Debriefing

I sat down with Wilson this morning with a nice cup of tea and a chocolate digestive and we discussed what the psychiatrist had said. 

W nodded his head sagely after each point… until we got to the bit about revoking his VISA privileges, when he accused me of making that bit up! 

Actually, I'm not keen on this either, since W does all the food shopping using my card, but the psychiatrist had been quite insistent.

After he calmed down and thought about it for a little while, he agreed to give up the VISA card… in return for being allowed to have a pet. 

I said I'd think about it. 

Every parent knows what this means!

The psychiatrist speaks

After the consultation the psychiatrist told me that Wilson is suffering from an idée fixe; in his case, a kind of 'reverse solipsism' -- a condition where the sufferer thinks everyone is real except himself.

He said that W was also experiencing 'expectation issues' with his mother, and (due to his very variable fathering experiences) boundary issues with me. He told me that I must set more rigid and appropriate boundaries, and revoke Wilson's VISA privileges. He also suggested that, notwithstanding his precocity and apparent maturity, W should not be allowed to watch any movies with higher than a U rating. Also, we should go out together, take more exercise and eat more ants. 

He also told me that I should try to persuade Wilson to behave more like an anteater. He's obviously not tried living with him! 

He said that Wilson would derive maximum benefit from Group Therapy… but unfortunately he doesn't have any other anteater patients to make up a group. 

Wilson's not going to like that bit about the VISA card!

Couch time...

Today we went to see the Animal Psychiatrist. Wilson went in to his consulting room without me (he looked very little and vulnerable) and told him all his inner fears and thoughts -- how he watched 'Moon' and how he now thinks he's not 'real' and all his friends, relatives, even me, are 'implanted memories'. Even how he thought he might be a figment of my imagination.

I may be prejudging, but I'd be surprised if Wilson doesn't have 'father issues'. What with having had so many fathers, each for so brief a time.

There's also the matter of his mother's high expectations of him, and how he promised her that he'd be a millionaire before his seventh birthday. 

These are great loads for a young anteater to carry; I hope I can bring more stability into his life…

A second opinion

We've just seen the new vet, who says that she thinks Wilson is experiencing some sort of fixation and recommended a 'talking therapy'. 

She has referred Wilson to a psychiatrist colleague of hers, but warned me that the insurance company might be quite surprised to receive a claim for psychiatric treatment of an anteater. 

When we got outside, W confided that instead of a talking therapy he'd prefer a 'cuddling therapy' as he thought this vet was 'really hot!' 

Thinking I'd be wasting my time if I explained about therapist transference, I just said that doctors were strictly forbidden from dating their patients by their Hippocratic Oath. I can tell he's still down as he didn't even make a joke about hippos.

Emergency visit to the vet...

Realising Wilson might be heading towards an existential crisis, I bundled him into the car and drove him to the vet, who saw him immediately as an emergency case.

After taking a look at him and chatting with him for a few minutes, she told me that there was nothing physically wrong with Wilson, but recommended me to take him to see a colleague of hers who specialised in 'this sort of thing'. 

After we left, W told me that the vet was very kind and reminded him of his mum, Mrs Vermilingua. Perhaps he's just missing his mother.

On arriving home I checked my email and found I'd received a receipt from iTunes for the collected works of Søren Kierkegaard and for Jean-Paul Sartre's 'Being and Nothingness', Kindle edition.

Wilson's crisis draws near...

This morning I went downstairs and found several memos from Wilson magneted to the fridge door. Later, I received a receipt from iTunes for The Complete Works of Philip K Dick, Kindle edition. 

I think that W, following watching the movie 'Moon', is slipping into a reality crisis… and I don't know what to do for the best…

I try to cheer Wilson up by suggesting he incorporate 'Doctor Vermilingua's Healing Ant Soup' into his portfolio of medical specialities, perhaps even naming it after his mother, but he is not enthusiastic. He shuffles off disconsolately, telling me he's going to read a magazine. 

Later I took him a cup of tea and a biscuit and discovered he was reading New Scientist: The Existential Issue. It's full of questions like 'How Do I Know that Everyone Else Isn't a Zombie?', 'Am I a Hologram?' and 'How Do I Know I Even Exist?' with answers like 'You Don't', 'You Probably Are', and 'You Can't' respectively.

This is not a good sign.

Existential doubt...

Business is slow at Wilson Vermilingua Industries (medical division) - Bringing Succour to a Suffering Public… and I thought this might be why Wilson was a little reserved and quiet today. However, that proved not to be the case.

He took me to one side and told me that, after watching 'Moon' yesterday he was afraid he might not be 'real' and that his family, even his mum, Mrs Verlilingua, and all his step-brothers and -sisters might be 'implanted memories'. 

I told him he was as real as anyone I know, but it's hard to allay existential doubt…

Last-minute nerves

The posters are up, the magazine with his advert in it has come out, Wilson is now just waiting for the orders to arrive. In the picture you can see him at his office awaiting the postman.
In the evening, after what W calls 'close of business', to help us relax we watched the wonderful British SciFi movie, 'Moon'. I really enjoyed it, and I thought W did too, but he seemed a little withdrawn and thoughtful afterwards, and settled down in bed much earlier than usual. 
Probably he's just nervous about his business launch… he has a lot resting on it!

