Chapter 22: The Facility
Dear readers. Thank you for your patience. This chapter was difficult to write, and it may be difficult for some, as institutional violence towards the mentally ill is a central theme of the chapter. I hope it was worth the wait.
I woke up with sore legs – had I been repeating the exercise of the ballet class in my sleep, or was the workout explanation enough? It had been somewhat… hypnotic, heady stuff. I was a bit surprised I hadn’t had any dreams about it.
Perhaps I was stressed about today… I wasn’t sure I was ready. It was time for another patient follow- up. As I munched on my cereal, I looked at the file to prepare myself.
Beth, aka patient 101, was a bit unusual. She was the first patient who had left the Institute, and she also was the “oldest” – no other patient who had left had been at the Institute as long as she had been. I found this combo a little troubling, and the other details didn’t help. Dr Reed didn’t think Beth was ready to leave, but was unwilling to force her to stay. It noted that Beth had deep trust issues and felt eager to leave the Institute as quickly as possible. I had uncovered details that confirmed my and Dr Reed’s impression that Beth had left too soon – petty crimes, drug use… about three years ago this had stopped. I had assumed she had been sent to prison, but no, she had instead been deemed mentally incompetent and sent to a mental facility, where she hadn’t left since.
About the place itself – the Recovery Facility. That name was… vague and a bit awkward. My research on the place had found little. I knew it was a for profit facility, paid by the provincial government on the premise that the private sector would be more efficient. The place was meant to provide mental health services for “difficult cases”, a terminology that wasn’t alarming at all. As far as Margaret had been able to determine, the place had never actually been inspected by anyone before, which was a bit odd.
I got in the car, and was happy the old clunker had started despite the cold – the temperature had plummeted overnight, and the ground was covered in hoarfrost.
I stepped out. I had on my white Dr Martens and my crocodile jacket, which I was wearing over an old sheepskin vest for extra warmth, resulting in tufts of “fur” coming out of the edge of the shoulders and waist, making the crocodile jacket look even more metal. Perhaps not the best outfit for official work… but no, I was going to need courage for this, and the dull, mousy office wear I had just wouldn’t do. Besides, it didn’t match my hair. I was Inspector Johnson, and I would kick ass if necessary!
Satisfied with my pep talk, I grabbed my clipboard and headed to the facility. The building looked a bit like an old high school, but many of the windows had been bricked up. It certainly didn’t have the tired elegance of the Institute. Despite this pedestrian appearance, there was an odd air of… menace to the place. I was probably being paranoid – we all have bad memories about high school, right?
The front entrance was made of those double metal and glass doors common to public buildings; but they had been papered over so I couldn’t see in the lobby. I stepped in – the place was lit by harsh fluorescent lights, one of the tubes flickering. The lobby was nearly deserted – some faded motivational posters with vague statements about wellness, a struggling plant, old cheap furniture. The place reeked of cigarette smoke.
Playing solitaire was a short, burly man dressed as an orderly, smoking one of those cheap, plastic-tipped cigars and sipping a cup of coffee. He barely looked up and said in a rough voice.
“Visitations are Monday and Friday only. You have to call to get an appointment, you can’t just show up.”
“I’m not here for visitations, I’m Judith Johnson, Federal Department of Health. I am here to inspect these facilities,” I replied.
This time he gave me his full attention, looking me up and down. “Are you? Well then, that’s different. Judith Johnson, you said? Please wait here.” He got up and exited the lobby through a metal door, swiping a card to gain access. It seemed that every door leaving the lobby needed a card to pass.
I suddenly felt uncomfortable. What kind of health facility allowed smoking indoors? And there had been a strange gleam in his eyes. I sent Margaret and my boss Madeleine a short text to let them know I had arrived… probably not necessary but…
A few minutes later, the orderly came back, accompanied by another man who could have been his cousin – short, balding, bushy mustache and small, unfriendly eyes. He was wearing a worn business suit and a red tie.
“Miss Johnson? I am Dr Malark. The lobby is not a suitable place for us to discuss, please follow me.” He smiled at me, that fake smile that doesn’t reach the eyes. He had the charm of a used car salesman – a bad one.
