TRANSCRIPT: SOMNARIUM. S.018 – Rinse and Repeat
Case of Catherine Hodgson. First seen by Dr. Paul Moore on January 13th, 2011, for insomnia, recurring nightmares and an increasing obsession with germs and cleanliness.
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INTRO
[hdd spins up]
ALEX
What do you mean Raynor isn’t a detective anymore?
MADDY
Yeah. Apparently he retired.
ALEX
Hmm… retired…
[pause]
How did you figure that out anyway?
Did you hack into the Noren Police Department?
MADDY
Oh, it was simple really.
I got my laptop out… connected to my secure network…
ALEX
Uh-huh… and then what?
Did you use some kind of web exploit to get past their firewall and access the database?
MADDY
Well… it took a little brainpower, but…
I aligned my arrays…
ALEX
Yeah?
MADDY
I calibrated the flux capacitor…
ALEX
Ugh, come on Maddy.
MADDY
And then I…
ALEX
Maddy!
MADDY
I picked up the phone and asked for Detective Raynor, you idiot.
ALEX
[groans]
Ugh…
MADDY
I really had you going there, didn’t I?
[pause]
ALEX
Did they say anything else?
MADDY
Not really.
They deflected all other questions I asked.
ALEX
Great. Another dead end.
MADDY
For now.
I’ll keep digging, we’re bound to find something meaningful at some point.
ALEX
I guess…
MADDY
I’ll be in the other room, so you can do your… thing.
ALEX
Don’t you want to read another one?
MADDY
[with flair]
No~ Thank you~
ALEX
Alright… well…
I went through the other case files on the hard drive and pieced together a few that might help.
As far as I can tell… Around 2011, Dr. Renwyck hired Dr. Moore to assist in her clinic.
There was a short two-year window between 2011 and 2013 where Dr. Moore and Dr. Renwyck work together.
By the end of 2013, Dr. Renwyck’s name stops appearing on the paperwork entirely. After that, she’s only mentioned when a case gets referred to her.
Anyway, this is the earliest Dr. Moore case I could find.
Case of Catherine Hodgson. First seen by Dr. Paul Moore on January 13th, 2011, for insomnia, recurring nightmares and an increasing obsession with germs and cleanliness.
Applicant: Catherine Hodgson
Date: January 6th, 2011
Referral: Dr. [REDACTED]
Dr. Renwyck,
My doctor told me I had to write this out if I wanted your office to consider seeing me. Apparently you come highly recommended.
Before I explain anything, I want to make one thing very clear.
I’m not writing because I think there is something seriously wrong with me.
I’m writing because my doctor thinks there is and I should seek treatment.
She has started using words like “obsessive” and “compulsive,” and at my last appointment she even mentioned OCD, which I just think is completely excessive.
I’m not writing this because I believe I have some kind of disorder.
I’m writing because I’m tired of having the same argument with her and because, apparently, this is what I have to do in order to get her to believe me.
I don’t think there’s anything abnormal about wanting things to be clean.
If anything, I think other people aren’t clean enough.
They touch everything. They never think about where their hands have been. They cough into them, wipe their noses, touch shared surfaces, and then act as if everyone else should be comfortable living in the mess they leave behind.
I didn’t always think about it this much.
At least not until a few months ago.
I had a minor surgical procedure done. It was routine. I was told it was straightforward and that recovery should be simple as long as I followed the aftercare instructions properly.
Keep the area clean. Wash your hands before touching the bandage. Watch for signs of infection.
That sort of thing.
I did what I was told, I was careful, and still I ended up with an infection.
It wasn’t severe enough to put me back in the hospital, but it was still painful and unpleasant and it dragged the whole recovery out much longer than it should have.
I had to go back in. I had to deal with antibiotics. I had to deal with the discomfort of knowing that even after doing what I was supposed to do, it still happened.
That changed how I think about hygiene.
Not immediately, of course.
I was just more careful after that.
That’s the part my doctor doesn’t seem to understand. She talks as if this came out of nowhere, but it didn’t.
I got an infection. It hurt. It made my recovery much more difficult than it needed to be. I just don’t want to go through something like that again.
So yes, after that I paid more attention.
I washed my hands more often.
I thought more carefully about what I touched.
I stopped assuming that shared surfaces were “probably fine.”
I don’t think any of that is irrational.
The problem, according to my doctor, is that it has gradually gotten harder for me to stop once I start thinking about contamination.
She says that’s where it stops being “careful” and starts becoming obsessive.
I still think that’s unfair, but I will admit that it has become difficult to manage.
I work in an office, and once I started noticing how careless people are, it became hard not to pay attention to it all the time.
People come in sick and say it is “just a cold.” They touch the copier, the printer, the office phone, the kettle, the fridge handle, the water dispenser, everything.
Then someone passes you a document or a pen and expects you to take it without thinking about where it’s been.
I used to be able to do that. Now I can’t do it without thinking about it.
I wash my hands a lot more than I used to.
I definitely do, a lot more.
At first it was only after obvious things. Using the restroom. Handling shared equipment. Coming back from lunch.
Then it became other things.
Touching the lift button. Opening the main office door. Using the photocopier. Handling mail that has passed through several hands.
