“He was not schizophrenic.” She gave him a pleading look; she didn’t want to engage in this particular argument tonight. “The thing is . . . now, he is nothing. Almost a void of a person. And Rosemary Kennedy, Edward said—”
“You spoke to Edward!” He dropped his fork with a clank. “Good God, Ruth. Have you become that gullible? You know you can’t trust anything he says. He has been hell-bent on discrediting me for years!”
“But, Robert, what he said about Rosemary Kennedy, is it true?” she asked evenly, like she was trying to bring a child back from the precipice of a tantrum.
“Is what true? That she was a failure? Yes. Surely you aren’t going to pretend you didn’t know that at the time. Anyway, that was a prefrontal lobotomy. You know very well that I have long stopped recommending those.” The tendons in his neck began to strain.
“I do. It’s just . . . he said that you knew she didn’t need—” She stopped herself. He was not reacting well already. Could she really push this conversation even more?
“Didn’t need what?” he spat.
“My study at the hospital was of four hundred patients who have had mostly transorbital lobotomies. And, frankly, I was stunned by the results.”
“Stunned?”
“Robert, do you realize that only twenty percent of the people we’ve lobotomized have even been able to leave the hospital?” Robert looked momentarily surprised, but he quickly replaced his expression with one of confident conviction.
“Well, leaving isn’t the whole of it. The quality of life is improved. Your staff’s ability to care for them is vastly easier.”
“I know.” She took a deep breath. How could she present this in a way that Robert wouldn’t find incendiary? “But what was considered a good result among this group was Albert Burdell. And Regina Brooks—do you remember her? The dancer? She became so obsessed with food after her lobotomy that she has become obese. She can hardly move.”
“Oh, please, Ruth, you are being hysterical about nothing. Just occasional unfortunate side effects. The point is that they are not a threat to themselves or others anymore. Right?”
Ruth couldn’t believe that he wasn’t the slightest bit unnerved by what she was saying. “Benny Green? Does that name ring a bell? He was a soldier. Had nightmares, extreme anxiety. Remember him?”
“Vaguely. You do know that at this point I have performed lobotomies on thousands of people, do you not?” Thousands? Was it really that many?
“Still, you treated Benny for quite a while so I thought you might remember him. I went to visit with him. Found him in his room, painting the wall with his own excrement.” Ruth looked at Robert desperately and watched as he rolled his eyes.
“Good Lord, Ruth, you’re being a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know, am I?” Her eyes filled with tears. “I went to see Estelle Lennox. Her husband said she locked herself in the bathroom with a knife. A knife, Robert.”
“Yes, I’ve spoken with her husband in the past. Need I remind you that Estelle went from a hallucinatory hysteric to a married woman with children? Thanks to us. We have given so many people such a gift. Can you really not see that?”
“Here is what I see. At my hospital, it was the best we had to offer—”
“Is.”
“Years ago. But now, I am compelled to cease the use of lobotomy at Emeraldine. And I believe we need to help move the entire medical community away from it as well.”
“I see,” he said tightly. “Well, I am certain that your college degree has you well equipped to make such an evaluation.”