Love on the NHS (4 page)

Despite the difficulty talking, Luke was fond of some of the others. He was no little Englander. He attached himself to no country at all really, loathing all nationalists. A man's loyalty was to his own feelings and convictions, not where he just happened to be born. Besides, Luke had more in common with the misfits from other countries than the masses of his own; no different to how a poor English shelf stacker has in common more with a poor Greek shelf stacker than the English doctor he visits.

There was a young female staying as a patient in the hospital by the name of Fay. Fay was a brown skinned lawyer from Belgium with a sweet smile and the coquette's laugh. Short and buxom, she bounded energetically in the grounds and spoke in sentences that trailed off; and then she would mumble sadly. Her trademark mannerism was a sarcastic roll or flutter of her eyes, before wandering away like the March Hare. In the mornings, she showered in a room next to Luke's bedroom. The room had no door and though it had a curtain she never closed it.

Charles was an old man who hid a flask of whisky in his jacket. Madeleine was suave and self-contained, her hair bound in a ponytail, while she read a book or sat coolly in an armchair; usually while watching French game shows and political debates.

It was not all so pleasant. The worst of the experience was the way a frail, elderly woman was treated. She was a vegetarian, and had a small appetite anyway, but the staff badgered at her incessantly to finish every plate. Since the meals were not individualized most had meat in them. There is still in France very little understanding of vegetarianism and other patients told Luke she wouldn't be freed from the hospital until she started finishing plates. The lady would cry as she was harangued by nurses, one of whom was a bald headed bodybuilder.

Kristine, what a legend! A Nordic, bony, long-haired blonde who always wished Luke a happy meal before starting eating. There was Gerald, large and lumbering - a swarthy man whose hair was receding. He preferred to speak in grunts than words. Jéan was in his eighties, neat and trim, and kept asking Luke if he hailed from Spain or Portugal. Sylvain, in her seventies, was usually at Jéan's side. Her fair face was well weathered and her trailing coat had seen better days. Francois grasped at leftover baguettes. Fay explained to Luke, "No one knows why. He's obsessed with bread. Ha ha ha!"

Jansen was short, wore grey, had brown lowland eyes and a humorous face that protruded like a duck's. In the room next to Luke was Brittany, a peroxide blonde who often talked to herself in a screeching voice about Hong Kong, where she was once an ex-pat. "Be careful with 'zose fries. 'Zey will make you fat!" she would say to Luke. He couldn't tell if she was teasing or flirting when she commented, "Ah, he's such a handsome man.". At other times she would walk past his door shouting about killing him. He felt threatened sometimes but he wasn't sure she meant it.

Then there was Christophe, a Caesar-cut young autistic man with a lanky build. The staff  regularly locked him in a room to dress him in privacy in the mornings. They  would wash him too and accompany him to the toilet. Christophe often ran around before kneeling and bending his head to the ground, repeating noises. Luke was certain he shouldn't have been in a psychiatric hospital. There was barely any stimulation for Christophe here but Luke was quite powerless to change the situation. Luke could not even talk to most of the people beyond a few words. How a person could defend a language barrier in such a situation is hard to imagine. It is usually not until someone has experienced the worst of life that they appreciate how important a problem is, for problems among the privileged, educated set who usually have power are often only academic or can be solved with money.

Henrique was a Swede who had immigrated to France. He sat with Luke some days and talked more than most of the others. As Swedish people are well versed in English it was easy for Henrique. There was a tall, shapely nurse of about eighteen with brown hair who one day was mopping the tiles. As Henrique and Luke talked about Sweden, the nurse's eyes would stray from her mop. She kept stealing glances and wondering what they were talking about.

The same nurse woke Luke one morning when he could hardly manage to keep his eyes open. He groggily raised his head and half-uttered something while she gently prodded his arm and told him breakfast was ready. As is usual in psychiatric hospitals, patients were given a cocktail of drugs in little cups - to be taken in the morning and after noon. The side effects were obvious. People shook without meaning to and paced hyperactively. Their eyes would glaze over and stare blankly and some could not sit still and jerked irritably. Luke would later come to hate psychiatric medication and firmly believe most people could be better helped by diets like gluten free diet and the specific carbohydrate diet.

