“So, this is a problem… why?” I was still trying to figure out the issue.
“Because you don’t have enough appointments so I have to sift through and figure out which ones are legitimately crazy and let the ones who are just hot for you go somewhere else.” She was taking herself quite seriously, I could tell.
“Patsy, it’s not your job to sort through the patients and decide who is more needy,” I pointed out.
“Then do we do it on a first-call, first booked basis?” She truly was a novice.
“Of course not, silly. First, we choose the wives that are the hottest looking. They’re here to be reassured of that and when they leave, they’ll tell the other wives about coming here. Then we book their husbands because that gives us something to hold over each one’s head. We leave the crazies for Jervis. He’s good with them.”
She looked at me in amazement. “You’re kidding, right?” she asked in awe.
“No… not at all. He really is good with them,” I said, leaving her with her mouth hanging open. I walked into my office and she sent the next patient in.
From that point on, Patsy and I developed a system. I would take each patient in turn and when that one was done, I followed the woman out and gave Patsy a thumbs down rating if she was a dog. From that point on, that patient was told it would be at least three months before another appointment became available. It was a pure situation of skimming the cream off the top and pouring the sour milk in the direction of Jervis. Patsy finally caught on and things improved dramatically moving forward.
***
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Jessup,” I said politely as I invited the bitch to perch her fat ass in my designer chair. She disgusted me, a drastic departure from the normal apathy I felt toward any of my patients.
“Dr. LaViere. I was surprised when your secretary called to confirm. Actually, I’d forgotten we had an appointment this afternoon.”
“I suspected as much,” I said to her raised eyebrows. “Now then.” I consulted her chart and my notes. “How is the situation between your husband and yourself progressing?” As if I cared.
“David is having an affair. I know it for certain now.” She stopped a moment and drew out a tissue, dabbing at her overly made-up eyes. She was born theatrical. I knew she’d come from somewhere on the west coast and most of our set considered her trash.
“And how do you know this?” I pushed her.
“I found the key to his desk and in his bottom, right-hand drawer, I found a pair of women’s panties.” She poured out this last part with a fresh dab to her eyes as she thought about what she would say next. I nodded to her, encouraging her to go on. “I have no idea who it is, but she must be a cow because they were hardly dainty.”
“Has he been acting strangely?” I asked.
“David has always been a bit eccentric, so it’s difficult to tell, but lately he’s acting nervous, almost jumpy.”
“Do you have a staff, Mrs. Jessup? Could he be interested in someone in your home?” I was headed somewhere, but she thought I was being conciliatory.
“No, no. It’s just the two of us right now. We put his mother in a home, you know,” she said callously. She must have realized it because she hurriedly added, “She needed more care than either of us could provide, you see. She’s on dialysis.”
I nodded, as though sympathetic.
She continued, “We’ll be hiring staff soon.”
I let go of the comment that obviously they could have hired someone to look after her mother-in-law at home. “Mrs. Jessup, perhaps you and your husband should come in and see me together for some couples counseling,” I suggested.
“I don’t think it would help. David is… well, very private.”
I’ll bet he is, I thought. “Mrs. Jessup, would you say that you and your husband have a healthy sex life?”
I heard her intake of breath, just as I knew I would. She began to cry in earnest now. I was not moved.
“We… that is… we don’t share a room. Haven’t for two years,” she finally sputtered.
“Is this your preference or his?” I asked, driving in the knife.
“Well, a woman can only be turned down so many times before she has to remove herself from the opportunity, doctor.”
“Have you talked to him about this? Perhaps there’s something you can do to remedy the separation?” I asked. I knew I was pushing and it was working.
“Yes! I ask him about it all the time!” She was crying openly now. I could literally see the guilt pouring out of her wretched mouth.
“And what did he say?”
“He said he just wasn’t attracted to me any longer.”
“Did your husband say why?” I was going for her throat.
“A woman my age can’t keep her girlish figure forever, you know. So what if I’ve put on a few pounds? He wouldn’t say that was it, but I knew. I’m so miserable, doctor,” she cried.
“Yes, I can see that.” I observed her dramatics. “Were your husband and his mother close?” I pushed again.
She looked up with a quizzical look on her face. “How did you know? Yes, yes they are. David didn’t want her to move, but she was too much to handle.” The tears had turned off immediately and the pretense had disappeared.
“Would you like my advice, Mrs. Jessup?” I waited, letting the silence lengthen until she nodded. “Very well, and you may not entirely like it. It is my opinion that the only reason you’re here is due to your unhappy marriage. I believe, Mrs. Jessup, that you have the ability to set things right again. I believe Mr. Jessup is probably suffering from guilt for placing his mother in a home.”
I held up a hand when it seemed she was about to interrupt.
“This may have given him performance issues,” I went on. “Impotence is often a strong indication of guilt. I would suggest that your husband be allowed to minimize that guilt by doing something special for his mother to make up for the abandonment. He should look for opportunities to do that. As for you, perhaps you could feel better about yourself if you set up an appointment with a personal health and fitness assistant.”
Her mouth opened. “Wha—?”
I didn’t give her time to finish, just bulldozed over her. “They’re quite the rage now, among our set. My receptionist can give you the name of someone on your way out. I don’t believe we’re serving any further purpose here, Mrs. Jessup. Why not give the assistant a try? I believe that will resolve all your issues… completely.” I emphasized this last. I knew by including her in “our set” she felt the rush of snobbery it would take to agree to my plan. That was fine. Our set was hardly anything to brag about.