The Loneliest Condition

The Loneliest Condition

- Max Pemberton

“WHAT’S WRONG?” I ASK. Matthew is about my age, with messy brown hair and the beginnings of a beard. While he comes across as a bit odd sometimes, he’s polite, well behaved; he sits in the TV room, he joins in the activities on the ward, talks to the other patients. “I’m lonely,” he replies. As a doctor, when I’m called to see a patient and I ask them what’s wrong, it’s usually something fairly straightforward. Even if it turns out to be a little complicated, there are always tests to order, scans to book; I can make some attempt to at least start sorting the problem out. It’s not always like that in psychiatry. Matthew has been acting a bit peculiar recently and the nursing staff are worried. On a psychiatry ward, there’s a high threshold for acting bizarrely, so when the nursing staff are worried, it’s time to act. He’s becoming withdrawn, spending more time in his room and crying in the night. I’d hoped that it was something medical, like an upset stomach. But instead he tells me that he’s lonely.