Читать книгу Wake-Up Call - Joaquin De Torres - Страница 8

I had met Dr. Ivana Livancic six years ago while I was working at Heart of Ascension community mental health center in Sacramento. I didn’t know then that the young, attractive doctor from Travnik, Bosnia would have such an impact on my field in my state in the years to come. I remember the day I met her I got a quick lesson on how to pronounce her name.

She taught me that in the Balkans, names that end in “cic” are pronounced “chich.” So, Livan-chich; and that names ending in “ic” will also carry that “ich” sound at the end. Like the Croatian tennis player Goran Ivanisevic, the great skier Janica Kostelic, or the actor that played in the old medical series “ER” Goran Visnic-that “ich” sound at the end. She gave me another lesson when I treated her to a chili-cheese hotdog at my favorite street-side stand, and she looked me right in the eye and asked, “How can you eat that shit? It’s no wonder your country is the most obese nation on Earth!” I looked at her in shock as she took the steaming dog out of my hand and dumped it in the trash.

“You should take better care of yourself, Dr. Flores!” she admonished. I liked her immediately.

I was working in cognitive behavioral therapy in the Schizophrenia ward, and she was doing research data on patient abuse cases within California’s state mental institutions. We continued to meet at several volunteer events, like St. Anthony’s Dining Room for Thanksgiving and Christmas, where we both served food to the homeless. She was sharp, meticulous, and well-focused. She was devoted to those in need; and, like me, spent every waking hour trying to help those who could not help themselves.

In the mid-2000s, she was assigned to the government oversight staff during Napa State Mental Institution’s Department of Justice’s investigation. The over 140-year-old facility which houses both inpatient mental patients and those deemed insane by the criminal justice system, was one of four institutions investigated for its escalation of violence among patients, patient gang activity, patient abuses, drugging and restraining practices, and several deaths of both patients and staff members. Livancic, for her part, argued that new “changes” in doctrines and policies without additional security or therapy methods at the facilities, would not work. In 2009, Napa witnessed 1,580 violent acts, including 1,275 batteries; yet security guards aren’t allowed to carry firearms or Taser weapons. Despite her written directives for aggressive patient care improvements, eventually, it was not her problem to solve. The problems of violence at Napa against patients and workers continued; in fact, only one of the four institution’s crime rates decreased after the investigation, law suits, and change implementation.

But her work on the oversight staff was highly lauded, and she was invited to work on several prominent psychologists’ panels and projects. She was recognized as a quiet but energetic force in the industry. Livancic’s gifts lay in her deep compassion for patients, coupled with her meticulous research skills through hands-on, patient-centered therapy. Her seemingly endless well of patience came from her extensive experience working with Catalepsy and Echopraxia patients, forms of Catatonia where the person is “frozen” in a pose for hours despite any type of external stimuli. She was also considered an authority for treating patients with Encephalitis Lethargica, a rare neurologic disease that attacks the brain and muscles, leaving the victims in motionless and speechless, statue-like positions for years.

My practice dealt with patients who moved freely; hers, with those who had no motion at all. Two opposite sides of the mental health spectrum, yet her work in reaching the deepest recesses of the most damaged brains compelled me to call her. I felt she should know about Doogie first; and to my advantage, she was just around the corner in Orinda. At 35, she was now on the directors staff of Orinda State Mental Hospital, the state’s newest institution. As a stunning result of her dynamic campaign for change at Napa, Orinda State has separate buildings and facilities for patients for the clinically ill-Ward 1, and those who come out of the justice system-Ward 2. As expected, violence continued in Ward 2, the criminal justice “catch all” for the felons and murderers. Ward 1, however, became a Mecca for true research and rehabilitation for the doctors treating those who were helpless. Ivana was head of the Catatonic research department in that ward.

I had left a voice message on her phone at around 9:15 P.M. explaining that I had a possible ‘breakthrough patient’ and that I’d like her to see him for an evaluation. But that I wasn’t sure why. Ivana didn’t deal with my type of patient, but something inside told me it was her-and only her-whom I should call. She phoned me back at 9:40 and we talked for almost an hour. Her perfect English with a slight European accent was not only pleasing to hear, but comforting. She let me speak, listened to the recordings I’d made, then let me speak some more. She listened without interruption. I even told her about my strange dreams, which I thought she’d laugh at. She didn’t. She understood the connections, and didn’t discount them. I could also hear her scribbling notes with a pen on a notepad.

She asked me to try to bring Doogie into Orinda the next day at any time. She was working on a special project and would be there well into the evening. The last thing she said was quite peculiar. She said the project she’s working on might be connected somehow with my experience, but that she’d explain her reasoning after meeting Doogie. We agreed on the basics, and I thought we were done when she asked another question:

“How are you, Javier?” I actually paused to consider that question. Most people ask you that, but normally it’s an ‘I really don’t give a shit, I’m just being polite’ question.

