advice | Novelist

Clear your Clutter

I visited Martin in response to his wife’s telephone call. I had known the family for nearly twenty years. They seemed to be happy and all their children have graduated from the University. When Suzie rang me at 2 A.M I initially hesitated, and advised that I could talk to Martin after work the following day. My heart stopped when she warned with a shaky voice, “He would be gone by then.”
“Gone! What do you mean, ‘gone’?” I asked, thinking that they were going to split up. But would they split a thirty-year marriage? “He’s planned to do it. And I know, for sure, he will do it.” She sobbed.

“Can I have a word with him?” I asked, still thinking it was something to do with their marriage.

“He won’t talk to anyone. He’s been talking about hanging for the past few days. He’s got another letter. He says he can’t cope any more.” She replied, still sobbing.

“O.K. I’ll be on my way. Keep talking to him. Right?”

Martin had locked himself in their study. Suzie reported that he had not eaten or drunk all day. I cautiously knocked at the door and was glad that he had unlocked the door. The study was nothing but a tip with envelopes opened and unopened, papers rumpled and squeezed, littering everywhere. Unlike Dr Braver’s study with elegantly arranged books, papers and magazines, you would think Martin’s study was a public tip. He just kept to himself, refusing to talk. He sat on the floor in the midst of the heaps of papers, with his head in his hands, looking tired and disheveled. I stood at the door, trying to figure out how to deal with the threat to commit suicide. I needed to talk him out of it and find out how I could help. I was a trusted friend of the family. After all, that was why Suzie had called me. To talk to my friend.
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“I’m completely fed up.” He finally broke the silence, and after shaking his head, added, “My life is in a mess. Real mess.”

Relieved that he had acknowledged my presence and had opened up, I walked cautiously and sat on the floor beside him. “Can we talk?” I asked, as I gently placed my hand on his shoulder.

Martin told me that he had been battling with financial problems for sometime. He was fed up with letters coming through his door everyday. He didn’t know how things had got that far despite the fact that he was a good man and a hard working person. He looked up briefly, shook his head and buried it again between his thighs. As far as he was concerned, he had tried “everything.” His life was in a mess and there was nothing left.

After an initial reluctance, Martin agreed to listen to me and for us to work together to see how we could solve the problems. I advised him that he must first clear his clutter. He didn’t quite get that. I repeated, “Martin, you must first clear your clutter.” I advised that he could not solve his problems by ignoring them. Problems cannot solve themselves. For a start, he must open all the letters, file whatever needed to be filed and bin anything else. He needed to contact his creditors and negotiate with them. He could not continue to ignore his bills. After a long talk, my friend promised me that he would take positive steps to address his debt problems.

I visited Martin two weeks later. He proudly took me to his study, and with a smile on his face, he said, “Thank you.” Martin had taken the bold step to contact his creditors and had decided to act and never ignore his problems.

Situations like Martin’s are very common. People allow problems to mount due to inactivity and procrastination. I have learnt from experience that problems don’t sole themselves. They need someone to solve them. A big problem breeds smaller ones, and if you provide the fertile ground, they would flourish and overwhelm you. My advice is: You’ve got to clear your clutter and start to take action. Try this and you avoid being in the same state as Martin was.

As I wondered about going to her, my bleep went off. I almost dropped the bleep when I saw that the number that appeared on it was Dr Braver’s office. At first, I thought of ignoring it. After all, it was the end of the day and I could pretend to have left the hospital. But I knew, of course, that if Dr Braver wanted me he could phone me at home or wherever I might be and whatever the time might be. I remembered what my mother used to tell me, “If you stand up to your demons they would not overcome you.”

I dialled the number with trembling hand, hoping that no one would pick it. My heart stopped completely when he picked the phone. His voice was unmistakable.

“Doctor,” he commanded, “Leave whatever you are doing and get yourself here straightaway.”

“Yes, Dr Braver,” I replied, my heart now out of my body.

“This sounds serious,” I said to myself. But then, he always sounded serious whenever he called. Did he really believe that I was party to the gossips about the incident in the theatre today? Has he found out that I am dating his secretary or his wife fancies me? I battled with these thoughts as I raced to his office.

“Yes, Dr Braver?” I said, my armpit dripping with sweat.

“Tell me. Who told that idiot that I snipped the tip of her son’s willy when did his circumcision?”

“The idiot?” I asked, pretending not to know that he was referring to the boy’s mother.

“Yes, the boy’s mother,” he said, his voice stronger.

“I did not discuss with anyone. Besides, I don’t believe in discussing things that go on in the theatre. That is not my problem.”

“Alright then,” he said, as he pulled out a document, an A4 paper, from the printer, “Something for you to sign.”

“So, you want me to sign this paper?”
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“Exactly,” he said, smiling sarcastically.

“And if I don’t?”

“Your registration will cease.”

“So you want me to lie so you can recommend me to the GMC for continuation of my registration?”

“That’s the score, son,” he said, as he lit his pipe.

I felt like an elephant sat on my heart as I left Dr Braver’s office. I had had people say someone made them sign documents under duress. It happened daily in my country. Police would force people to sign fictitious document or to confess to what they did not do or face torture. Soldiers would force people to sign wrong documents at gunpoint. As for me, I had never experienced this. And I had always said that no one would make me sign any document that I didn’t want to sign. I often boasted to my friends whenever the issue came up, that I had the body of a heavy weight boxer and it would take several police officers to pin me down. They would have to shoot me before they would be able to compel me to do any wrong. But I guess, Dr Braver knew his career and credibility were on line. It would probably be less serious if he put the blame on his African registrar. But where would my own credibility lie in a world where nothing good seemed to come out of Africa? Whatever my belief, I thought, I was in a no win situation.

I needed to speak to someone. But whom would I trust? All of a sudden, I began to feel lonely. I wished I were back home. There, I would not run short of advisers, and good ones too. But here, I found it hard to trust any one. Still, I knew I had to talk to someone before my head exploded. The first person that came to my mind was Anna. I knew she was a straightforward person and she claimed to love me. But I felt guilty because despite all the fun I had with her, I still found it difficult to trust her. I wasn’t convinced that she did not have or had not had an affair with Dr Braver. May be I was being jealous, I wasn’t too sure.

I couldn’t get these thoughts out of my head as I walked back to my flat. Then I remembered my mother. When all else failed I could always count on her advice. An intelligent and forthright woman. I knew I could count on my mother’s advice. Probably the only one I could trust to give me an honest advice. My problem was, my mother was not medical. She would be unlikely to understand medical ethics and law. But one thing I knew was that she would not fault on common sense and would provide a balanced view.

Nevertheless, the thought of involving my mother frightened me. I did not want to cause panic at home. Since my father died I had become the provider for my mother and my siblings. If I told my mother that my boss had threatened to stop me from working if I didn’t sign the document, she would probably fly to the British High Commission to protest. But that was my mother. Even now in her eighties, she was a formidable woman. Tough and fearless. In the end, I decided to keep her out of the problem. I should be able to handle it myself as a matured man, I thought.

I had planned to go to the gymn after work. But I really no more felt like going out that evening. All I wanted was a large bowl of rice and peas and a can of lager. Whilst it was good to deal with a problem straightaway, there were times, I thought, when you would allow events to unravel naturally and every aspect of it would call for specific ways of resolving it. My conscience was clear. I had not done anything wrongly. And if Dr Braver decided to lay blames on me I would strongly defend myself.

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