As I sank back into my folding chair, Patricia asked if there were any comments or questions. A bespectacled woman raised her hand. She said that she was grateful for this reminder that her patients are human too. She starts out with such hope, she said, every time a new patient comes—and then they relapse and return, relapse and return. The clients, or patients, exhibit their illness in ways that prevent them from seeming like people who can dream, or like people who can have others dream for them. When she said this, I was fingering the skirt of my exquisite dress. I’d fooled her, or
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