VIII

Nights are difficult anywhere, for in the shadows and echoes of darkness all that is fearsome finds its way into our consciousness. In a strange building in which you have no lock on your door, it is like looking into the abyss. As Luke would try to sleep, the footsteps of nurses would click on the dimly lit corridors. If he could not sleep, the night was hour after hour of distress. Getting up and sitting in the lounge was possible but nurses would take note of it and ask him to return to bed. There is little freedom in a psychiatric ward; God forbid a person draws attention to themselves. Some nurses were unsympathetic and slow witted in the sun but in the night they were inscrutable. Once darkness fell, patience dwindled. It's unacceptable that inspectors check the conditions of hospitals only in the day time but then inspection regimes always have holes in them.

Occasionally a well dressed visitor would arrive. They were professionals like social workers and lawyers visiting their patients. Luke's comrades would tell them about this strange man who had arrived from England. They would be concerned,
very concerned
, for Luke. They'd ask lots of questions - but soon enough they were gone again. If Luke had ever believed psychiatric hospitals helped people, he certainly didn't now. The patients were all miserable. When he'd ask them what they thought of life in France most would bitterly laugh and reply, "This is it. France! Ha ha! This is life in France."

Four days after his arrival, a psychiatrist sent a nurse, summoning Luke for a meeting. He entered the psychiatrist's office and sat opposite her while a male nurse stood at her side. The shrink was a brunette lady of around forty years with the soft brown eyes only French women have. First motioned Luke to sit on a raised bed and then to lie back. And then she began to talk to him in French. Everyone knew he was English, how bizarre. Perhaps she didn't believe it or was testing his sanity.

She questioned him for several minutes. Understanding nothing he didn't respond and a look of amusement spread on her mouth. Her eyes narrowed cynically. He is being difficult, she thought. Deliberately ignorant. She stared at him, penetrating his soul then sighed. Mumbling something, she stepped closer and began to lift his T-shirt. Raising it a few inches, her cold hands touched his stomach. Feeling the weight of his belly, she began massaging and Luke started laughing. He was ticklish. The psychiatrist smirked and continued for a minute while the nurse, annoyed, stared. They see me as a nuisance, Luke thought. They're playing a trick on me. Unless in France this is what psychiatrists do. He was stumped. He could make head nor tail of it but it was the most memorable part of his stay.

Getting released took a long time. In France it is customary for the mayor to sign a patient's release from a psychiatric hospital. Without the mayor's signature, it can't be approved. During his stay, Luke's family were liaised with by the hospital - who luckily had an American doctor working for them. They made regular contact with the British embassy, seeking support and advice. Eleven long days after Luke had been admitted, his family in the form of mother and two sisters arrived.

Their epic journey went thus: They spent five hours driving from Woecaster to Dover; they boarded a ferry over to Calais, then drove for another two hours on to Clermont. Before finding the hospital, they drove to an industrial estate. They had asked for directions several times, their French was rusty; eventually they found someone who could point them in the right direction.         

When they arrived they were in a state of shock. So pleased to see Luke they grinned ear to ear. He was so used to the hospital's drudgery he had to check he wasn't dreaming. They all hugged him before joining Luke, along with all doctors and nurses present, for a meeting in a small office. One doctor, who wore a white coat - as all the doctors there did- said, "He's been eating well. Only bread though! He did not eat much else." As he walked to his mother's car with his sisters to leave, quite a few of the staff waved him off; as though they were sad to see him go. He was some kind of celebrity, perhaps because he was their first ever Englishman. A few years later while searching on the internet, Luke happened upon an article that said the hospital was investigated. It had been implicated in an institutional malpractice scandal on a TV news channel. The scandal broke out only a few years after Luke's stay.

