Me Too
It’s late on a Friday afternoon in the outpatient clinic where I’m a third-year psychiatry resident. I’m wrapping up my appointment with Jane, a thirty-five-year-old woman with a mild intellectual disability who comes every month to refill her antidepressant prescription.
“Have you been watching the court case on TV?” she whispers.
I stop what I’m doing and look at her.
“The case with the judge and the doctor,” she says.
I sit back in my chair and give her my full attention.
“I’ve been reading about it,” I say. “Why do you ask?”
She looks down at her hands. “It’s just so hard to watch.”