your problem, but I don't see any reason to keep you further. I would suggest that you come to the University Hospital in Norman, for further analysis, but I don't have sufficient corroboration to insist that you do so. You are a man who seems to have a firm background in religious faith. Honestly, I think you might benefit from talking to a priest. What would you like to do, Manny?"
"Is there a Catholic church here?" Manny asked. He was not looking at the doctor now, he was staring at the silent man sitting in the chair by the side of his bed… the man with the crazy eyes.
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