Hygiene concerns...

I've been feeling much better today… until I went upstairs and found the bath full of dark brown lumpy goop. I went to let it down the drain but Wilson went apoplectic, telling me it's his mother's secret recipe soup, containing some of his best ants. 

I asked him whether he cleaned the bath before he put the soup in it, but he changed the subject and bustled off to do some work on his e-commerce website.

New Dad insults my mum, Mrs Vermilingua!

< Well really! I'm beginning to think New Dad doesn't want to get better. Half way through his fourth bowl of ant soup he stopped and refused to eat any more. Even after he'd thrown up, he wouldn't touch another drop. 

Some of my best ants went into that soup. Also, there's almost a bath-full of it upstairs, and I can't eat all of it myself. I shall have to remind him how my mum, Mrs Vermilingua, calls it "Ant Penicillin". By not eating it he's insulting her recipe and her medical knowledge, so I'm sure he'll change his mind about it eventually.

Anyway. I've booked a full-page advert in next month's SkateBoard magazine - the entire back page. This is the absolute prime spot for an advert. I shall shoulder the burden of promoting my medical empire myself; I have broad shoulders. 

Actually, I don't have any visible shoulders at all, but you know what I mean. >

Wilson surveys his Empire...

Using the refund from his gym membership Wilson has rented office space for what he describes as his Medical Supplies Empire. Here he plans to manufacture, pack, store and generally mastermind sales and advertising of his sticking plasters. 

It's a lovely office… I just wish he'd chosen somewhere a little less premium, a little less… expensive. 

However, W assures me that appearance counts for everything in the Big Pharma industry, and his office is in the 'absolute prime spot'!

Prime Spot

Never having been a person to waste time, Wilson has already bought the poster space outside Boots the Chemist - he points out that this is the absolute prime spot in Uckfield for a medical product. 

I'm a little worried that his strap-line "You never know when you might need one" would be more appropriate for condoms than sticking-plasters… but I'm not mentioning this, lest he bring out a range of novelty condoms. I daren't think what the adverts for them might look like  :-/

Wilson plans 'a big push'

Twelfth Night has been and gone and all the decorations are down. Wilson asked me when it would be Xmas again. 'What?', he gasped, 'I'm expected to wait a whole year until next Xmas? Okay, what's up next?'. He cheered up when I told him about the choc-fest we know as Easter.

W has already designed his promotional material for the Hi Wilson! plasters, and is now planning what he calls "a big marketing push".

Rich and Famous?

Wilson has just finished the pack design for his plasters and is now working on the magazine adverts and posters. 

He's  pretty determined that this idea will be the one to fulfil Resolution #2 and make him Rich and Famous. Maybe this time he'll be right - after all, kids are always grazing their knees, falling out of trees, suffering minor nail-gun injuries, having chain-saw mishaps etc, so there's bound to be a huge market for novelty hand-made sticking plasters… isn't there?

Design stage complete!

Here is Wilson's design for his 'Hi Wilson!' range of sticking plasters. What do you think?

Once he's 'in production' he plans to put a pannier on his micro-scooter and personally deliver supplies of the plasters to local pharmacies, supermarkets etc. This boy is a born entrepreneur!

W gets his own transport!

Wilson has been out riding on his Xmas micro-scooter. 

He's had a couple of scraped knees, and now he's busy designing a 'Hi Wilson!' BandAid - he's always got an eye on Resolution #2!

No guns :-(

After breakfast this morning I came upon Wilson standing morosely in front of the mirror flexing his arms. "Look - my guns are no bigger" he said, "even after all that weight-lifting. I'm going back to the gym. Will you give me a lift?" 

I told him I didn't think he should over-do his exercising, but he said he wasn't going there to exercise - he was going to ask for a refund.

Resolution #1 fulfilled!

Wilson, having slept almost all day yesterday, woke me at the crack of dawn this morning asking for a lift to the gym. 

I drove him there and he bought himself a year's membership; he generously offered to buy a membership for me too, but I declined. He was, after all, using my VISA card.

I waited while he exercised, then we drove home again with W slumped in the passenger seat, exhausted.

As soon as we arrived home, W ate a massive meal of what he described as "energy food" (but looked very much like ants with deep-fried Xmas pudding) then went to sleep, leaving instructions that he should be woken in time for dinner. 

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Wilson insisted on staying up until past midnight to see in the new year, so he is now still sound asleep!

However, all the New Year's Eve proprieties and traditions were properly observed last night - first-footing included a coin, bread, salt, coal and a bottle of ant gin. Auld Lang Syne was sung, tin trays were loudly banged, fireworks were lit etc. 

W's New Year's Resolutions are still posted on the fridge door, waiting to be kept, or broken… we shall have to wait and see.