BRIEF ENCOUNTERS
BRIEF ENCOUNTERS
ALASTAIR
A
lastair’s flat was immaculate. There were guitars hanging neatly from brackets on the walls; paisley-patterned throws over the two sofas; a small Buddhist shrine in the corner. In the air there hung the heady scent of joss sticks and underneath, the headier scent of weed. The state of the flat was a reflection of Alastair’s state of mind: Orderly, somewhat eccentric and perfectly equable. He was well. Nevertheless, he was subject to a Community Treatment Order (CTO). This meant that his detention under section 3 was suspended, and he could be recalled to hospital at short notice if his consultant thought he was beginning to relapse. Alastair had applied to the Tribunal to have this Order discharged. Alastair handed me a coffee in a Hibernian FC mug. ‘Yeah I suppose I’m doing alright’ he mused. ‘I don’t go out much, cos of the tiredness and the sweatin’. If I just go the shop I’m drenched.’ The cause of the tiredness and the sweating was the antipsychotic injection which Alastair was required to accept as a condition of his CTO. Another side-effect which he was less eager to discuss was impotence. Unsurprisingly this was something he was keen to get rid of, but he was frightened to stop the medication because of the threat of recall dangling over his head. Refusing the medication wouldn’t technically trigger a recall to hospital, but it would have the community team watching him for the first hint of a symptom like a cat watching a budgie. And if you’re looking for a symptom you’re quite likely to see one. Was the medication keeping him well? Alastair didn’t think so. ‘You look at ma history,’ he said, ‘I’ve wound up in hospital roughly once every two and a half years since I was eighteen, meds or no meds. They don’t make a blind bit of difference.’ Looking at the chronology it was hard to disagree. He had a mood disorder which did seem to ebb and flow with its own rhythm, even when he was ‘concordant’ with the medication. Did the medication make the relapses less severe? It was difficult to say. But his consultant felt that the awful side-effects were a price worth paying for the possibility of a better prognosis. Of course psychiatrists are rarely on antipsychotics themselves (though I know one who is). It’s easy to focus on the gain when you’re not personally feeling the pain. And often this is justified: if you’re weighing the risk of violent aggression against drowsiness and dribbling, there’s really
no argument about which is the greater evil. But Alistair was not a violent man. When floridly ill he had a tendency to dress a bit like Jack Sparrow, and it’s true he did at one point have a cutlass. The cutlass might just have managed to sever custard, but not if the custard had been in the fridge overnight. Alastair wasn’t a danger to anyone. On the day of the Tribunal Alastair met me at the hospital in a braided jacket and bandana. My heart sank. Then the judge arrived and my heart landed with a thud on my diaphragm. It was Mr. Eldon-Beavins. He loathed me, although to be fair I think he loathed all solicitors. What he hated most was ‘clever’ legal arguments, and if you alluded even casually to case-law he would sigh and lay down his pen until you stopped. I couldn’t recall a single occasion when he had discharged one of my clients. It was usual in pre-covid days for the patient to speak last in a Tribunal, giving him or her the right of reply to all that had gone before but also setting a test of self-restraint as he or she had to sit through the calumnies of the psychiatrist without interrupting or storming out. Alastair was a model of serenity as the hearing ground on – so much so that I wondered whether he might have had one of his roll-ups on the way in. Finally, after about an hour and a half, it was his turn to speak. Normally I would lead the patient through their evidence with a series of carefully calibrated questions, but not today. Alastair fixed the judge with a beady eye and said ‘Your honour, I’m just a man like you. I don’t ask much of life – to make love to my girlfriend; to go for a walk without feeling as if I’ve been mugged in a sauna. I know it’s more than likely that in a couple or three years I’ll be back in here raving. But I’ll take that chance. And I think it should be my chance to take. My right. I’m asking you as a fellow human being not to take that right away from me.’ I looked at Mr. Eldon-Beavins. To my profound shock, I saw that he was misty-eyed, and something was happening on his face which looked like it might have been a smile. I coughed, and the judge shot me a cold look. ‘You’re not going to ruin your client’s submissions by adding anything, are you Mr Howarth?’ No sir, no I’m not. Reader, the Tribunal discharged him. Andy Howarth is a Solicitor in the Mental Health Department at GHP Legal solicitors.
All legal professionals have cases that stick in the memory, whether it’s because they exemplify a particularly interesting legal conundrum, or just because the client was so singular. We would love to hear yours. Please send your Brief Encounters (suitably anonymised of course) to The Editor, Shropshire Lawyer, at info@shropshirelawsociety.com.
SHROP SHIR EL AWYER 19