He opened the same door with a card, and I followed. For some reason, so did the orderly. The door closed with a firm click, and glancing back, I saw the card reader was required to exit as well. Shit.
We stepped into his office – old cheap furniture with a few chairs, a desk with one of those office phones festooned with buttons, a laptop, papers. For some reason, another orderly was there too, a big lug of a man with a dull expression.
“Please have a seat. So, Miss Johnson, what can we do for you today?”
“As I was telling your assistant, I am an inspector with the Federal Department of Health, and I am here for a surprise inspection.”
Dr Malark chuckled. “Ah, but Miss Johnson, our contract with the province precludes such inspections. The government trusts that the industry can self-regulate. It is in our best interest, after all, to produce results.”
I frowned. “Dr Malark, the Federal Government is not bound by whatever arrangement you have with the province, and has statutory authority to perform such inspections. The lack of previous inspections has been a serious oversight, one I am here to correct,” I replied, doing my best to sound as official as possible. It wasn’t entirely true, I was here to see Beth specifically, but he didn’t need to know that.
Dr Malark smiled widely. “I don’t believe you. You are an impostor – a journalist, an activist, something like that.” He paused, deliberately looking me up and down. “Not an inspector.”
“This is ridiculous. I am an officer of the Federal Department of Health; I am perfectly authorized to inspect these facilities. If you impede me, there will be legal consequences,” I snapped back.
“An amusing story. See Miss Johnson, I happen to know how to use the internet, and I happen to know that all Federal employees are listed on the GUDS database. There are no Judith Johnsons working for the Feds. There is a Julie Johnson, but she works for the Fisheries department out east, so you are out of luck,” he replied, looking very pleased with himself.
A small beep was ignored by everyone.
“The database is outdated, that’s all,” I said back, trying to hide my unease. Why hadn’t I gotten an official piece of identification proving my position?!
“Ah, she insists!” replied Dr Malark. His dark eyes narrowed; and he smiled again. “A terrible case of delusion. Clearly this young woman has lost track of reality and is in need of immediate care! Don’t worry, the province will pay for your treatment. Boys, you know what to do.”
I got up, alarmed, only to be grabbed from behind by the large orderly. “Nighttime for you,” said the shorter one as I tried to pull away.
The scene was interrupted by another orderly with watery eyes, bursting in the office.
“Dr Malark! You have a call!”
“What? Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“It’s from the Feds, Dr Malark, it seems important.”
“The Feds?! Always with the interruptions” muttered the doctor as he picked up the phone. He held up a finger and the orderlies froze. I took advantage of the big one’s looser grip to elbow him in the stomach and he let me go with an oomph. The short one… was he holding something? He seemed … eager… to continue the tussle.
“Hello, this is Dr Malark, what is this about? Yes. I see. Well, there is no need for that. Isn’t she a bit young… I see. Yes, of course.”
Dr Malark put the phone down, muttering to himself, and turned to his laptop, seemingly looking for something.
After about an interminable minute of searching, he picked up the phone again and dialed. “Hello, yes, it’s Dr Malark again, I was just confirming your office just called. Well one can’t be too cautious these days, especially since your inspector is not on the database. Of course, that isn’t sufficient cause but… the privacy of our patients is very important. Journalists have tried to infiltrate this facility before. Yes, yes, I’m satisfied, we will cooperate fully of course.”
He hung the phone, closed the laptop and turned to us, his odd smile returning. “It is a good thing that there is an official database of federal government employees, it allowed me to verify your boss’ credentials. How thoughtful of her to call. I apologize for this misunderstanding.”
He waived at the orderlies, who took a large step back as I gave them a withering stare. He said, sounding much less amused. “Well, since – as I’ve just been forcefully informed – anyone impeding your work can be fined up to one million dollars and or suffer a prison term of no more than five years, let’s get to it shall we?”
I nodded. On one hand, it was a good thing that he was thorough but… why was he so paranoid? I turned to the orderlies and snapped – “If you get in my way, or dare touch me again, I will press charges, understood?”
