A Country Doctor Writes:

The band members brought their instruments and their small amplifier system into the activity room through the big glass doors facing the parking lot. As they tuned their instruments and warmed up, the residents started to stream into the big, bare room.

Some arrived in their hospital beds, some were pushed in their wheelchairs, some shuffled in with canes and walkers and a few strolled in with the spring of anticipation in their steps.

There had been bands there before, but this was a real dance band with horns, percussion and a female vocalist.

He walked down the long hall with a group of others from the dementia unit. By now he knew the way, even though his eyes failed to guide him because of his advanced macular degeneration. He could see the nurse’s aides in their brightly colored scrubs, but he had trouble making out his fellow residents in the slow caravan.

As they approached the activity room he heard the sweet sound of the vocalist and the wind instruments. The rhythm energized him and he remembered dancing to Glenn Miller and Artie Shaw tunes like “In the Mood” and “Begin the Beguine” in the Forties. He suddenly felt sad. Where was his wife? Why wasn’t she there with him?

One of the aides escorted him to a chair along the sidewall, close to the band. They were playing something Latin he didn’t know what to dance to. He couldn’t see if anybody was dancing yet, but the music was cheerful and made him feel good.

Eyes turned toward her as she entered the room. She felt pretty in her blue dress and shoulder-length black hair. She saw him sitting by the band and quickened her steps, her left leg swinging outward in a slight semicircle and her arm kinked at the elbow. It had been six months since her stroke and this was her first dance since then.

He noticed the blue dress as she approached him, but couldn’t tell at first who she was.

“Have you been waiting long?” she asked.

“Well, hello, dear. I just got here.”

“I’m so glad to see you”, she whispered in his ear before planting a discreet kiss on his cheek. She sat down next to him. She made sure to place herself so she could touch him with her good arm.

The band started playing a new song. He realized after the first few bars that it was “Tuxedo Junction”. Years ago he would have done the Lindy Hop to it, but he couldn’t pull that off now. This would be a nice, slow swing dance.

“May I have this dance?” he asked.

“Well, certainly”, she answered and gave him a slight squeeze.

She led him onto the improvised dance floor with her right arm and they stood there for a few bars, her right hand in his left, both of them just moving slightly to the rhythm. He led her into first the basic step, then a push-out and then an underarm turn. She followed beautifully. They danced the whole song without saying anything at all.

The next tune was a slow waltz. She was able to put her left arm up on his right one and he danced gently with small steps. His eyes strained to see her facial expression, but he didn’t see the tears that had begun to well up in the corners of her eyes.

“I’m sorry I was away for such a long time”, she whispered.

“It’s all right”, he answered, patting her on the back as they danced.

“I was really sick and couldn’t come to see you.”

“It’s okay.”

He didn’t see the scars on her bare arms or the tracheostomy scar over her windpipe.

“I’m so glad I am here with you today.”

“I’m glad you came”, he said and added “I love you.”

By now, two floods of tears were streaming along her pale cheeks and down her neck, across her demon and snake tattoos, wetting her jet-black hair.

“I love you too, Grandpa.”

At 3 o’clock in the morning the emergency room was quiet. The aroma of fresh coffee from the staff lounge seemed welcoming and reassuring as I slowed my steps walking down the long, chilly corridor from the on-call room in the old psychiatric wing of the hospital.

One week into my psychiatry rotation, with almost two years of residency experience behind me, I was on call for psychiatry for the first time.

All I knew about the patient I was about to see was that he was a middle-aged man who was “seeing things”.

I poured myself some coffee and took a few sips. My sleepiness dissipated as the coffee warmed my chest. Walking into the nurses’ station I got sassed about working on the psych ward now instead of where the real excitement was.

I gulped a few more sips and put my cup away in a corner where I might find it again later. Grabbing the chart, I scanned the available background information on Jan-Erik Melander, a married 45-year old engineer, who was “seeing things”.

He rose politely as I entered the room. His wife sat next to him, red-eyed and quiet. She looked sad and tired.

I introduced myself and we sat down. “What’s been happening?” I asked, in Swedish.

Jan-Erik sighed and pulled his long-fingered hands through his thick, unruly hair. His eyes were dilated and he must not have shaved for several days.

“Nothing has happened”, he answered with an impatient tone in his voice. His wife looked at me, then back at her husband.

“Tell him about the TV”, she said quietly.

He gave her an irritated look.

“You don’t believe me”, he hissed.

There was silence.

“Believe what?” I asked.

“It’s not just the TV. That just confirms it”, he said emphatically.

“Tell me”, I suggested.

“OK, I’ll tell you what I know”, he said in a low, controlled voice, pulling his chair closer while fixating his eyes on mine.

“I have come to realize”, he explained calmly, “that we are not alone in our solar system.”

I made myself nod.

“Analyzing various coincidences I have realized there is a planet at the opposite point in the solar system from Earth with the exact same molecular composition. Everything there is an exact replica of everything here, even you and me!”

I nodded again and let out a “huh”.

“It cannot be seen, because its location is exactly at the opposite point of Earth’s orbit around the sun.

I found myself in no hurry to end my encounter with Jan-Erik. It was an interesting thought, perhaps the plot of a sci-fi movie, and I didn’t feel alarmed.

As if reading my mind, he looked furtively around the room, moved within inches of my ear and whispered:

“In three days our planets will switch places. They will be here and we will be there, and then we will be annihilated!”

His eyes widened again and he raked his greasy hair with his long fingers.

“I happened to intercept one of their radio signals on the UHF band on the TV in the den a few nights ago.”

He got up and started pacing.

“Jan-Erik, please stop!” his wife sobbed. “You’re not eating, you’re not sleeping. You’re driving us all crazy!”

