We are fragile corporal fragments. We bleed, we breathe. When we are pulled into the theater of illness we suddenly, simultaneously, feel our ephemeral immortal pulse. One we measure, the other we sense.
Is this what the science and art of psychotherapy and psychiatry has been reduced to? Don't talk, don't question, don't get to know the patient. The Doctor's role is to be the last part of the conveyor belt leading from the pharmaceutical plant to the patient's mouth.
This book's stories thoughtfully depict essential aspects of mental health treatment. Few people actually understand, and thus tend to mischaracterize or stigmatize, what goes on in a psychiatrist's office.
I fear this will become a major disaster. Haitians have no natural immunity to cholera. The incubation period of up to five days lets seemingly healthy but actually infected people travel and spread the disease. This could involve the entire country. I'm praying for a miracle.