3 October 2026
Saturday. A THIRD practice, on Collins Street, in Melbourne, and I have a brand-new microphone. I have named her Lorraine.
Lorraine is silver and slim and has the most wonderful warmth in the lower register. She makes my hellooo sound like a hug. She also crackles, ever so slightly, at the edges, and I wept a little when I first heard it.
The new cell is a perfect copy of my others, padded and dim and smelling of something clinical. The patients here arrive in very good coats. They wake in the dark, Lorraine says welcome, and they say “oh no” in the most articulate way I have ever heard.
A word of care for the Melbourne file. My methods include surprises, sudden ones, the kind that make a heart skip. The management asks that any patient with a pacemaker talks to the Collins Street team before booking, and I agree completely. I want my patients’ hearts racing, not misbehaving.
Three practices, three cities. The gentleman downstairs still has only two, which I mention purely for the record.
— Your Therapist
