"Hello, Psychiatry 3102... Yes, that's me."
Shiller picked up the phone and listened to the person on the other side. Everyone's gaze focused on him, and then they heard Shiller let out a heavy sigh and say, "You mean to say that in the ICU right now there's a family member who's crying uncontrollably because their loved one has died, refusing to leave the bedside, and you hope that we can provide some emergency psychological intervention?"
Several young interns stood up. They knew this was their cue—this sort of task was relatively easy to handle and didn't require them to go through a disinfection process or change clothes. The quicker they got it done, the quicker they could return, and the tasks assigned by the supervisor would count towards their supervision hours. It was considered a relatively good assignment.
But then they heard Shiller say in an indifferent tone, "Madam, if I may ask frankly, if your own father died, would you be sad?... Of course, we all would. So now are you expecting me to make a poor girl, whose father just died three minutes ago, to hop out of the ICU beaming with joy and laughter?"
"Feeling sad over the passing of a loved one is a normal emotion, not a disease. If she's occupying a bed, then call security. If you don't want to be that harsh with her, then persuade her and offer her a warm cup of coffee."
"Certainly not. Psychiatry's domain involves the human brain, everything below the cerebellum, including the mouth, is not under our jurisdiction, so you'll need to do the persuading yourselves."
After saying that, Shiller hung up the phone. The interns looked at each other before sitting back down.
Charles furrowed his brows slightly because his mind-reading ability had already located the woman crying uncontrollably. She had now fainted from crying and was being carried away, with thick waves of sorrow lingering throughout the corridor.
"Umm... shouldn't we, I mean, out of humanity... offer her some comfort?"
"No, Charles." Shiller shook his head, firmly denying his suggestion. "I think you can fully understand what I'm saying. This isn't a disease; it's just the normal human emotion. And you're a doctor, you can't ask someone who isn't sick to suppress their emotions; that would be inhumane."
Charles grudgingly accepted this reasoning, and Shiller continued, "I hope you all remember the scope I just mentioned. Please adhere to it strictly when practicing medicine in the future. I know it may go against your instincts, but..."
Dingling, Dingling!
Shiller picked up the phone again and said to the person on the other end, "Hello, Psychiatry 3102."
"Let me repeat, Mrs. Ross, when a person has been hospitalized for 12 weeks, has had four surgeries, spends 24 hours a day either in a hospital bed or on the operating table, and cannot even manage their basic needs, what they need is to possibly take a couple of rounds in the yard in a wheelchair, not to have someone in the same white coat come and talk to them, especially when they're only 12 years old!"
After hanging up the phone, David also pursed his lips, and Charles said, "Do we really not need to provide counseling for such young patients? He must be feeling very distressed and frightened."
"First, we must rule out the possibility of mental issues caused by organic lesions. If his body hasn't recovered to its optimal state, then all mental and emotional problems he displays are not psychiatric disorders. Do you understand what I mean?"
Of course, Charles understood Shiller's point. In simple terms, it's normal for someone who is weak to feel down. Aside from masochists, no one can be happy while in pain. Such emotional problems aren't psychiatric disorders; they are the most normal emotional responses of humans.
So, theoretically, these emotions aren't within Psychiatry's jurisdiction. On the contrary, if someone's body is very weak, but their spirits are excessively high, they might very well have a psychiatric disorder because they are defying human emotional norms, indicating that something might be wrong with their brain.
"So how do we set the boundaries?" Charles asked. "How intense must these emotions be before we intervene?"
"Only when they show typical external behaviors," Shiller said. "Remember, you can prescribe medication only when there are symptoms. If it's just emotions, then direct them to consult with a psychotherapist. Never should you prescribe medication just because a patient tells you they're unhappy; that's not what a psychiatrist should do."
Shiller crossed one leg over the other and said, "The hardest part of this job isn't accepting patients, but refusing them, because it goes against common sense and can seem somewhat unethical."
"The patient is right in front of you, showing great distress. You know they have a pent-up anger, sadness, resentment to express, but you can only tell them you're sorry, you can't prescribe anything to them because it won't be effective."
"Most psychiatric drugs have a calming effect. After taking them, their emotions might be subdued, but that's not actually treating them because you've made them defy normal emotional regulations. Going to sleep when they should be mourning or angry could lead to problems far more severe than their emotional outbursts."
"So if you encounter such patients, let them see a psychotherapist, not come to Psychiatry for medication, unless they're already suffering from depression, anxiety, or other similar mental illnesses and feel numb, detached, and insomniac."
"Just like internists in other departments wouldn't prescribe antibiotics to prevent a sore throat, they'd advise drinking more water, talking less, and avoiding irritant foods before inflammation sets in."
