Not BS, but an old friend of mine called on Friday night asking for my research help on a particular type of scabies parasite that she first saw on her dog and then on herself, and as she described what she sees and where it has spread and the conspiracy of silence that she is meeting as she tries to report it and that she now sees on other people and in all of her food and under the varnish of the furniture and climbing the walls ("I hope it doesn't eat the art work!") and that her fridge is full of "evidence of contamination" and she hadn't eaten for three days, I realized 1) this was a call from a friend having a schizophrenic crisis and 2) that was the most scary-ass story I have ever heard and no wonder the human race is so fascinated by scary stories.

I woke up realizing I must have processed the information in my dreams because I literally sat up and thought this was a cry for help and this scary story is her reality right now, so I had to act.

I sent email early that morning to her daughter, subject "This is your mother's friend Maggie" and told her I had talked to her mother and I thought she needed help and included my contact information. She called a few minutes later, because someone else her mother had asked for help was the mother of one of her friends and knew her well enough to call late at night. She asked questions and I was able to tell her that the crisis seems to have been at its worst starting three days ago and, if the only way to get her to go into care is to be sure the dog is well taken care of (how many people forego things for themselves for the love of their pets?) that I would drive four states away and bring her dog back here. She was my go-to person to tell me what I needed to know about Labrador retrievers when Zeke came to live with me, she knows I will care for him well. She has an elderly ailing husband, but she has friends so I doubt it will come to that, but I will make the drive if that will assure her cooperation in getting treatment.

I'm posting it here because I was equally horrified and fascinated by the story she was telling me; she's a retired English professor with the full weight of a rigorous education behind this delusion and it came with citations. Literally - she cited a Thomas Pynchon novel that it felt like. (I've ordered The Crying of Lot 49 because I haven't read it but think it might give me a glimpse of what is going on in her poor troubled head right now.

MOM was listening on the extension and didn't say a word, just sat there wide-eyed with amazement.