Cada semana que transcurre resulta en un pequeño desafío escribir este “blog”. Si he de ser sincero, despreciando a la vanidad, la variedad de experiencias profesionales y mundanas hace difícil escoger la vivencia más rica en contenido que se pueda relatar.
Dudaba escribir entre unas y otras hasta que hace escasos días recibí la nerviosa visita de unos padres acompañados de su hijo de diecipocos años. El tema era relativamente corriente pero no por ello menos grave: un posible problema de drogas que parecía padecer el chico.
Los primeros minutos de la entrevista transcurrieron con celeridad. Padre y madre cursaban acusaciones mutuas acerca de sus respectivas responsabilidades en la patología de su hijo. Parecía evidente que algo no funcionaba entre ellos hasta que, ante la evidencia de un discurso tan incoherente, la madre me miró fijamente y me aclaró con voz ronca: “Estamos separados hace casi diez años”.
El chico, sentado en una tercera silla, permanecía como perfect guest of stone at this conversation in which he talked about but, paradoxically, was not taken into account. Half an hour later, bored with the course of the interview, I asked both parents to leave me alone with the silent teenager. The guy barely spoke and, indeed, expressed himself with difficulty. Through the door leaked the strong tone of rigid father of a policeman own nineteenth century. It seemed obvious that the teenager was not used to communicate with their fellow feeling even less understood. What had happened over the years?, How thought, What was? The time for consultation was exhausted, and for a moment, gave me the impression that everything was going to end up in a cold and confusing farewell.
always let the end the patient's demographic data: name, address, telephone, email, etc. The reason for this ritual is not to interfere with the spontaneous naturalness that almost everyone shown in the first minutes of contact. I fill in all the fields appearing in the green reflections of the computer screen. Certainly he was resigned to postpone the understanding of this case toward a future visit. When asked for your e-mail, the boy lowered and look for a moment, I saw a flash of shameful complicity in his eyes. Again set his eyes on mine and whispered, as if it were a revelation of an email that obviously I will not reveal but which was very similar to the following: manuelestoysolo @ hotmail.com. A shiver ran through my body. In an instant I learned more the case than in any previous time. A great sorrow came over my mood. When the boy left the office gave me a certain collusion. I think he knew I had just been the recipient of a small but important truth of his life.
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