IX

Luke and his parents grew weary in the suburb of Leece. Two years was all it took, they'd had enough. They moved again to Wales, this time a small spa town. Highlake, situated in a large rural county, was a far cry from Vester. Leaves and trees filled the avenues. Luke began to drink at weekends, a first. He felt more confident. It was a completely fresh star. A safe, little haven. He never got far with making friends or a girlfriend, though. The narrow confines of the locals' interests along with weather frequently overcast made the town's appeal wane. A country town it may have been but there was no fertile land. The walks were not picturesque. There was no heathland.

The high altitude and abundance of steep inclines made walking tiresome so Luke would usually have a nap every day. In an effort to free himself from his malaise, he signed up to a performing arts course. It was at the neighbouring town's college. But getting there involved an hour each way on the bus, an hour during which students made noise like there was no tomorrow. Luke wanted to learn to act.  To star in plays or films - but there was a lot of dancing and gymnastics involved too. The tutors had a P. E. teacher mentality about it. Seeing as how it hurt his body doing all the movements demanded of students and how his classmates were perennially disappointed to see him he only attended a few weeks.

Whilst living in Highlake, Luke bought and sold games consoles through eBay. He attempted to recapture a feeling of optimism and joy that any lucky child has. There were so many happy memories of playing these games with friends, Lily and Bridget. You can never go back, though, and Luke would get tired of playing solo. As a child he had been awestruck by the music in some games and had been enthralled by the stories of role playing games like Final Fantasy 7 - in fact, some of the music still sounded awesome when he listened to amateur renditions on YouTube; but his appetite for life had grew and games were mere idle curiosities.

Let us suppose Luke's time spent with computer games could be divided to the plus and minus sides of a ledger account. On the positive side, he had learned some historical information from games such as Civilization 2 and Age of Empires; his hand-eye co-ordination must have improved from action games too. On the negative side, he wouldn't have pulled off so many dangerous stunts during childhood if not for some video games - though wrestling on  TV inspired that too. His particular friends got the wrong ideas from playing games sometimes.

He wished he would have read more, seen more films and learned to sail. In later life he would have appreciated all those things more. If he could have lived by the sea, he might have found an old battered boat his father and him could rebuild. Then they could have gone fishing in it. The United Kingdom was not like that though - not anymore, in a service oriented economy.

Though Luke enjoyed nostalgia it could not quite be experienced as the first time round. People who who followed today 's fashions were a mystery. Drinking in a bar was like visiting a museum. At one time it had been ordinary. Even if one wanted it to be, it was not anymore and as a result drinking - except for during football games or weekend evenings - was frowned upon. Unfortunately there was little else people could do. Many other pastimes were fading away due to cost and the laws of economic efficiency -  dining out, community auctions, amusement arcades. How invigorating it would have been if ballroom dancing made a comeback; it's unlikely, mused Luke, it would not make as much money as a nightclub. Smart phones, food festivals, triathlons and reality TV - were they all that were left? They left Luke feeling hollow.

So many old independent shops and enterprises had gone. They could not compete with international companies adept at using tax havens to pay as little as one percent in tax. This now was the age of super-individualism, of corporations and high technology. Luke supposed that as his generation grew up with computers, they didn't have the social etiquette that was a prerequisite for more traditional activities. Even people who had a wealth of social skills had become ruder - this according to Luke's dad who harked back to post-war Britain. Luke could identify all these problems but because he had formed habits and due to his shyness, he might never differentiate himself from the moribund crowd.

Even the little shops that remained were often not so impressive. Far too many had staff that had a single mind - to sell, sell, sell. The corporations fond of their tax havens and one percent tax contributions no doubt could be traced as a large part of the blame - but what was the good in so many independent establishments from takeaways to restaurants to bookshops scaring off Luke, with proclamations of: "Is that all you want? Nothing else?" With a local business a lack of a feeling of community made it too unhappy to have a look around; customers were being scared away by petty shop owners. It was no wonder depression had become so common the past few years: everything had its price nowadays and people knew the price of their favourite products but not the value of friendship and goodwill.