Refund and Reparation

The only time I ever had any question about my own mind, by the way, just to digress on that basis, I talked to a psychiatrist. They sent me over, I was going through all the clinics, one after the other, in the naval hospital in San Diego. And I went through all these, and I was all set. And I went into the psychiatrist’s office, and he took the piece of paper, and he got to talking about his liver. So I talked to him about his liver, and we had a big conversation about his liver. And it was all very interesting. And I got ready to walk out, and I started to pick the piece of paper up in front of his desk and he said, "Oh no. Wait a moment." So he pulled it in close, and he wrote a typical, medical hand, you know, unreadable. And he kept writing and writing and writing and writing and writing and writing, and he turned it over and he wrote and he wrote and he wrote and he wrote and he wrote and he wrote and he wrote, and then I said, "Now,“ I said, "Give me that, I’ll put it in my file and take the file back to the ward where it’s…"

"Oh no. This will have to go back by messenger." Well that was late afternoon when that occurred, and I went back to my ward saying, "Do you supposed there really is something? After all, it’s been a long war. I had never quite been certain whether or not the war isn’t unsettling. Do you suppose it’s happened at last?" And all that, and I lay there and worried.

Next morning I dreamed up an appointment with the dental clinic, so that the ward would have to give me my record. And I got outside, and I quick as a flash slipped behind a bush, sat down on a bench, opened it up, started to try to read this. Most horrible garbage you ever tried to wade through, you know? And I turned it over, and I couldn’t make head or tail out of it. And I said, "Well I’m gone, I’m done." I was almost sold the middle of the last page, ‘til I noticed the last paragraph. And it says, "No, no psychotic or neurotic tendencies of any kind whatsoever." But it took him a page and a half of bad writing to say so. So well, I said to myself, "That’s the last time I’ll ever worry about my mind."

Until I was at Bethesda Naval Hospital, and I had an auditor, and this auditor was running me through an early incident, a tonsillectomy. And time was growing short and I had to report to the hospital that day. They were checking me over for retirement, whether they were going to return me to duty or retire me. And this auditor was working away and working away, but this was a tough engram. Real tough. We weren’t doing too well on it. So he says, "Well I’ll finish it up this afternoon when you come back."

So I walked with the ether mask, and I got down to the hospital. And of course you could realize that going to the hospital, having had my tonsils out in the hospital was the most gorgeous piece of restimulation you ever wanted to see. And I walked down the hall, and walked down the hall, and the hall started to go this way, and then the floor started to ripple. And I said, "Well, now I know I’m going mad." And I leaned heavily on a door trying to steady myself, saying, "Well I’ll just have to kind of quit right here in my tracks."

And I raised my face and I saw the legend on that door. And it said "Psychiatric Clinic." So I straightened myself up, and walked on down the hall.