Some of my patients are unbelievable. They so make up the archetypes that we find in literature and films that they seem made up. A classic example is a patient of mine that I saw last week--let's call him Bobby. Most people think of him as, well for lack of better term, a village idiot of sorts. He's about fifty and has lived in my small town all of his life. He has some fairly significant medical issues, so I see him about once every month or so. Among Bobby's these are chronic pain issues for which he's an avid believer in medical marijuana. In fact, he's such a believer in it that when his supply was stolen he actually filed a police report and tried to claim his losses on his home owners insurance. Bobby is a tall and thin man who has somewhat of an unusual speech pattern. He moves his mouth a lot and tends to make humming noises inbetween his pressured and slurred speech. He's generally uncomfortable around people and he tends to sweat a lot. With his appearance and his well known history of "electric lettuce" use, he's often discounted as somewhat of a pothead.
While this may be true, this is only part of the story. I've found that no one knows more about my small town than Bobby. He knows who has been naughty and who has been nice. He also told me recently about a double murder-suicide that took place outside my office in the early sixties. I've been here over two years and no one had told me anything about this before. I didn't believe it at first, but sure enough, another long time town citizen confirmed the scandal.
Bobby is my poor Yorick. He's the jester who everone laughs at, but who speaks the truth. Shakespeare couldn't have written him any better.