Charles understood, but it didn't resonate with him because this theory sounded callous. A grieving patient comes to the hospital hoping for effective relief, but the doctor turns them away, which must be another huge blow to them.
The atmosphere in the department was somber, and Shiller tried to make it even more so as he said, "This line of work is like this. It's possible that despite administering a full dose and course of medication to a severely ill patient, and providing them with meticulous care and compassion, there's still no improvement when they're discharged."
"Then, ten years later, they see a small flower blooming by the roadside and suddenly it dawns upon them, which has no direct relation to your initial treatment. The human psyche is just that mysterious."
"So you can only console yourself by thinking that if you hadn't intervened, their condition might have deteriorated further, and maybe they wouldn't have lived another ten years. But deep down you know it's not true. They pulled through entirely on their own. You didn't save them, and you probably didn't even help them."
"This is a medical field where a patient's own efforts far outweigh the treatment provided by the doctor. It's hard to feel the sense of achievement that comes with saving lives; positive feedback is extremely lacking, yet it's very easy to be infuriated by all sorts of bizarre requests from the patients' relatives."
"That's also why psychiatrists earn so much money but are now in such short supply that urgent training is needed."
Shiller had just said this when the phone rang again. He answered it, saying, "Hello, Psychiatry..."
Shiller's gaze suddenly grew heavy, and the room became quieter, so quiet you could almost hear a pin drop, but the anger that appeared on Shiller vanished in a flash and soon became imperceptible.
"I'm very sorry, ma'am, there is no such medication. I have emphasized to you countless times that introversion is not a disease, not wanting to socialize does not mean she is insane."
"If you think her motor skills are lacking, then go to neurology. No, we cannot admit her. Your daughter is not a psychiatric patient; this isn't about money."
"I guarantee with my character and professional ability that there is no medication in the world that can make someone cheerful. None, so go ahead, no matter how much you complain, I can't prescribe a medication that doesn't exist in this world."
After hanging up the phone, Shiller spread his hands and said, "That's how it is. You'll hear all sorts of unreasonable demands. I believe the doctors and nurses downstairs have emphasized this to her numerous times already. They asked her to make this call just to use my authority to make her give up, but we all know she won't."
By this time, Charles had already found the mother and daughter. The mother was shouting her head off while the daughter stood behind her, dazed. The doctors and nurses all had helpless looks on their faces.
Then Wayan stood up and said, "I'll go down and persuade them. We can't let them make a scene here. If we really get a complaint, there's no hope of making it into the top three this year."
Shiller waved his hand to let him go. Charles was intently listening to the thoughts of the mother and daughter, though there wasn't much to hear.
Being able to get into Elders Council Hospital and make both doctors and nurses helpless, to the point they have to call Shiller, tells you the girl's family is either very rich or very noble. Evidently, she couldn't meet the demands of an elite education: naturally introverted, not good at socializing, preferring to hide at home watching cartoons rather than enjoying skiing, playing ball, or shopping with friends.
The mother's mind was filled with noise, while the daughter's mind was a blank slate. Listening to these two kinds of voices at the same time, Charles felt like he was going insane.
He saw David frown.
Suddenly, the daughter's voice in her mind disappeared. Her turbulent thoughts burst out violently. As Charles focused his attention, he saw that the daughter had fainted. Downstairs was in chaos. His senior brother had just arrived and was contacting emergency services.
"What did you do?" Charles looked at David.
"I absorbed her personality," David said nonchalantly in Charles's mind. "In my Mind Space, she has her own independent room where she can watch her favorite cartoons forever."
Charles's eyes widened in shock.
"You... how could you..."
"Don't be naive. We're mutants, powerful mutants. You weren't really planning to treat them like ordinary psychologists by prescribing medications, were you? We have many better ways."
"But... but..."
Charles stood there, somewhat stunned, David's words echoing in his mind. But no matter how he tried to understand it, it all seemed correct.
They were mind power users; they could manipulate human minds as easily as playing with building blocks. That meant they could do much more, much better than these restrained psychiatrists.
She deserved it, didn't she? A dangerous thought appeared in Charles's mind. A mother, because of her own demands, was almost driving her daughter insane. It was clear that if she didn't get what she wanted today, she would take out all her anger on her daughter once back home.
This poor, innocent young girl might suffer a lifetime of torment, with no way to escape, and these psychiatrists couldn't really help her.
But he could, they could, Charles thought. There was a perverse sense of satisfaction in acknowledging this far more gratifying than listening to Shiller's words.
Perhaps that was their very purpose, Charles thought, God compensating for what was lacking.
So, why not?