‘You think I’m mad?’ – the truth about psychosomatic illness

I returned to the ward with Yvonne’s discharge letter. “I have something for you,” she said, and handed me a card. On the front was a flower-filled field overlooked by a single tree. It was drawn in coloured pencil. The words inside said thank you, it was nice to have somebody to chat to every day. “I made the card,” Yvonne said. “You made it!” I could not hide my surprise. “Yes, I borrowed pencils and paper from the woman in the bed next to me,” Yvonne replied. “But if you can’t see, how could you draw?” “I can feel the pencil marks on the paper,” she answered. She did not seem in the least affronted. Gerald appeared and led her away. I looked at the picture again. All the colours were correct – the tree green, the bark brown. Not a single outline was broken, not a single leaf or flower out of place.

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