


| An ocean of carpet with one third of it hidden under an ocean liner of a desk. Behind it, an hugely enormous chair. Yards away from this gargantuan furniture cowered the tiny, extremely low-slung chair for patients. Jo Beth felt that this cartoonish architecture did not bode well for the doctor's manner, and she was right. Dr. Y. accused Jo Beth of faking her jerks. Jo Beth looked at him and thought long and hard about jerks. Then, she wondered aloud what motive she could possibly have for constantly embarrassing herself. At last convinced the jerks were not of her choosing, the doctor soon guessed that Jo Beth might have Tourette's. ("F*ck, f*ck f*ck!", thought Jo.) Clonapin was prescribed. The jerks got worse, and the drug interfered with Jo Beth's sleep, which helped them get worse. It was time for a new neurologist, anyway. Someone with a smaller desk. |
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