A while back I took a case of an 11 year old child diagnosed with bipolar disease. “Bipolar” in this case meant depressed with swings to fits of rage. She also had trouble concentrating. Her mother told me, “She just isn’t engaged. She looks lost.”
A delightful child, the first thing she said when they came into my office was, “Can we call you again if we get lost?” There seemed to be two different meanings of “lost” in her case.
It was evident from the start what the mother meant, because I would frequently find the child staring off into space. Asking her questions led to some curious answers, leading me down blind alleys. The homeopath ended up lost too. Not a good situation!
This case took some work to understand. Some cases are “slippery,” meaning that you think you are on it, have it right in your grasp, only to be mercilessly humbled for your hubris. This child was certainly such an example, and I worked on the case for a few months, with no deep change. Then I gave her another remedy, and lost her to follow-up. I assumed there was no improvement and the mother had lost patience.
This eventually brought a lesson. Every case matters to me. I hate failures, probably more passionately than the average. Over the next few months she would come to mind, and I would worry it a bit, cussing myself for missing her remedy. It was probably a full six to seven months later that an email from the mother arrived in my inbox. She told me that her daughter had been completely cured with the last dose. She was happy, doing well in school. Things were great. The mother just wanted to check in with me to give an update. To think I had put myself through all that psychic turmoil for nothing. What a waste. I’m sure there were plenty other cases that could have used a little extra worry for good measure