The Psychiatrist

“Well, doctor I think that’s what really bothers me. What do you think?”

Snore.

“Doctor? Doctor Schriemer?”

Dr. Schriemer’s eyes popped open. “What? Huh? Oh! Mmmmmm…. I see. Please go on.”

“Well, I think that’s all I really had to say. What do you think is wrong with me?”

Dr. Schriemer studied the doodles on his pad. “Tell me…. Er… Mr. … Podansky, how long have you felt inadequate?”

Herb Podansky looked startled, his eyes darted anxiously “What do you mean inadequate?”

“Unable to cope, not good enough for your life?” asked Dr. Schriemer in his best bedside manner.

Herb burst into tears. “Ever since I can remember Doc.”

Dr. Schriemer took out a tissue. “There … there … Mr. Podansky. Look, if you feel unwell, we can continue some other time?”

Herb blew into the tissue, “No … no Doctor, I’m OK now, I can continue.”

“Damn” said Dr. Schriemer in a whisper too low for his patient to hear.

 

Forty minutes later, Dr. Schriemer escorted Herb to the door. Herb gushed, “Thank you doctor. I never realised that was my problem.”

“Think nothing of it Mr. Podansky. Next time, I would like to discuss your childhood and your relationship with your mother.”

As his patient left his private clinic, Dr. Schiemer turned to his secretary. “Any more?”

“None for today Dr. Schiremer.”

“Thank God.”

“Oh and your mother called half an hour ago. She wants you to call her back.”

Dr. Schriemer grabbed his overcoat and yelled behind him, “Tell her I ran out before you got a chance to tell me about it.”

 

Dr. Schriemer was worried. He did not like being late. He was paying a premium rate and he wanted to get his money’s worth. He walked briskly into the general hospital. He briskly passed the receptionist and entered a room. A short, bearded man inside directed him to the couch where he lay.

“Well doctor, I’ve had a terrible day, I just feel I can’t cope with it anymore. I’m not up to it” began Dr. Schriemer.

couch

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