by Gerald D. Klee, MD, Editor
[Spring 1999; Vol.26 No. 1]
Given time and encouragement, patients will share many stories with their psychiatrist that will help in understanding them. Doreen entered psychiatric treatment in her mid-twenties. Her life was in turmoil and she had symptoms of OCD and atypical depression. Her history revealed that her mother died after a long, debilitating illness when Doreen was ten years old. Her father died unexpectedly when she was nineteen. Doreen was unable to be present at the time of death of either parent.
Treatment included SSRI's and behavior therapy, but much of our time was spent talking about her life experiences, past and present, and what they meant to her. She was frequently tearful. Old family photos, which she brought in, showed her as a very sad looking child. Towards the end of treatment with me, now generally smiling and joyful, with her life on course, she brought me a poem she had written at age seventeen. It goes right to the heart of her story. For what it may be worth, Doreen feels that the most valuable part of her treatment was the chance to tell her story and to talk about her feelings.
The Last Drop Thinking of one person, whose memory influences my life, Every day, each moment, and more, Remembering her teachings of God to me, as I watch the rain, The rain we often had watched together at the shore, The first drop falls, representing unselfishness; She cared only for others in her time of sickness, The second drop falls, representing talent; She played the piano as well as Liberace would play, The third drop falls, representing willingness; She never gave up a fight, though her battle had already been won, The fourth drop falls, representing time; She had long been sick, covering her beauty, The fifth drop falls, representing future; She and I will see each other only in God's world of eternal happiness, The last drop falls, representing grief; I live daily, having only memories of the first ten years of my life, Though this last drop represents why she had to die, It cannot wash away the anguish of not saying "Goodbye." |