“Obsession led me to write. It's been that way with every book I've ever written. I become completely consumed by a theme, by characters, by a desire to meet a challenge.” (Anne Rice)

“Any obsession is dangerous.” (Christina Ricci)

“They already called you three times on the speaker, sir. The doctor is waiting for you.”

“Oh. Sorry. I was absorbed in my book. I didn’t hear it.” My apologies don’t have any effect on the bitchy female assistant. People who work in Dutch hospitals don’t care.

“Room number five. Doctor Verbeek.”, she says, like I didn’t know that already.

When I open the door of room number five, the doctor doesn’t look like he’s been waiting for me for already three speaker-calls. He’s scribbling on some forms, looks at his watch, scratches the back of his head, scrawls some more on his paperwork, mouses a little on his computer screen and finally rises to shake my hand and say my name, like I didn’t know that already.

“Please sit down.”, he adds and suddenly turns into a business-kind of haste as if we don’t have a second left to lose: “What’s the matter?”

“I can’t sleep. I can’t concentrate on anything…”, I start.

The doctor interrupts me. I guess they pay him per patient, not by the hour: “Have you tried Dormilex? That is an effective sleeping pill that you can buy without prescription at any pharmacy.”

I try to stay focused: “No, I haven’t tried it. But I don’t think it will work, because the last few weeks I haven’t been able to get anything down my throat…”

“Do you have problems with swallowing? Let me have a look at your throat.”

Before I can say anything, he pushes an ice-cream stick into my mouth. A fierce pressing on my tongue prevents the production of any sound other than the ‘Ah’ requested by the doctor.

“I can’t see anything strange. Does drinking cause any problems?”

“Drinking isn’t the problem. The problem is that I can’t do my work anymore, that my friends don’t want to see me because I keep failing on my promises, that my wife…”

“The first step for any alcoholic is to understand that his drinking IS his problem. When drinking changes from custom to obsession, usually it’s just a small step to addiction, and when that happens, you’re a lot further from home.”

“I’m not an alcoholic and I’m already a lot further from home then I want to be. I don’t drink any alcohol at all, just energy drinks, fruit juice, liquid yoghurt, things like that. To keep on going. Do you understand?”

“Basically, I still don’t understand anything. It’s clear that you are pretty confused. Perhaps it would have been better to come here with your wife, or a colleague from work or a good friend, so they can explain to me what’s wrong with you.”

“Didn’t I tell you that I can’t do my work anymore? I don’t have colleagues, because I’m fired. Also, I ran out of friends and my wife left me last week. The only reason that I left my home is to find help, because I ran out of energy drinks and fruit juices, because my wife doesn’t do the shopping anymore. Do you understand?”

The doctor heaves a deep sigh. It’s obvious that he doesn’t understand anything.

“I understand.”, he says, and to illustrate that this mental restriction doesn’t disturb him at all in doing his job, he summarises everything, short and clear: “So you have problems with sleeping, eating and concentration. You let it run out of control in such a way that it has now a negative influence on your marriage, your work and your social environment. And finally you want me to find out what causes your sleeping-, eating- and concentration disturbances.”

“I know what causes those disturbances. I only want a letter from the doctor, so I can file for sick-leave-allowance and acceptance in a residence so they can take care of me. Things like that.”

Now doctor Verbeek really starts to lose his patience: “And, in to your opinion, what causes those disturbances?”

I look around. Every medical doctor has professional secrecy, right? Doesn’t every physician swear an oath to help people? I feel troubled to speak with this strange man about my problem. But I realise that I can’t go on like this and I don’t have any other options for help either. I’ll have to strip, bare, naked, confess, be honest about it, although I don’t expect any understanding from this dominant man in his fifties…

I feel that my face turns red, when I confess: “I read…”

“Reading is not a disease. If you want to read, you can go to the library. If we put every reader in a residence…”

“I read John Scalzi. The Old Man’s War-series. It is so good that it’s impossible to put it down. I don’t leave my house without those books. I don’t leave my house anyway, because opening the door means that I have to close my book. I read day and night, and when I’ve finished all five books, I start again with part one. It is much stronger than addiction. It is impossible to get out of the story. It has been written so well that I…”

Doctor Verbeek doesn’t laugh at me, doesn’t get a straitjacket out of his drawer, doesn’t call a couple of male nurses with a work-out-habit, but smiles reassuringly and asks: “Would you like to show me those books?”

