K-Pax (46 page)
Bu
t
Augus
t
seventeent
h
wa
s
fas
t
approaching
.
I
wa
s
frustrate
d
an
d
tired
.
Perhaps
,
I
thought
,
I
was
gettin
g
to
o
ol
d
fo
r
clinica
l
work
.
Mayb
e
I
wasn'
t
goo
d
enoug
h
an
y
more
.
Mayb
e
I
neve
r
was.
I
neve
r
wante
d
t
o
b
e
a
psychiatrist
.
I
wante
d
t
o
b
e
a
singer.
A
s
a
pre-me
d
studen
t
i
n
colleg
e
m
y
onl
y
rea
l
interes
t
wa
s
th
e
annua
l
"Follie
s
Brassiere,
"
a
talen
t
show
fo
r
student
s
an
d
faculty
,
i
n
whic
h
I
shamelessl
y
belte
d
ou
t
Broadwa
y
tune
s
an
d
oper
a
arias
,
t
o
lou
d
and
addictiv
e
applause
.
B
y
th
e
tim
e
I
graduated
,
however
,
I
wa
s
alread
y
marrie
d
an
d
i
t
mad
e
n
o
sens
e
to
pursu
e
suc
h
a
frivolou
s
dream
.
I
wa
s
n
o
Do
n
Quixote.
Thus
,
i
t
wasn'
t
unti
l
I
go
t
int
o
medica
l
schoo
l
itsel
f
tha
t
I
bega
n
t
o
hav
e
seriou
s
doubt
s
abou
t
my
choic
e
o
f
profession
.
Bu
t
jus
t
a
s
I
wa
s
abou
t
t
o
confes
s
t
o
m
y
ne
w
wif
e
tha
t
I
migh
t
rathe
r
tr
y
something
else
,
Mothe
r
wa
s
diagnose
d
wit
h
live
r
cancer
.
Althoug
h
th
e
doctor
s
decide
d
t
o
operate
,
i
t
turne
d
ou
t
to
b
e
fa
r
to
o
late.
Mothe
r
wa
s
a
courageou
s
woman
,
though
,
an
d
sh
e
pu
t
u
p
a
goo
d
fron
t
unti
l
th
e
end
.
A
s
sh
e
was
bein
g
wheele
d
int
o
surger
y
sh
e
talke
d
abou
t
al
l
th
e
place
s
sh
e
wante
d
t
o
visi
t
an
d
al
l
th
e
thing
s
she wante
d
t
o
tak
e
up
:
watercolors
,
French
,
th
e
piano
.
Bu
t
sh
e
mus
t
hav
e
know
n
th
e
truth
.
He
r
las
t
word
s
to
m
e
were
,
"B
e
a
goo
d
doctor
,
son.
"
Sh
e
passe
d
awa
y
o
n
th
e
operatin
g
table
,
neve
r
t
o
se
e
he
r
first
grandchild
,
wh
o
wa
s
bor
n
thre
e
month
s
later.
Ther
e
wa
s
onl
y
on
e
othe
r
momen
t
whe
n
I
almos
t
decide
d
t
o
chuc
k
th
e
whol
e
thing
.
I
t
wa
s
the
afternoo
n
I
sa
w
m
y
firs
t
cadaver.
H
e
wa
s
a
forty-six-year-ol
d
whit
e
male
,
overweight
,
baldin
g
an
d
unshaven
.
A
s
w
e
starte
d
t
o
work
o
n
hi
m
hi
s
eye
s
poppe
d
open
,
an
d
the
y
seeme
d
t
o
b
e
appealin
g
t
o
m
e
fo
r
help
.
I
t
wasn'
t
tha
t
i
t
mad
e
me
fee
l
fain
t
o
r
nauseated-
I
ha
d
bee
n
o
n
to
o
man
y
hospita
l
round
s
a
s
a
boy-i
t
wa
s
tha
t
th
e
bod
y
looked
exactl
y
lik
e
m
y
fathe
r
th
e
nigh
t
h
e
died
.
I
ha
d
t
o
leave.
Whe
n
I
tol
d
Kare
n
wha
t
ha
d
happened
,
tha
t
I
couldn'
t
cu
t
int
o
someon
e
tha
t
looke
d
lik
e
m
y
own father
,
sh
e
said
,
"Don'
t
b
e
silly.
"
S
o
I
wen
t
bac
k
an
d
opene
d
tha
t
man'
s
arm
s
an
d
leg
s
an
d
ches
t
and
abdomen
,
al
l
th
e
tim
e
hearin
g
m
y
father
,
wh
o
considere
d
himsel
f
somethin
g
o
f
a
comedian
,
whisperin
g
in
m
y
ear
,
"Ouch
,
tha
t
hurts.
"
Bu
t
I
wa
s
mor
e
certai
n
tha
n
eve
r
tha
t
I
didn'
t
wan
t
t
o
b
e
a
n
internis
t
or
surgeon
.
Instead
,
I
followe
d
th
e
exampl
e
se
t
b
y
m
y
frien
d
Bil
l
Siegel
,
an
d
wen
t
int
o
psychiatry
.
No
t
only
becaus
e
i
t
seeme
d
les
s
sanguinary
,
bu
t
als
o
becaus
e
i
t
appeare
d
t
o
b
e
a
grea
t
challenge-s
o
ver
y
little
seeme
d
t
o
b
e
know
n
abou
t
th
e
subject
.
Unfortunately
,
tha
t
sa
d
stat
e
o
f
affair
s
i
s
a
s
tru
e
toda
y
a
s
i
t
was
nearl
y
thirt
y
year
s
ago.
