Four
Searching for RealityA question that sometimes drives me hazy: am I or are the others crazy?
How do you return to a life that you thought you had lost? How can you go on when you are told that the life you lived had been an illusion? How are you supposed to be happy when everyone and everything you had once loved were nowhere to be found?
I found myself scrambling to find answers to these questions as I sat in the chair of the psychiatrists office. Dr. Choi had, in the few seconds that he was able to stop by my room in between other patients, expressed his concern over the fact that I had not spoken a word since I woke up almost a week ago. My parents had begged him to discharge me from the hospital, thinking that in the familiar comforts of my childhood home I would be able to heal. As always, I lay there in my bed, pretending to be asleep as he denied their requests over and over again.
“I’m sorry Mr. and Mrs. Han, but I think we need to keep an eye on Miso for now. She is in a very fragile state right now. So unless we can get an okay from the psychiatrist on her condition, we would like to keep her here at the hospital just in case she decides to do something harmful to herself or others.” He explained, cutting of my parents protests. All too soon, the familiar beep of his pager sounds through the room and excusing himself quietly, I hear his footsteps leave my room and echo down the hall.
I was reluctant to visit the psychiatrist. I was sure that they would just write me off as crazy and have me shipped off to some looney bin for the rest of my life. I mean, how was I supposed to explain to them that I had lived a full life, and this world was nothing more than a kind of purgatory that I had subconsciously created for myself due to all the guilt I had felt over all the wrongs I committed during that life?
Yeah, I know, it sounds crazy, even to me. But how else was I supposed to make sense of this situation?
As I sat in the rather comfortable armchair and waited for the doctor to arrive I decided that no matter what happened I needed to keep my mouth shut. Eventually my own subconscious would begin to feel sorry that it had trapped me in this hell and would release me. All I had to do now was just be patient and wait out this nightmare. I am startled when I hear the door open as the psychiatrist enters and closes the door behind him. He walks to the desk that sits in front of me and stands silently while I continue to stare at my hands resting in my lap.
I expect him to sit down and begin blabbing on about personal loss and emotional healing. But he doesn’t. He does nothing. He just continues to stand there in silence for so long, I begin to wonder if something is wrong. I begin to feel uncomfortable and despite my predetermination to just sit in silence, my curiosity gets the best of me and I look up to see if something is wrong. I look up to find a rather unremarkable looking man standing there smiling down at me. His head of short and slightly disheveled hair sits upon his head, a pair wire framed glasses sits crooked on his nose. Unlike Dr. Choi, this man does not wear the white coat that I always associate with doctors. Instead he’s wearing a polo shirt with a little embroidered bear on the pocket. To me he looks like some weird Uncle not a doctor. As my eyes lock with his, his smile widens and he holds out his hand.
“My name is Jo Dongmin it’s nice to meet you Miss Han.” He says rather cheerfully. I stare dumbfounded at his outstretched hand, expecting him to drop it eventually when I just stare at it. Yet just like before, he perseveres and keeps his hand outstretched in front of my face, until embarrassment forces me to slowly lift my hand from my lap and reluctantly put it into his. He grips my hand strongly and shakes it enthusiastically once before releasing it, my hand falling and hitting the table with a dull thunk.
“That is what I would call a dead fish.” He says with a slight frown on his face.
"Dead fish..?” I blurt out. He laughs and takes the seat opposite of me. “The dead fish is what I like to call a totally unenthusiastic handshake. You simply put your hand in mine and expected me to do all the work. It feels almost as if I am grabbing a dead fish instead of a human hand.” He explains.
Oh.
“Well anyway as I said earlier my name is Jo Dongmin and I am your psychiatrist, or emotion lord, as I like to call it.” He explains cheerfully. “Dr. Choi seemed to think that you need ‘therapy’ and a lot of it.” He holds up the second and third fingers of each hand and mimes air quotes at the word therapy. "So since we are going to be seeing a lot of each other in the next few weeks there are some things about me that I would like you to take heed of.” He continued.
“First, I hate this office, so from tomorrow on I would like you to come to my private clinic for therapy sessions. This office is stuffy and so official and I hate how bothersome colleagues can just barge in here and begin rambling off on how great they are.” His eyes dart towards the door like one of these said colleagues is going to burst through the door any second. “Secondly, I have this client,” he continues, “Actually more of a friend of mine who needs to be watched quite often as he often gets himself into trouble so he will begin sitting in on our meetings together.” I stare incredulously back at him. Didn’t that violate the Golden rule of Doctor-Patient confidentiality?
“What else was there? I knew there was something that I had forgotten.” He scratches his head and straightens his glasses. I can do nothing but sit there, absolutely dumbfounded by the man in front of me.
“Ah!” He slaps the desk loudly making me jump. “That’s it!” He exclaims loudly, grinning. “I have this new intern who will be leading a few sessions with you while I shadow him. But those won’t begin until next week since he still needs to go to through the paperwork to become my apprentice. Ah, to be so young and blessed. A fledgling psychiatrist at the age of 24.” He smiles at me like a proud parent talking about their first born child. “Well, I think that’s just about it. Do you have any questions for me before we being our first session?” He asks me.
I just shake my head silently. He suddenly lunges across the table and grips the arms of my chair and pulls his face close to mine. It’s so unexpected I don’t even scream. He’s so close that I can smell onions on his breath and I find myself going cross-eyed just to keep him in my sights.. Holding my breath I struggle to free my chair from his grip and wriggle away from him, but his hold is too strong and he only pulls me closer until our noses are literally smashed together.
