I get the call.

About three weeks after the visit to the Mental health unit there was a message on the answering machine summoning my husband and I to the GP. I rang and asked if I could make an appointment. No.You come and wait your turn. With a sense of unease I got Olly ready and at 3.30 we were outside the surgery.There were several people waiting already. Why are we waiting,asked my husband angrily. For the door to open and then we go in and sit down. How much longer? Not long, about 25 minutes. All right,then. Two or so minutes later - you said twenty five minutes,it is now twenty five minutes and we are still here.You are a liar,I am not waiting. He marched off in the direction we came. I followed him. Where would you like to go? I don't know. Let's go and have a lovely cake and a cup of coffee. I took his hand and slowly we made our way to the nearest patisserie. Shall we go back to the doctor now? If you say we must go then we shall go. The waiting room was full.We found a chair for him to sit down,I stood beside him. Please,God,let him be good, please God, let him be good. Why do I have to wait? To see the doctor. How long. Not long sweetheart,maybe half an hour. For a healthy person half an hour passes in a flash.For someone who has lost sense of time,for whom nights became days and days had disappeared into oblivion, half an hour is a lifetime. I didn't want to come here.I am not ill. You are ill. He punched me in the thigh. He hit a massive old bruise. It came faster than I had expected. I almost lost balance.The woman sitting next to me got up and offered me her seat. Thank you so much. My husband pinched the skin on my hand and twisted it. I flinched and involuntarily tears filled my eyes. You cow, he screamed.You are ill, not me. Look, you have black hand, you need a doctor,not me. My hand,like my leg, was covered in painful bruises. He kicked me in the shin. Sweetheart,let's go home. Come. He was not listening and I knew better than make him do anything until he stopped screaming. Do you want to fight, he shouted at the young man siting opposite,got up and raised his fists towards him,abuse spurting out of his mouth. Please,God, don't let him punch anybody here,please God, let him hit me but not anybody here. For Christ'sake, why doesn't the doctor take him in, said the young man to the receptionists. They looked at him blankly. I would let you go,but I came after you,he turned towards me.Compassion and pity in his eyes. Every-one else was silent. The doctor in the room next to the reception opened the door,looked at us and closed the door without saying a word. Finally our name was called. I believe you have complained about me,said the doctor.Why didn't you come to see me again if the things got so bad,he continued,not allowing me to say anything.Well, now you are here. So what do you want to do. What did I want to do? What did I want to do?At that very moment just for a moment what I wanted to do was to say to him - you are not fit to be a doctor,you have neither knowledge nor compassion to deal with people. I wanted to. But I did not. He needs to be professionally assessed and he needs to be helped. Treated.