"Now what would you say," he proposed as an instance, "if you were my internist, God forbid, and I told you I had headaches, recurring nightmares, nausea, insomnia and blurring of the vision; and also that I generally felt unglued and was worried to death about my job? Would you say I was neurotic?"
"I'm a bad one to ask, Marc; I know that you're crazy."
"Those symptoms I gave you are the same as for brain tumor, Chris. Check the body. That's first. Then well see."
Chris telephoned the internist and made an appointment for that afternoon. Her time was her own now. The filming was over, at least for her. Burke Dennings continued, loosely supervising the work of the "second unit;" a generally less expensive crew that was filming scenes of lesser importance, mostly helicopter shots of various exteriors around the city; also stunt work; scenes without any of the principal actors.
But he wanted each foot of film to be perfect.
The doctor was in Arlington. Samuel Klein. While Regan sat crossly in an examining room, Klein seated her mother in his office and took a brief case history. She told him the trouble. He listened; nodded; made copious notes. When she mentioned the shaking of- the bed, he appears to frown. But Chris continued: "Marc seemed to think it was kind of significant that Regan's doing poorly with her math. Now why was that?"
"You mean schoolwork?"
"Yes, schoolwork, but math in particular, though. What's it mean?"
"Well, let's wait until I've looked at her, Mrs. MacNeil."
He then excused himself and gave Regan a complete examination that included taking samples of urine and her blood. The urine was for testing of her liver and kidney functions; the blood for a number of checks: diabetes; thyroid function; red-cell blood count looking for possible anemia, White-cell blood count looking for exotic diseases of the blood.
After he finished, he sat for a while and talked to Regan, observing her demeanor, and then returned to Chris and started writing a prescription.
"She appears to have a hyperkinetic behavior disorder."
"A what?"
"A disorder of the nerves. At least We think it is. We don't know yet exactly how it works, but its often seen in early adolescence. She shows all the symptoms: the hyperactivity; the temper; her performance in math."
"Yeah, the math. Why the math?"
"It affects concentration." He ripped the prescription from the small blue pad and handed it over, "Now this is for Ritalin."
"What?"
"Methylphenidate."
"Oh."
"Ten milligrams, twice a day, I'd recommend one at eight A. M., and the other at two in the afternoon."
She was eyeing the prescription.
"What is it? A tranquilizer?"
"A stimulant."
"Stimulant? She's higher'n a kite right now."
"Her condition isn't quite what it seems," explained Klein. "It's a form of overcompensation. An overreaction to depression."
"Depression?"
Klein nodded.
"Depression..." Chris murmured. She was thoughtful.
"Well, you mentioned her father," said Klein.
Chris looked up. "Do you think I should take her to see a psychiatrist?"
"Oh, no. I'd wait and see what happens with the Ritalin. I think that's the answer. Wait two or three weeks."
"So you think it's all nerves."
"I suspect so."
"And those lies she's been telling? This'll stop it?"
His answer puzzled her. He asked her if she'd ever known Regan to swear or use obscenities.
"Never," Chris answered.
"Well, you see, that's quite similar to things like her lying---uncharacteristic, from what you tell me, but in certain disorders of the nerves it can---"
"Wait a minute," Chris interrupted, perplexed. "Where'd you ever get the notion she uses obscenities? I mean, is that what you were saying or did I misunderstood?"
For a moment, he eyed her rather curiously; considered; then cautiously ventured, "Yes, I'd say that she uses obscenities. Weren't you aware of it?"
"I'm still not aware of it. What are you talking about?"
"Well, she let loose quite a string while I was examining her, Mrs. MacNeil."
"You're kidding! Like what?"
He looked evasive. "Well, I'd say her vocabulary's rather extensive."
"Well, what, for instance? I mean, give me an example!"
He shrugged.
"You mean 'shit?' Or 'fuck'?"
He relaxed. "Yes, she used those words," he said.
"And what else did she say? Specifically."
"Well, specifically, Mrs. MacNeil, she advised and to keep my goddamn finger away from her cunt."
Chris gasped with shock. "She used those words?"
"Well, it isn't unusual, Mrs. MacNeil, and I really wouldn't worry about it at all. It's a part of the syndrome."
She was shaking her head, looking down at her shoes. "It's just hard to believe."
"Look, I doubt that she even understood what she was saying," he soothed.
"Yeah, I guess," murmured Chris. "Maybe not"
'Try the Ritalin," he advised her, "and we'll see what develops. And I'd like to take a look at her again in two weeks."
He consulted a calendar pad on his desk. "Let's see; let's make it Wednesday the twenty-seventh. Would that be convenient?" he asked, glancing up.
"Yeah, sure," she murmured, getting up from the chair. She crumpled the prescription in a pocket of her coat. "The twenty-seventh would be fine."