I turned back to Dr Malark and said coldly, “Show me your patient list.”
“I have it right here,” and he handed me a binder.
I started looking through the names and simply said “take me to this one,” pretending to have picked Beth’s name somewhat randomly.
“Follow us,” said Malark, and we, the two goonish orderlies in tow, headed down. I took out my pen and started scribbling notes on my clipboard. I wasn’t really sure what I should be looking for, but I figured writing down some impressions would look “inspector-ish”. I glanced around, noting how… dingy the place looked. The patients who were out and about were sullen and unreactive.
We entered the basement, where the more serious cases were kept. Cinder blocks had been used to divide the basements into patient cells, painted a dull green. The place smelled of damp concrete and… urine? The corridor was lined with heavy, locked doors, the rooms seemed small – this place didn’t feel like a hospital, it felt like a prison. From time to time, I heard screams, laughter, babbling.
“Aha, here we are. Mr. Brown?” said Dr Malark, nodding at the shorter orderly, who unlocked the door with a heavy key.
“This one is a difficult, complex case,” said Malark, “not only does she display habitual truancy, she also has a perverse obsession with latex. These unnatural sexual urges were implanted by – you must be familiar with the Institute case? Yes, I see you heard of it, disturbing affair. Anyway, we have been using aversion therapy to break that terrible habit.”
There she was, dressed in a dirty hospital gown, curled up on a corner of her cot as far away from the door as possible. In front of the room, where perhaps a small desk could have been, was a sort of… rack with a heavy rubber suit affixed to it, the natural rubber almost orange with age. The suit was closed with heavy zippers, along with several leather straps. A number of wires were connected to the suit, leading to a metallic box with dials and gauges. The thing looked more like a mad scientist device from a hundred years ago than a proper piece of medical equipment.
“How does this work – this isn’t standard equipment,” I said, sounding as dubious as I could.
Dr Malark said, “Indeed. After other methods failed to work, we assembled this. It is rather heavy to move around, so we’ve decided to store it here since it is meant for her specifically. Essentially, we strap her inside the suit and then apply negative stimulus, to create a negative association with rubber.”
“Negative stimulus?” I replied, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, we use electrodes which are built inside the suit, in contact with sensitive parts of the body,” he replied. “We have, of course, ensured that she wasn’t masochistic, as this would have rendered the treatment ineffective”, he added with a tight smile.
“I see… and has this treatment worked?” I asked, trying to keep my tone as neutral as possible.
“This patient hasn’t asked for latex in over a year,” replied Dr Marlak. “We’ve also been combining it with electroconvulsive therapy, to help her suppress her traumatic memories.”
“So why do you keep treating her?”
“Ah, an excellent question, Inspector,” he replied. “We have arousal sensors – see here? They tell us that even though she’s learned not to ask for the latex, she still desires it. Thus, we must continue to treat her until she’s fit to return to society. Healing takes time, Inspector.”
I took a look at the sensors… they seemed fairly basic, like something that measured skin conductivity. They probably would detect any strong emotion – arousal yes, but also anger, fear… so, the only way she would be deemed “cured” was if being put in the rubber electroshock suit was something that she took in stride vs the very natural fear reaction the constant shocking would create! The longer they could keep her here, the more they could keep sending bills to the government… but no, this was more than this, this was sheer cruelty. There was no way Dr Malark wouldn’t have known that those sensors weren’t nearly useless.
“We treat her twice a day, usually an hour at a time. As you can see, there also is a heart rate monitor, to ensure the stimulations aren’t affecting her too badly. She doesn’t like it, but she has tolerated the treatment well. We have sent a request to the province to increase the treatment four times a day – there are costs associated of course,” he added, again with his off-putting smile.
I tried my best to hide my dismay – this was torture. I stepped into the room and Beth shied away from me. She was completely hairless, as many of the Institute’s patients were. The side of her temples were reddish, inflamed… they had given her so many electroshocks she had scars on the side of her head! I put a hand on her shoulder, she was trembling. I whispered to her, “I will get you out of here, I promise! Just hold on.” She looked at me with a mixture of confusion and… hope? She nodded faintly, a tear rolling down her cheek.