Hesitating I put the books on the table: Old Man’s War, The Ghost Brigades, Zoe’s Tale and The Human Division.

“Didn’t you say that there are five titles? These are only four.”, insists the doctor’s smile.

When I take The Lost Colony out of my underwear, the only place I considered safe enough, and put the book on his desk, it feels like a heavy weight has fallen off my shoulders.

“Okay. I understand your problem. In ancient England, there were several people who suffered something similar, caused by the works of Shakespeare and Dickens, although I’ve never heard of it in Dutch people before, like you and I, with an obsession for SF. It is not a very popular genre, you know.”

“It’s phenomenal, doctor. I’ve never read anything that good. A great plot, fantastic characters, a superb usage of the language, intense suspense, an incredibly realistic image of the future…”

“Yes, yes. I understand and I take your complaints very serious. We’re dealing here with an extreme case of obSFession. For medical reasons the Dutch authorities prohibited translations of John Scalzi, so your case of obSFession is very rare, but I see that you’ve fallen into the hands of the original English version, unfortunate circumstances that the medical insurance will probably turn a blind eye to. I will prepare a referal for you to Residence ‘The Third Age’. For reasons of emergency, I will insist on an immediate admission and an intensive personal treatment for at least three weeks. There they will do everything to occupy your neurones with other activities: knitting, baking cookies, playing Klaberjass card games and every Sunday a relaxing walk in the park to feed the ducks, everything of course under professional guidance. The people of the residence will write letters to your employer and family to explain that you’re under a medical treatment, although without mentioning any details about the nature of your illness. You can rely on our medical secrecy. I hope you understand that this therapy is very expensive, so we strongly advise that you cooperate and dedicate yourself fully to the treatment. It’s not possible to repeat the therapy, so in case you fall back into your old behaviour, the only thing left that we can do is: refer you to our clinic for help with suicide, to save you the far more painful end by starvation and exhaustion. Do you understand these conditions? Would you be so kind as to sign here? And here, and here below, and here… and on the final page, but that is only necessary in case you didn’t already make up a last will. Fine. Thank you. I already emailed your file to my assistant. The ambulance of our Medical Centre is at your disposal. Ah, there are Johnny and Ronny, our male nurses. Perhaps you already know them, because they are the owners of the gym in your street. Yes, very nice. Can you put on this jacket, please? No, those books have to stay here. That’s part of the treatment. But don’t worry. Everything will work out fine.”

And everything worked out fine. Not three weeks, but three whole months I spent in Residence ‘The Third Age’. Until I had knitted three pairs of socks for every one of the other residents. Until I was guilty of at least two outbreaks of diabetes, caused by baking too many sweet buns with too much sugar. Until I, thanks to inventing Klaberjass-for-money, solved all my financial problems at once. The breakthrough, however, came during the relaxing feeding of the ducks. That was the moment when I realised that there is so much more in life than the Old Man’s War-series by John Scalzi. This man has written so many other books. And there are Asimov, Jack Vance, Robert A. Heinlein, Arthur C. Clarke… At that moment, the breakthrough, the old wooden bridge collapsed and I threw myself, under professional guidance of course, on the smacking ducks, noticing, no matter the speed at which everything happened, that from a short distance those feathered friends looked a lot like yellow plastic bathtubducks. I was tricked. I was cured.

That’s why I’m back in the waiting room of doctor Verbeek, to thank him for his fabulous diagnosis and the fine treatment that really turned me into a new human being. People always come to their doctor with complaints. It’s about time that someone comes to pay him a compliment, give him a thank you.

“Are you waiting for doctor Verbeek? Do you have an appointment?”

“No, miss. I just dropped by to say hello and to thank him for everything he did for me. That won’t even take 10 seconds, so I hope that you’ll allow me to pass through, please.”

“Well… That will be a little difficult. Doctor Verbeek doesn’t have surgery hours today. He suffered some strange disease lately. He didn’t eat, didn’t drink, didn’t want to see his patients anymore, forgot meetings with his friends… Even his wife wanted a divorce. It all happened very fast. He passed away the day before yesterday…”

For a short moment, I don’t know what to say… That’s unexpected…

“I’m sorry…”, I start: “I’m very sorry, but… Did you happen to find between his stuff some old books by John Scalzi? Those are mine and I would like to have them back…”