“Here’s the deal. I get paid to sit here and listen to people talk about their problems all day and honestly most of them are just a huge pile of whiny crap. So it doesn’t necessarily matter to me whether they feel better or not.” He snarls at me. “But I happen to see some potential in you and I would just hate to see it wasted. So, while I would normally be happy to have some of my patients shut up and give me some peace and quiet for once, I will not tolerate it from you. So whether you like it or not, you will talk to me and we will communicate. Is that clear Miss Han?”
I nod shakily and he growls in my face. “Yes Dr. Jo.” I hastily add. Then as suddenly as he was in my face, he’s back in his chair and sitting there passively with a smile on his face like nothing just happened. “That is a lot better thank you.” He says brightly. “Oh and also I would like you to call me Uncle Jo, not Dr. Jo. And if it is alright I would like to call you by your first name, Miso. It makes me feel closer with the select few of my patients that I can actually stand.” He continues bringing out a folder with my name on it and opening it up.
I sit there in silence, still stunned by what just happened, after a few seconds he stops shuffling the papers in my folder and peers down at me through his glasses which are crooked once again. “Yes.” I manage to croak out. He continues to look at me expectantly. “Uncle Jo…” I finish. He smiles, finally satisfied, and returns to looking through the papers. A few minutes pass in silence as he reads my medical history. I begin to get nervous as he reads through my charts. I’m not even sure what they say, what will he think of me after he looks through them?
While still looking down at the papers he asks me, “So what is the last thing that you remember?” I stiffen. The last thing I remember? How was I supposed to tell him that the last thing I remember is that I was an old woman attending her husbands funeral when all of a sudden I had a heart attack and died? I decide that lying my way through this was the best way to go.
“The last thing I remember was that I was at school and then I was riding in a car. There were bright lights and there was a loud crash and then nothing.” Honestly I was never a good liar but I pray that he does not see through my bluff. He looks up and an eyebrow at me.
“Miso, you do remember that I am a psychiatrist so I often deal with serial liars who haven’t told a single truth in their life. Even with all the practice I am able to see through them, so honestly, that flimsy excuse for a lie that you just gave me is not gonna cut it.” He scolds.
I flinch at his words. I was never good at taking any kind of criticism.
I look down at my hands. “You would never believe the truth even if I told it to you. You would just think I’m crazy.” I mumble. I hear Uncle Jo sigh heavily. “Now Miso, the ‘C word’ is a big no-no in my office.” I look up at him and see that his face has become serious, his mouth pressed into a firm line. “Now I’m going to be real with you. I don’t think you are crazy. You were involved in a very traumatic accident. They had to open up your skull and perform surgery on your brain just to keep you alive. You’ve been in a coma for the past 6 years. Honestly if you came out of it like nothing ever happened that would make you a little strange.” He smiles at me gently. “I’ve heard a lot of far fetched things from people who have been through a lot less than you have.” He leans back in his chair crossing this hands in front of him. “So try me."
I struggle. Should I tell him the truth? How I feel so out of touch with everything in this life? That it is not even a real thing, only a figment of the small part of my subconscious that is still trying to hold onto the world. Should I share all the memories of an entire lifetime with him? I struggle with them, wading through them like quicksand. The more I struggle, the more I get down until I feel that I am almost suffocating. I desperately need a lifeline, something hold onto and pull me back up to the surface.
I decide to put my faith in Uncle Jo and I tell him everything, starting hesitantly from my parents car accident, to the day that I met Jong-suk. I begin to gain more conviction and it all begins to spill out. Our wedding day, the birth of our daughter, all the years I spent at Jong-suks side up until his death. Finally I tell him about Jong-suks funeral, the disembodied voices of my parents and my own supposed death. After about half an hour I sputter to a stop, and the room is once again silent as he ponders my words. I search his face for a sign that he’ll burst out laughing at my ridiculous story, but his features are completely unreadable.
After what felt like an hour of us just staring at each other in silence, he finally lets out a heavy breath. Instead of laughing or running out of the room screaming at my craziness he simply returns my papers to the folder. “Well Miso, you have given me a lot to look over and evaluate for our meeting tomorrow. It seems like we are out of time today but I will see you tomorrow at my home.” He smiles reassuringly.
I let out a breath of my own that I hadn’t noticed that I was holding in. Either he didn’t think I was crazy, or he thought I was so completely nuts that he didn’t know how to react. He ignores my silence and stands up, walking around to my side of the desk. I numbly mimic his actions and stand up as well. Once again he holds out his hand for me to shake. I stare at his hand and put my own in his. He shakes my hand once strongly and lets my hand fall back down to my side.
“I know it’s only the first day Miso, but I’ve gotta give you some homework.” He says. “Homework?” I question. “Yes. You really need to work on that dead fish handshake of yours. By tomorrow I expect to receive a proper handshake from you.” He smiles at me. I slowly nod my head and remembering myself, I say, “Yes Uncle Jo.”
“Good girl. Now off you go. I’ll see you tomorrow, my assistant will contact your parents and let them know where my personal office is.” Uncle Jo sits back down and waves to me in a dismissive sort of way. I hesitantly turn around and begin to make my escape to the door. But as I leave, I find myself looking back at him sitting there at his desk writing something on my file. I focus my eyes to try and see what he has written, expecting got see some medical mumbo jumbo, but instead I only see a small cartoon drawing of a girl who bears a slight resemblance to myself. I watch as he focuses on the drawing, leaning in and scribbling more details onto the girls face, the simple cartoon drawing now becoming a accurate representation of my physical appearance. He is unlike any doctor, or any person that I have met in my entire life. As I close the door I begin to wonder why I thought it was such a good idea to put all my faith into this one, strange man.
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