“I’ve seen enough of this patient” I said curtly, scribbling a few notes on my clipboard. Take me to patient… 27.” I didn’t want them to think Beth was special somehow. I saw three more – some were in worse shape than Beth, others better but still… fearful. Terrified even. Something was deeply wrong here, and I started feeling like I myself was in danger. That short orderly, Mr. Brown, gave me the major creeps – I would not agree with being alone with them in a room. He had a key to the rooms… I suddenly wished I had a weapon.
I couldn’t stand the place anymore and asked to return to the lobby. Dr Marlak followed, along with Mr. Brown, who kept staring at my ass.
“I trust everything is to your satisfaction Inspector?” asked Dr Marlak with a fake smile.
“Hardly. Your recreation room is seriously understocked, your janitorial services are lacking, and I see an absence of fire signage.” I had been thinking of minor infractions to give them as a cover – I remembered my father saying that Inspectors always had to find something because perfection wasn’t feasible, therefore there always was something to find. “I will be sending you a full report detailing my findings. Dr. Marlak, you have work to do.” I just wanted to keep him off balance so I could get out of there as fast as I could.
His smile faltered for a moment then returned “I am certain we can come to an understanding, Inspector?”
Was he offering a bribe? “You will be hearing from me shortly,” I answered obliquely, and he nodded at that.
Out the front doors into the cold I went. I walked away quickly and let out a shuddering breath. I quickly got in my car and left as promptly as I could.
A few minutes later, I stopped in the parking lot of a Timmies and took a moment to compose myself. That place was a nightmare. I couldn’t leave Beth in there – no one should be in there. But what could I do to help? Oh, I’m the Inspector, sure, but… it’s just a title. I didn’t have superpowers…
… but I did have powers. Bureaucratic powers. I sat in my car, took a few more deep breaths to calm myself, and I called Madeleine.
I explained to her what I had seen, trying to sound as serious and professional as I could, but I couldn’t keep a quiver out of my voice. She encouraged me to continue, asking a few clarifying questions.
“I think you did well Judith,” she said after I had finished my tale, “and you did well to leave the premises relatively quickly. This is terrible – we absolutely have to intervene, and it’s going to be a huge mess. I guess I know what I’m doing for the next five years…” She took a deep breath, and asked, “You thought there were some fire hazards in the building, or did you make that up?”
“Well, I don’t actually know what the fire code is, but… what I saw can’t be right. No exit signs, no fire alarms. Malls, schools, hospitals, they have way more signage than that. I think I saw a single fire extinguisher?”
“Excellent. This gives us extra cover to act. Here is what we are going to do…”
After hanging up, I felt relieved that my boss had my back, but daunted by the enormous responsibility that had been put on me – we were going to shut the place down. Help was coming. But still, if things went wrong… I grabbed my phone again and dialed another number.
“Patty, I have a scoop for you, but you have to hurry…”
An hour later, still in the parking lot, I saw a police car pull up beside me, Federal Police. Out came a tall, red-haired man with a thick mustached and heavily freckled skin, probably in his mid forties. I got out to greet him.
“Damn it’s nippy! I’m Sergeant O’Brian. Inspector Johnson, I presume?” he boomed.
I nodded and he continued.
“Welcome to the inspection business! First rodeo, eh? Your boss called my boss, and here I am. I’ve called a few fellow officers from the area who owed me favors, we should have more back up soon.” We exchanged a firm handshake, although he must have gone a little easy on me, given his hands were three times the size of mine.
“Madeleine – I mean Assistant Deputy Minister Stewart – has also alerted the fire marshal, he should be here soon” I said.
“Excellent. I gather there is some urgency?” he replied.
“Yes. I have uncovered evidence of severe abuse, and I don’t want to give them time to cover their tracks” I replied.
He nodded, thoughtful. “These types will figure a government official will be slow to act – they are still deciding what to do, calling their lawyers perhaps, they haven’t started covering their tracks yet. If I’m right in my assumption, there will be plenty of evidence.”