“None of you believe me”, he accused, his pale blue eyes boring into mine.

It was my turn to speak, to do something as the resident on call for psychiatry. Nothing in my medical school training had prepared me for choosing the right words.

“Are you the only one who knows?” I asked.

“Yes. Nobody else knows. Nobody else believes what I tell them.”

I thought for a moment.

“I don’t know what to believe”, I said. “You must be exhausted, the only one with knowledge of something this huge…”

“You’ve got to help me stop this”, he said. “There isn’t much time. We need to tell the government and the military!”

“I can’t help you get through to them, and I can’t help you convince them. I’m just a small town doctor manning the fort until 8 am”, I said. Inspired, I continued:

“What you need right now is to avoid exhaustion. You are already running on empty. If you hope to get through to someone in charge and have them take you seriously, you need to be clear-headed. My suggestion is that you stay here tonight, get a couple of hours’ sleep and figure out in the morning how to proceed. Nobody in charge is going to be available at 3:30 anyway.

He seemed suspicious.

“You’re safe here”, I reassured him. “You can sleep in one of our observation beds. Then, in the morning I will introduce you to the head of our clinic and he can help us deal with the situation.”

He hesitated. My heart pounded and my mind raced. Swedish law, at least in 1980, made it impossible to commit psychiatric patients involuntarily from within a hospital that provided psychiatric services. An outside physician had to petition the legal system for this. Besides, there was no indication at this point that Jan-Erik was homicidal or suicidal. Maybe he wasn’t even dangerous to himself or anyone else – yet.

“Maybe just a couple of hours”, his words interrupted my internal dialogue.

“A wise decision”, I affirmed.

Suddenly he flew out of his chair and darted toward the exam room window that overlooked the highway between the hospital and the nearby soccer arena. Before I was even out of my chair, he had opened the window and climbed up on the marble windowsill.

“Wait!” I called out as his wife ran over and grabbed his arm. “Don’t get hurt, and don’t wear yourself out!”

“OK”, he resigned. “I’ll stay until eight.”

I called for the nurse and an orderly and we brought Jan-Erik over to the psychiatric ward, where he was checked into a room near the nurses’ station.

I slipped away to the on-call room and laid down on top of the bed with my already rumpled scrubs still on.

An hour later, my pager went off. The charge nurse wanted me to come and see Jan-Erik. When I arrived on the unit he was standing on a chair, talking loudly to a couple of patients in the TV room. Their interest seemed to be fading quickly and as they turned away from him, he caught sight of me.

He put one foot on the back of his chair and reached for the skylight molding. Heaving his lanky body up into the light well, his legs wiggled in all directions. The wooden chair fell to the floor with a loud clatter and there he hung, legs still flailing about.

“You’ve got to get some rest”, I said as calmly as I could.

“OK, just help me down”, he said.

Together, the nurse and I guided his descent and he allowed us to lead him back to his room, where he finally settled down.

After morning rounds I was no longer responsible for Jan-Erik Melander’s physical or emotional safety. The assistant chief of the psychiatric clinic took over with a slight nod of approval after I presented the case history to him.

Driving home, I thought about the twin planets at opposite ends of the solar system and how Jan-Erik’s life had taken such a drastic wrong turn out of the blue.

At home I showered and fell into bed. I must have fallen asleep instantly.

I woke up at noon to the smell of fresh coffee. The sheets were twisted around my body. My heart was pounding and I felt clammy all over. My throat was sore and my muscles ached. I remembered running, screaming desperately to warn people about the impending switch of the twin planets.

Kirk Donner has been my patient for eighteen years, ever since his adoptive parents brought him home at age two weeks. He is their pride and joy, very wise for his years, talented in languages and sports and strikingly handsome. He is taller than his parents with olive skin, curly dark hair and brown eyes, contrasting with their fair complexions and reddish blond hair.

He had known he was adopted from early on. At his well-child visits he would explain to me that he didn’t grow in his mother’s belly but in her heart as she longed for a baby to love some day.

His parents told him his birth mother was very young and wasn’t able to take care of him. She placed him for adoption because she wanted the best for him, they had explained.

Kirk often wondered what she was like and if they had a lot in common. His adoptive parents knew very little about her. They had a medical history questionnaire and a short biographical sketch from the adoption agency. They knew her first name was Suann.

A few times in moments of anger he had lashed out at his parents: “You don’t love me! I wish I could live with my real mother”, but most of the time he was happy with his life and didn’t even think about being adopted.

For several years before his eighteenth birthday the Donners had promised to take him to the State Capital if he wanted to go to the adoption registry. He knew that by registering there, he might be able to find his birth mother.

Kirk hesitated. He was very curious about her, but he also worried about what it would be like to meet her. Would she be someone he could respect and how would she feel about him? His eighteenth birthday passed and he still wasn’t sure.

Then a classmate’s mother had a car accident and was nearly killed when a moose ran into the road in front of her car. Kirk decided to make the trip as soon as possible.

With his adoptive mother he decided on a day and they made a date of it with lunch at a nice restaurant across the street from the registry. Kirk enjoyed the food but didn’t eat with his usual appetite. They had agreed that he would go alone while Beth Donner had coffee and they would meet back at the car when he was done.

Kirk took the elevator to the fourth floor. He was alone. As the door slid open, he stepped forward and almost collided with a tall, dark-haired woman with designer jeans and a plain, white blouse. Her eyes met his as he stopped and apologized. They were large and kind. She flashed a smile as he swerved around her, embarrassed and eager to get to the registry.

He walked up to the receptionist and stated his errand with words he had practiced in his mind the whole trip.

The clerk handed him a form and as he reached for a pen he saw a stack of similar forms in front of her. Reading the top one upside-down he saw the name:

Suann Walker.