Free The Dark Threads by Jean Davison

me.
    â€˜I’ll see you tomorrow,’ Dr Sugden said.
    I shook my head. ‘I’m going home when my parents come this evening.’
    He stopped. ‘I wouldn’t advise that.’
    â€˜I don’t want more ECT. My parents don’t want me to have any more either.’ This last bit was added on impulse because I sensed my own views and wishes about my treatment counted least of all. The truth was I didn’t know my parents’ views about ECT and would have been surprised if they had any. I knew full well they would never have even thought of asking what ECT was and how it was supposed to help me. It wasn’t that they didn’t care about me but it was just the way they were.
    â€˜How many have you had?’
    â€˜I was told the course would be six to eight applications and I’ve had eight.’
    â€˜You’ve had eight?’ he asked, stroking his chin.
    I nodded. ‘And my parents don’t want me to have any more,’ I said again, remembering that Maria and Tessa, both about my age, said they weren’t having ECT because it was against their parents’ wishes.
    â€˜Well, you’re not to have any more, but why this talk about discharging yourself?’
    â€˜Sister Oldroyd said I’ve to go home if I won’t have more ECT.’
    â€˜I’m sure she didn’t say that,’ he said, looking at me sternly as if I was a tale-telling schoolgirl.
    He called her over and confirmed with her that I’d had eight shock treatments, then he asked if anything had been said to me about having some more.
    â€˜Well, Doctor, I did put it to her that perhaps she could be helped by having a few more.’
    Sister Oldroyd’s mannerism, her tone of voice, everything, was totally different now that she was talking to Dr Sugden. She twisted her fingers, bowed her head and spoke softly. She was deferential, but I realised something else as well. She was scared.
    â€˜Did you tell this patient she must have more ECT or go home?’
    Sister Oldroyd shook her head. ‘Oh no, Doctor, of course not. I merely suggested that more treatment might help, and she flew off the handle.’
    â€˜Was anything said about her going home?’
    â€˜I only pointed out that we want to help her, and that the sad thing is she might just as well be at home if she won’t accept help.’
    â€˜I don’t want this patient to have more ECT,’ Dr Sugden said.
    â€˜Yes, Doctor,’ she said. Then she turned to me with a sugary smile that was so false it made me want to puke. ‘We’d like you to stay here until you get well. You don’t have to go home just because you don’t want more ECT. Nobody is trying to force you to have ECT, dear. Whatever gave you that idea? You must have misunderstood me.’
    â€˜That’s not what she said before,’ I told Dr Sugden, then I turned to her full of the anger of weeks of bottled-up feelings about the injustice I’d seen and experienced: ‘You know very well that I didn’t misunderstand you.’
    â€˜Hey, that’s enough from you!’ Dr Sugden said, pointing his finger at me and, with these words, he walked out of the ward and Sister Oldroyd went into her office, leaving me standing there alone with flames of anger burning inside until I could no longer contain them. I rushed to Sister’s office, barged in without knocking, and said: ‘But you did say I’d to have some more ECT or else go home. You did.’
    She was sitting at her desk with her head bent forward and, at my entrance, she looked up, startled. What she said next couldn’t have surprised me more than if she had tap-danced on the desk.
    â€˜Well, if I did say that,’ she said, brushing her fingers across her lined forehead, ‘then I apologise. I’m sorry.’
    She looked tired and pale. No longer the strict, efficient sister but a woman bending under the burden of a