“We haven’t talked for ages. How are you?” she repeated.

“I’m doing well, I guess. A little tired because these dreams prevent me any restful sleep.”

“Still trying to save the world?” I could sense she was smiling when she asked that one.

“I don’t know if I’m saving anyone at all,” I chuckled.

“I know what you mean.” I could hear her sigh and stretch. “All these hours, all these hopes, and it seems we’re only scratching the surface.” I instantly thought of Doogie and my dreams. “How are you eating?” she continued. “Are you taking care of yourself?” I quickly recalled the chilidog scene.

“I’ve dropped weight, actually. Riding the bike more, but the working hours are affecting that, as well as my sleep.”

“Join the club. But if what I’m thinking about your Doogie is connected to what I’m working on, we’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other.”

“I would not complain.”

“Really?” she giggled. “You mean you’re not attached yet?” I laughed then.

“What do you think?” I huffed, knowing that she already knew the answer.

“Good night, Javier. Try to sleep well tonight. We may have a big day tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Ivana. I’ll try. Good night.”

After we hung up, I finally had some time to unwind. I showered, poured myself a glass of red wine and relaxed on the couch to answer Brittany Tuckman’s text. I thanked her for her message and lied that I didn’t find her brother, but that I got some very good leads and was optimistic. I told her that I would check my schedule for the coming weeks, and that lunch sounded great. Just in case she wanted to call or have a text marathon, I made sure to tell her that it had been a long day and I was about to go to sleep. I sent it and received a reply not 10 seconds later: Dream of me, Doctor. Good night. I grinned, and finally went to bed, not knowing what my dreams would hold. Turned out, I dreamt of nothing. . .the best sleep of all.

The next morning as I was dressed for work, I turned on KTVU Channel 2 to get the morning traffic report which was simply a habit I had done for years. I didn’t need the traffic report; it was always the same: “It’s heavy on all lanes going into the Caldecott Tunnel as you make your way into Berkeley, Oakland and San Francisco. . .”

But occasionally, there were stories that the anchors would report that had nothing to do with the Bay Area, but were interesting enough to make you believe that life in other places was always worse than where you lived. I was preparing breakfast as one such story popped up. It was about Russia. I didn’t pay much attention to it; I was deep in thought about how to present Doogie to Dr. Livancic; if, in fact, he came back to meet me at the park that evening.

“In St. Petersburg, Russia, a retired general who served during the Cold War in the former Soviet Union, confessed on his deathbed that he ordered the execution of over 100 Russian villagers in a forest in 1980.

“The exact location of the execution is unknown at this time, but Colonel General Mikhail Kirolovka, 78, who served over 40 years and is dying of cancer, swears that he personally gave the order for his men to open fire on unarmed civilians.

“The validity of the story is still in question; however, several men who claim to have been present at the alleged tragedy are stepping forward and confirming it. Among them is recently retired Lieutenant General Leonid Barsaklev, who was a young captain at that time.

“He claims he has proof of the event, despite over three decades of silence. Barsaklev says that the events of that night have haunted him all these years, and he has drawn hundreds of images, objects and mathematical equations that he says he sees everyday in his dreams.”

“WHAT?” I said as I dashed back into the TV room.

“Shown here is a Russian newscaster holding the drawings up to the camera. One prominent image that Barsaklev has drawn over a thousand times is this picture of a round shiny disc, gleaming with unusual shapes and lights within.”

I stood frozen as I looked at the photos the Russian newscaster held up one by one. “That’s my disc!”

“So far, the story is being treated with skepticism in Russia. Mental health experts believe that both men are suffering from Schizophrenia or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder induced by years of combat experience, said experts working for the Russian government. The government and the military discount the stories and have reported that no such execution ever took place.”

I reached for my cell, and in that instant it rang. It was Dr. Livancic.

“Good morning, Ivana!”

“Did you see the news about the Russian generals?”

“Yes, just now! You, too?”

“I did, and when I saw the drawings of the disc, I thought of your description concerning your dreams.”

“Do you think they’re connected?”

“I don’t know, but what’s more compelling than the disc were the images of mathematical equations.”

“Why?”

“When you get to Orinda, I’ll let you know; better yet, I’ll show you.” I noticed Ivana’s voice was laced with nervous concern.

“Okay, I’m about to leave my house now. But I’ll try to get Doogie to Orinda before night fall.”

“Javier, one last thing. I’m calling in a friend to lend us some of her professional insight on your case and mine. Professor Zelda Snow.”

“Who’s that?”