“I hope you’re right” I said and he smiled encouragingly, but then frowned…
“What is that? On your jacket’s left side, near the back.”
I glanced. Sticking out of my gator jacket was a small orange thing… a needle? “What is … oh shit. I think the orderly tried to inject me with something!” In the brief tussle, while the big one had grabbed me, that bastard Brown had probably tried to sedate me or something, but my jacket’s knobbly leather had deflected the needle. Then the needle had gotten separated from the syringe and stayed stuck in the pale alligator hide.
“Let me take a photograph of that, then I will pull it out and collect it… this might be evidence,” said O’Brian grimly.
Not too long later, the group had assembled. Another Federal Police officer had shown up, as well as three provincial ones, looking not as assured as O’Brian. One, a solid looking woman with short blond hair, nodded at me.
The fire marshal, a short old man with a salt and pepper beard, was the last to arrive. He was accompanied by two fire fighters, burly young lads – I wondered if Madeleine had given him a heads up about the goons. He shook my hand with gusto. “I’ve been trying to inspect this building for the last five years but every time they managed to find some legalese nonsense to keep me out. It’s about time! Speaking of, are we on firm legal grounds?” he asked.
“Oh yes, ahem, as an Officer of the Federal Government, it is my duty to advise you, the local fire marshal, that it is my strong belief that this building is a fire hazard and thus is unsafe for the patients within. I will send this to you in writing as well,” I responded formally, which made him smile and rub his hands together.
O’Brian took this moment to address the group. “Listen up. Marshal Tokasa here has an excellent question about jurisdiction. Inspector Johnson here has health inspector power. As per Section 48 paragraph 2 of the Care Facility Act, she can designate people to accompany and assist her, so we’re good. And section 45 lists what she can do and well, I wish I had this level of access – she doesn’t need a warrant. Everything in the building is fair game. Just to confirm, do you have a reasonable belief that the people inside are in danger of serious mistreatment?” he added, turning to me.
I nodded and he smiled “all right – you lead, we follow. Stay in pairs, don’t trust them. Some of those orderlies have shown violent tendencies. Look smart gentlemen…. And ladies,” he added, belatedly.
A little while later, we were back at the entrance of the facility. I wondered how they would react to seeing four police cars and the marshal’s SUV beside mine.
Marshal Tokasa addressed the group, “Based on what Madeleine told me, the building may have to be closed for fire hazards. Do we have a plan if we have to evacuate the patients? Because if half of what I heard is true, I’m going to have to declare the building unsafe.”
I nodded. “The Red Cross has been advised, and volunteers, as well as municipal buses, are on their way.” As I said that I heard the high pitch buzz of a motorcycle engine. I saw Patty park her dirtbike a short distance away, and start inspecting her rear wheel as if she was having a minor mechanical problem. I stopped looking, not wanting to draw attention to her… I didn’t know how this was going to go down, and I wanted the media – and a friend – nearby. She was probably going to start filming soon.
As we approached the building, a large group of orderlies came out, led by that Brown fellow. His squinty eyes glared at me. “Back so soon?”
I ignored his leer. “As authorised by the Care Facility Act and as a duly appointed Officer of the Crown, I am closing this facility. We will perform a thorough inspection, and your records will be seized.”
His face darkened. “What?! Who do you think you are!?”
“I’ve already told you, I’m an Inspector of the Federal Department of Health. Pay attention.”
He suddenly took a step forward, hands trusting forward to shove me away. I jumped backwards, he was rather short, but he had a hundred pounds on me, I couldn’t let him lay his hands on me again.
At least that’s what I tried to do. Instead, my foot slipped on a patch of ice, and I fell backwards, legs flailing upward and my upper back slamming on the ground, driving the air from my lungs.
I scrambled frantically to my feet, gasping for air. Brown was on his back, knocked out. It seemed like the heel of my boot had hit him under the chin, delivering a sort of accidental uppercut-like kick. Two of the other orderlies had taken a few steps back, while a third gave Officer O’Brian an incredulous, “aren’t you going to do something?” glare.
