"Christopher Moore - The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moore Christopher)

work. As with any therapy, a third get better, a third get worse, and a third
stay the same. Antidepressants aren't a panacea." But you treat them like they
are, don't you, Val?
"But you said that Bess Leander had OCD, not depression."
"Constable, have you ever had a stomachache and a runny nose at the same
time?"
"So you're saying she was depressed?"
"Yes, she was depressed, as well as having OCD."
"And it couldn't have been the drugs?"
"To be honest with you, I don't even know if she was taking the drug.
Have you counted them?"
"Hm, no."
"Patients don't always take their medicine. We don't order blood level
tests for SSRIs."
"Right," Theo said. "I guess we'll know when they do the autopsy."
Another horrendous picture flashed in Val's mind: Bess Leander on an
autopsy table. The viscera of medicine had always been too much for her. She
stood.
"I wish I could help you more, but to be honest Bess Leander never gave
me any indication that she was suicidal." At least that was true.
Theo took her cue and stood. "Well, thank you. I'm sorry to have bothered
you. If you think of anything, you know, anything that I can tell Joseph that
might make it easier on him..."
"I'm sorry. That's all I know." Fifteen percent. Fifteen percent. Fifteen
percent.
She led him to the door.
He turned before leaving. "One more thing. Molly Michon is one of your
patients, isn't she?"
"Yes. Actually, she's a county patient but I agreed to treat her at a
reduced rate because all the county facilities are so far away."
"You might want to check on her. She attacked a guy at the Head of the
Slug this morning."
"Is she in County?"
"No, I took her home. She calmed down."
"Thank you, Constable. I'll call her."
"Well, then. I'll be going."
"Constable," she called after him. "Those pills you have -- Zoloft isn't
a recreational drug."
Theo stumbled on the steps, then composed himself. "Right, Doctor, I
figured that out when I saw the body hanging in the dining room. I'll try not
to eat the evidence."
"Good-bye," Val said. She closed the door behind him and burst into
tears. Fifteen percent. She had fifteen hundred patients in Pine Cove on some
form of antidepressant or another. Fifteen percent would be more than two
hundred people dead. She couldn't do that. She wouldn't let another of her
patients die because of her noninvolvement. If antidepressants wouldn't save
them, then maybe she could.


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