“Tell me,” said Joan, pulling over a chair so she could talk privately.
The other three women pretended not to be listening. “If you didn’t give yourself the extra insulin, how did it get in your bloodstream?”
Cassi shook her head. “I’m not suicidal, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“It’s important you tell me the truth,” said Joan.
“I am,” snapped Cassi. “I don’t think I gave myself the extra insulin even in my sleep. I think it was given to me.”
“By accident? An accidental overdose?”
“No. I think it was deliberate.”
Joan regarded her friend with clinical detachment. Thinking that someone in the hospital was trying to do you harm was a delusion that Joan had heard before. But she had not expected it from Cassi. “Are you sure?” Joan asked finally.
Cassi shook her head. “After what I’ve been through it’s hard to be sure about anything.”
“Who do you think could have done it?” asked Joan.
Cupping her hand over her mouth, Cassi whispered. “I think it might have been Thomas.”
Joan was shocked. She was not a fan of Thomas’s, but this statement smacked of pure paranoia. She wasn’t sure how to react. It was becoming obvious that Cassi needed professional help, not just advice from a friend. “What makes you think it was Thomas?” Joan finally asked.
“I awoke in the middle of the night and smelled his cologne.”
If Joan had had the slightest concern that Cassi was schizophrenic, she would not have challenged her. But she knew Cassi was an essentially normal person who’d been placed under extreme stress, Joan felt it was advisable not to let Cassi build on her delusional thought patterns. “I think, Cassi, that smelling Thomas’s cologne in the middle of the night is awfully weak evidence.”
Cassi tried to interrupt, but Joan told her to let her finish. “I think that under the circumstances, you are confusing a dream state with reality.”
‘Joan, I’ve already considered that.”
“Furthermore,” said Joan, ignoring Cassi, “insulin reactions include nightmares. I’m sure you know that better than I. I think you experienced an acute delusional psychosis. After all, you’ve been under enormous stress, what with your own surgery and Robert’s unfortunate death. I think in that state it’s entirely possible you gave yourself the injection and then afterward suffered all sorts of nightmares you now think may be real.”
Cassi listened hopefully. She’d had trouble sorting out the real from insulin-induced dreams in the past.
“But it is still very difficult for me to believe that I could have given myself an overdose of insulin,” she said.
“It might not have been an overdose. You could have just given yourself your usual dose. You may have thought it was time for your evening shot.”
It was an attractive explanation. Certainly an easier one to accept than that Thomas wanted her to die.
“My real concern,” Joan went on, “is whether you are depressed now.”
“I guess a little, mostly about Robert. I suppose I should be happy about the results of the surgery, but under the circumstances, it’s difficult.
But I can assure you, I don’t feel self-destructive. Anyway, they’ve taken away all my insulin.”
“It’s just as well,” said Joan, standing up. She was convinced Cassi was not suicidal. “Unfortunately I’ve got two legitimate consultations to do. I’ve got to get a move on. You take care and call if you need me, promise?”
“I promise,” said Cassi. She smiled at Joan. She was a good friend and a good doctor. She trusted her opinion.
“Was that lady a psychiatrist?” asked one of Cassi’s roommates after Joan left.
“Yes,” said Cassi. “She’s a resident like I am, but further along in her training. She’ll be finishing this spring.”
“Does she think you’re crazy?” the woman asked.
Cassi thought about the question. It wasn’t as stupid as it sounded. In a way Joan did think she was temporarily crazy. “She thought I was very upset,” said Cassi. Euphemisms seemed easier. “She thought that I might have tried to hurt myself in my sleep. If I start doing anything weird, you’ll call the nurses, won’t you?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll scream my bloody head off.”