I glanced over my shoulder and suppressed a smirk as I saw O’Brian give this exaggerated “who, me?” expression in return. He then took a far more serious, official look and said “Don’t ask me to protect you from her, you started it. Pick up your friend and get out of the way. If any of you goons try this again, I will arrest you, and I won’t be as gentle as Inspector Johnson.” He stepped forward and patted me on the back. “Cool jacket. Let’s do this.”
The following few hours were a whirlwind of activity. The Red Cross helped organize the volunteers, which helped us deal with all the patients. We took boxes and boxes of files, computers and hard drives. At every step Dr Malark hovered, interfered, protested, cajoled. I eventually got tired of his actions and told him that several of his patients had been abused under his watch and that I was holding him personally responsible.
That shut him up, or at least got him on the phone with his lawyers and out of my face.
All of this was worth it when I returned to Beth’s room and took her out of there. She was clinging to me, eyes darting in every direction. “I’m taking you away from here. You’re going to a safe place,” I told her soothingly, as I sat her in the back of my car.
Near the end, O’Brian told me that they were wrapping up and I should go home, I looked exhausted – and I was. There were dozens of volunteers, more police, and a couple of ambulances.
“I must admit this is worse than I imagined,” he said, “this is nearly as bad as the human trafficking ring I busted open 4 years ago in Hamilton.” I had skipped lunch and my hands were shaking a bit, so I grabbed some orange juice and chips that had been brought for the patients.
As I walked towards the car where Beth was waiting, it suddenly hit me: this wasn’t just some random facility, it was a for profit facility that the current government had been pushing, claiming the public sector was inefficient. This wasn’t just a tragic case of patient mistreatment – this was going to get political. I groaned; Uncle Doug would be so mad… how do I fix this?
The only thing I could do was give him advance warning – not great, but at least it’s something? I stepped away a bit and pulled out my cell.
“Uncle? I know, this is super important, you have to take this call. Ok I’ll make it quick.”
I quickly explained to him the situation.
“I wish you had called me first!” exclaimed Doug.
“I’m sorry uncle, but it was SO bad. Once you start seeing the evidence, you’ll see that I had no choice but to shut down that facility. And it was a fire trap – sooner or later, something was going to go wrong there.”
He grunted “I guess my evening plans just got cancelled, this will be a big story… you say the media is already aware?”
“Yes, this will probably make the evening news. I know this is going to make you look bad, but I think I have advice on how to handle the crisis – take the high road. Don’t be defensive, be just as outraged as we are. Don’t react as the conservative party, react as a leader discovering a problem. No matter your political leaning, no one wanted this,” I replied.
“Hmm, maybe I can make that work. So, in the future, tell me first… but still, thanks for the heads up, I have some time to prepare. Gotta go, and welcome to the big leagues! This will impact you as well muffin, better be ready for it,” and with those last words he hung up.
Pleased with how the call had gone, I got in the car and gave Beth a reassuring smile.
“Where are… where are we going?” she asked.
“To the Institute,” I saw her react somewhat negatively and added “Not forever, just a place for you to recover and get back on your feet. No more shocks, no more locked cells.”
She said little on the long drive, asking a few questions about some of the other patients she knew. She brightened up when I mentioned I knew River.
At one point she asked if I wore latex, and smiled as I nodded, but then fell silent.
“Dr Reed still in charge?” she asked. As I nodded, she said “She’s a weird one. But… she didn’t try to make me change. They were always trying to change me, to shock me, as if it was my fault…” she added with a sob.
“You’re safe now, there will be none of that now.” I didn’t know what else to tell her. Dr Reed had once said that the latex fetish had been implanted with such potent conditioning that it could only be removed by using harsh methods such as shame. I knew that conversion therapy rarely, if ever, worked, and often inflicted serious trauma, especially if it was aversion-based. Hopefully we were going to find a way to truly help her… it wasn’t perfect, but it had to be better than that hellhole I had just gotten her out of.
We pulled in the Institute’s driveway, gravel crunching. I opened the door and helped Beth out. Renee was already on the door, flanked by a pair of patients. Beth took a few steps forward and Renee wrapped her in a big hug as she broke out in tears.
