Free Fractured by Dawn Barker Page B

as the two men sat on the
     couch opposite him.
    ‘We’re the psychiatry team working in the main hospital here,’ Dr Murray went on. ‘We see patients when the medical team is
     worried that there may be a mental health issue affecting their physical health.’
    ‘They told me. But, look, I’ve been through this. You just have to take one look at her. She looks awful, she’s covered in
     cuts and bruises, she can’t talk. She’s not making this up, this isn’t all in her head.’
    Dr Murray looked at him steadily. ‘No one is saying that your wife is making this up, not at all. We know that physical and
     mental health are closely linked: physical problems can cause emotional problems, and vice versa. We’re just here to see if
     we can help the medical team untangle the issues a bit.’ He paused. ‘I’ve also heard about your son. I can’t imagine how difficult
     this is for you.’
    Tony sat forward, suddenly furious. No one really wanted to help Anna; they just wanted to blame her. ‘That’s why you’re here,
     isn’t it? The police, that doctor, everyone thinks she did this. I’m telling you now, you’re wrong! There’s just, just no
     …’ As quickly as it had come, his fury burned out, leaving smouldering disbelief.
    Dr Murray leaned back on the sofa. ‘Please, calm down. That’s not the reason we’re here. This is a complex and difficult situation
     and that just needs a few different perspectives. What the police dois their issue: I’m here from a medical point of view. I have nothing to do with the police.’
    Tony rubbed his face. ‘Look, I just want …’ He faltered. ‘I just want to know what happened to my baby … and I want Anna to
     be OK.’ He realised immediately that he’d spoken about Anna as an afterthought.
    ‘I do too.’ Dr Murray said nothing for a few moments while Tony composed himself, then started again, gently. ‘Does Anna have
     any history of mental health problems?’ At that, the nurse opened a pad of paper and clicked his pen.
    Tony’s fists tightened and he clenched his teeth. ‘No! My God, I’ve been through this so many times, don’t you people talk
     to each other? No! Anna has never been depressed, she was not depressed, she was just tired and couldn’t sleep. She saw her
     GP two weeks ago, and she said Anna was fine. So no, this is not depression!’ He rested his head back on the sofa, exhausted.
     The doctor and nurse glanced at each other. Tony knew what they were thinking: they thought he was naive, that they knew Anna
     better than he – her own husband – did. And he knew that by being defensive, he was only convincing them in their belief that
     there was something wrong with her. ‘Look, I’m sorry, it’s just been … It’s been a long twenty-four hours.’
    Dr Murray spoke calmly. ‘I understand, Tony. I know this is really hard for you. What we might do is go and see Anna now,
     see what we think, and come back and talk to you soon, OK?’
    He nodded, but couldn’t look at them. He focused on a piece of lint on the arm of the sofa until they had left the room, then
     he closed his eyes.
    When they returned fifteen minutes later, the nurse, Byrne, was holding papers in his hand. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ he
     said as he and Dr Murray sat down.
    ‘That’s fine,’ he replied, trying to read the words on the paperwork.
    Dr Murray cleared his throat. ‘From the history that we have, and from what we can see, I am worried that Anna is very, veryunwell. We need to get her out of the emergency department and admit her to the ward for more specialised care.’ He hesitated.
    Tony knew what was coming next; there was no point fighting it. Suddenly, every muscle in his body ached and he could barely
     hold his head up.
    Dr Murray continued, ‘And the most appropriate place is our psychiatry unit. Anna can’t make that decision for herself at
     the moment, so I’m going to admit her under the Mental Health