“She’s a Quantum Physicist; presently the head of the Physics department at UCLA. She’s worked with NASA, Lawrence Livermore Labs, also taught at MIT. I called her after I talked with you. She’s coming up for a few days. She’ll be here this morning.”

“Do we need that kind of firepower?” I asked, wondering why we needed a science whiz on the team.

“When you come and see what I’m working on, you’ll understand.”

* * *

As usual, the traffic was horrendous on the freeway, but it gave me time to listen to my recordings of Doogie over and over again. The distinction between his normal, mentally-challenged voice and his perfect voice was even more startling as I listened with more attentiveness. His knowledge of space and the stars was amazing and unusual. I first thought he could have learned it all by watching Discovery Channel or any other scientific show, recorded the information subconsciously where it lay dormant until called forth.

I immediately thought of Savant Syndrome, a condition in which a person with a mental disability demonstrates extraordinary capacities or abilities far in excess of what would be considered normal. One very common factor amongst all savants is that they possess a prodigious memory and detailed-focus skill for particular subjects. These are just clinical adjectives for their skills. But realistically savants perform at genius levels; they are considered prodigies of their particular skill, rivaling identically-gifted masters who have no impairments at all. They are generally socially deficient and consistent with Autism Spectrum Disorder, but can perform flawlessly at mathematics, art, music, calendar dates, and spatial skills. They can access less-processed information that is subconsciously within all human brains, one theory suggests, and bring it forth on demand.

But that didn’t explain Doogie’s two voices. It is a documented fact that 50 percent of savants have psychological or mental disorders, and the other 50 percent are autistic. When they perform or display their skills, they are still autistic and have their disorders. They don’t turn it on and off like a light. Doogie seemed to do just that. When he turned to speak to me, his stutter was very pronounced; but as soon as he looked at the stars, his voice changed; tone, inflection, clarity, and speed rate were of an entirely different person-a normal person. And what about his physical features? When juxtaposed against photos from five years ago and those I actually took with my cell phone, it was obvious to me that his face had changed. His eyes were not droopy; he had no lazy eye staring in a different direction—they were clear, forward-looking, shifting and blinking like normal eyes. His mouth, or the right side of it, is similarly enigmatic. Once drooped and pulled down halfway towards his chin, was horizontal. Once stretched and thick, his lips were as perfectly shaped and proportioned as any other 25-year-old young man. Savants don’t have self-healing or physique-altering abilities; everything they do or can do, comes from the recesses of their minds. These questions continued to grate on me when my cell phone rang. It was my secretary, Linda.

“Good morning, Linda!”

“Honey, where are you?” Her voice sounded strained with a mix of anxiety and annoyance.

“I’m approaching the Coliseum. Just about 12 minutes away now.”

“Get here quick. You have a guest.”

“A guest? Who is it? Dr. Livancic?”

“No. I think he said his name is. . .Doogie?”

“What!?”

“He’s asking for lumpia!” Linda’s voice sounded like she couldn’t believe what she had just said. I laughed out loud.

“Linda, do we have any more lumpia from Charles’ birthday party?”

“Yeah, tons of it! There’s also sandwiches and stuff in the staff kitchen.”

“Great! Warm it up and let him sit in my office, just clear off the coffee table. Let him eat there. Give him some juice, too.” My heart was beating like a jackhammer, and a huge smile pulled across my face. “Linda!”

“Yes, I’m right here!”

“What time does the Goodwill on Franklin Street open?”

“I think at 8 o’clock.” I looked at the car clock and saw it was already 8:45.

“Okay, I’m going there now. Hey, take a look at him. With your trained and ever-skilled eyes, measure him.”

“What!?” Her shriek made me laugh again.

“Measure him, Linda! Visually. For clothes.”

“Okay! Okay. Okay.”

Flores’ long-time, close friend and secretary Linda Baba, stood up and walked around her desk taking the phone with her. She eyed the young man who looked at her suspiciously.

“Okay, Javier, you still there?”

“Yeah, go ahead.” I pulled out a pen and pad from my briefcase.

“He’s got about a 45-to-50-inch waist; 28-short pants length; double extra large shirt; and about a size 9 shoe. I can’t tell because his rain boots are oversized. That’s it.”

“Great job! Thanks, baby. Now, just let him eat and I should be there before 9:30. You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, Charles just came back from his rounds. He’ll stay here to help me out.”

“Fantastic! I love you, Linda; but don’t tell Charles!” She giggled and hung up. I threw the cell into the briefcase, shaking my head with a huge grin on my face. What luck! I thought I’d have to wait at the park, but he just SHOWS UP at the office! This was turning out to be a great day already! I saw some lanes thinning out in front of me and floored it, feeling absolutely elated about what more this day would bring.