“Shhhhh, it’s all right, you’re safe now,” Renee said soothingly. “You can stay as long as you wish. Come, let’s set you up – we have a room.”
I followed at a distance, glad to pass on this burden yet reluctant to fully step away.
I then heard a bit of a commotion – a bunch of patients were in the movie room looking at the large TV… the news. For a moment this puzzled me, most of them were quite indifferent to world events, but then I realized that this was new coverage of the raid.
“Come in, this is the good part!” yelled Patty, who had obviously given the heads up to the others. I then saw slightly blurry footage – Patty had filmed it with her phone – of that pig Brown trying to grab me and me stepping backward and slipping… and somehow making it look like this was some kind of elite martial art bicycle kick/dodge, popping back on my feet remarkably quickly as Brown collapsed like a sack of potatoes.
The sisters hooted and hollered. “YES!” shouted Red.
The story, narrated by Patty who obviously had sold her scoop to the National News, explained that the authorities had uncovered evidence of abuse and neglect, followed by footage of the patients being evacuated and police officers taking away boxes of evidence. The haggard, confused look of many of the patients spoke volumes.
And then there I was, being interviewed by Patty, decrying the poor treatment given to the mentally ill and how cost cutting would only end up creating worse problems. It was a bit… ranty for an interview as a government official, but hey, it was my first time!
Patty continued, “This facility was the first in a new line of private health care facilities funded by the Provincial government, with some controversy at the time, which will doubtlessly be reignited by this incident. Reporting on site, Patty McBoland.”
The news cast continued, with the anchor thanking Patty and then saying. “We now go live; the province is already providing comments on these events.”
And there he was, Doug, my uncle, a bulky man in an expensive suit, giving a press conference on the topic. I wondered how much he would use my suggestions?
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “I will get right to the point. I am just as horrified as you are about the terrible abuse uncovered at the Recovery Facility. We intend to fully participate in the investigation. If any abuse or fraud is uncovered – and folks, it’s not looking great – those responsible will be punished.”
So far this was pretty much what we had discussed.
“Before I continue, I’m going to ruin you journos’ day by giving you a scoop – you were probably going to find out anyway, but now you can’t because I’m telling you first – that the Federal Inspector who uncovered the abuse is my niece.”
My jaw dropped… he was right, I hadn’t considered that the news story could expose that relationship, but damn it! I guess this is what he had hinted at earlier. There were loud gasps around me. “That S.O.B. is your uncle?!” exclaimed Red.
“I don’t see a resemblance,” commented River, eliciting chuckles.
I blushed deep red as Doug continued on.
“I love my niece, but we don’t agree on many things politically, alas. Family, what can I say,” he said with a chuckle, shared by many journalists. “But despite our differences, we both agree that people shouldn’t be mistreated, and that government monies should be spent wisely. It doesn’t matter if the facility was private vs public, what matters is that the services provided are adequate. The private sector is not immune to failure!” He was an S.O.B., but he also was pretty good at being a politician.
It seemed like he was back on the track I had recommended, but then he threw another curve ball.
“I therefore call on the Federal government to hire more staff to inspect more facilities. Let me tell you, my niece is pretty great, but she’s the only inspector in eastern Canada, there is just no way she can cover half the country by herself. Thank you, I will take questions now, but keep in mind that this is a new situation and I don’t have many answers.” The journalists reacted with a cacophony of questions, which didn’t seem to phase my uncle at all.
Madeleine, and her bosses, would not like that. When I thought I would give my uncle a heads up to prepare a bit as a courtesy, I didn’t realize he would deflect everything so effectively. But then again… he wasn’t entirely wrong? I knew my job was specifically for the Institute, but perhaps there was a genuine gap?
I drove home not long after that, too shaken up for any other activities, and trusting the Institute would be able to look after Beth in a competent and humane fashion.
I made myself mac and cheese, too exhausted to do anything fancier. The tension of the day was leaving me, and I was finding myself struggling to keep it together. Could I do this? But then my phone beeped, a text.
“I’m very proud of you” – Mom.
I smiled. Things were going to be ok.