In a locked psychiatric ward, what your doctor writes about you can matter more than how you’re actually doing. I nearly lost a year of my life to that distinction.
One morning in the psychiatric ward where I was a patient, the charge nurse asked if I could meet with her privately in her office right after breakfast. I hoped I was not going to get in trouble.
She got straight to the point. She knew I was a physician. Would I be interested in teaching some of our daily afternoon sessions for the other patients?
I was stunned. She was the first medical…
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