Far From The Madding Crowd

“They call me The Doctor!”, though patently he was not, “cause I never miss.” He grinned, both toothy and toothless, his hair a closely shaven moss.

I stared at him quietly from a corner of the room, calmly listening to a throng of abuse emanating from my stomach – most I was notably a tosser, and my parentage questioned; “Look at that bastard”, a voice of someone I once knew squealed hysterically from my bowel.

“See that”, The Doctor ambled over, having drawn no interest in his claim and seeking mine. He pulled up his sleeve revealing a single puncture mark at the line of his elbow. “Now that”, he paused, forgetting maybe what he was saying, then his eyes rolled for a moment before blinking back into the world. “That…is precision, a work of art. And I…”, another eye roll, a stagger to the side, a roll of the head, “I am an artist!”

It is true I was confused by this man. The unit had had a relative bout of only spasmodic activity for a few days now.

Now they bring this man.

Handcuffed and playful he had arrived just after lunch. Bounding round the room with his hands behind his back he make casual jokes with the staff who knew him by name already. Gurning in faces masked with sedatives all we could do, the current residents, was smile or nod our heads, or marvel at how alive he seemed by comparison, albeit a little too alive.

The police were eager to leave. You could see from their strained expressions The Doctor had drained them of all energy and patience.

“Arsehole…”, I heard one breathe lightly.

“He’s all yours…”, I heard another say as he motioned his team to the exit.

They were called back by one of the nurses. They couldn’t leave yet, there was paperwork to sign and scrutinise.

The Doctor, recalling his outstanding abilities to nurture his rapport with each of them hugged each of them one by one and repeated himself a lot.

I wondered why he thought himself a Doctor though he had no training. A Doctor though rather than heal and provide solace, he riled and boomed at us all. He moved with such jerky, sudden movements, I wondered how he could fathom working a pen, never mind produce a signature authorising pills or preventing people from leaving.

I realised a strange mannerism, not really giving attention before as he tirelessly provoked and irritated the police without mercy. Every now and again he clenched his jaw so tight his neck streaked with tendons and seemed to struggle to release their grip.

A nurse note this soon after and provided some explanation.

“Great, these idiots have brought him here off his head…” They went to report their finding to the nurse in charge though they would lose the battle of words to seek his removal.

And so our quiet and sleepy unit had yet another incursion of chaos.

The Doctor had arrived.