It looks so silly now that I’ve written it down, but it isn’t.
The problem is that washing them once doesn’t always feel like it’s enough.
That’s what I’ve tried to explain to my doctor, and it’s the part she keeps fixating on.
I’ll wash my hands. Then notice I touched the tap again after rinsing. Or I touched the paper towel dispenser. Or the door handle on the way out. Or I think about the sink itself and wonder whether some of the water splashed back onto my hands.
Then I go back and do it again.
Rinse and repeat.
That’s the phrase I keep thinking of.
Rinse and repeat.
I know how stupid that sounds.
But that’s what it feels like.
A loop. A never-ending loop of washing and rinsing and washing and rinsing.
I wash, then realize something in the process wasn’t thorough enough and wash again.
I’m not doing this because I enjoy it. On the contrary, I don’t enjoy any of this.
I do it because once the thought gets into my head, it’s very hard to think about anything other than contamination.
It’s gotten so bad, that it’s started causing problems at work.
I lose time. I go to wash my hands and miss a phone call. I clean my desk more than once a day, I wipe down my phone, and I avoid using other people’s pens if I can help it.
I’ve stopped shaking hands with anyone except my bosses. And even then, I carry a bottle of hand disinfectant just in case.
A coworker made a joke last week about me polishing the office one surface at a time.
I laughed, but I knew what she meant.
People have noticed. They have for a while.
My doctor says that if it was only about being clean, it wouldn’t be interfering with my work this much. She says the repetition is the problem. She says I’m not getting reassurance from it anymore, only temporary relief.
Like an addiction. A compulsion.
At least, that’s what she says.
The other reason she referred me is because I’m not sleeping properly anymore.
At night I lie awake thinking about what I touched during the day.
Whether I washed enough afterwards.
Whether I might have touched my face without thinking.
Whether my hands were really clean when I got into bed.
Whether the sheets are clean enough.
Whether I should get up and wash again just to make sure.
I’ve done that more than once.
Gotten out of bed, gone into the bathroom, washed my hands, stood there looking at them, then did it a second time because the first time didn’t feel like enough.
Rinse and repeat.
I think I learned a lesson from what happened after that procedure, and I think the people around me act as if cleanliness only matters when something has already gone wrong.
I just don’t want something to go wrong again.
But I also can’t deny that this has gotten bigger than I meant it to.
It’s taking up more of my time.
It’s affecting my work.
It’s affecting my sleep.
It’s exhausting.
So that’s why I’m writing to you.
To get control of this again.
Sincerely,
Catherine Hodgson
CONSULTATION NOTE
Patient: Catherine Hodgson
Date: January 13th, 2011
Subject: Initial consultation
Ms. Hodgson attended as scheduled following referral from her primary physician. She presented well-groomed, composed, and fully oriented throughout the consultation. At the start of the appointment she appeared mildly taken aback to find that I, rather than Dr. Renwyck, would be conducting the consultation. I explained that she’s currently occupied with other work and that I have been assigned to her case for the present. She accepted this without objection, though it was clear she had expected to be seen by her directly.
She remained coherent and organized throughout, though notably defensive when discussion turned to the severity of her symptoms. She repeatedly framed her behavior as “being careful” rather than excessive, and appeared frustrated by her physician’s suggestion that the problem may fall within an obsessive-compulsive pattern. She declined a handshake at the beginning of the session and a heavy scent of disinfectant accompanied her into the room and remained noticeable throughout the consultation.
The skin over both hands was visibly dry and irritated, with cracking around several knuckles and fingertips. Ms. Hodgson reported that her doctor is currently treating her for eczema, which she attributes to frequent washing and use of hand sanitizer, though she did not appear to view this as significant when compared to the risk of contamination.
By her account, the current pattern began after a routine surgical procedure several months ago, was followed by a minor but painful infection during recovery. The event appears to have changed the way she thinks about hygiene and contamination. What began as an increased caution has gradually become repetitive handwashing, repeated cleaning of surfaces and personal items, and growing difficulty moving on once the idea of contamination has entered her mind.
What stands out is not simply the amount of washing, but the repetition within each episode. Ms. Hodgson described washing her hands, then immediately returning to do so again after noticing some part of the process no longer felt sufficiently clean. Relief appears brief and incomplete. She seems to be unable to let go of the uncertainty of contamination once it enters her mind.
This pattern is now interfering with work and sleep. She reports losing time during the day to repeated washing and cleaning, and lying awake at night replaying perceived contamination from earlier in the day. On several occasions she has gotten out of bed to wash her hands again before being able to settle.
Plan is to begin with measurement and structure. I asked Ms. Hodgson to keep a daily record of handwashing episodes, approximate totals, their triggers, and whether she repeated the act more than once. I also advised her to begin delaying any non-essential washing, even briefly, in order to better distinguish actual contamination from pattern obsessiveness. Given the condition of her hands, I further recommended reducing chemical exposure where possible and continuing eczema treatment as prescribed by her physician. Follow-up scheduled in two weeks.
SLEEP DIARY
Friday, January 14th, 2011
Dr. Moore wants numbers.
Not “roughly” and not “more than usual.” Actual numbers. Every hand wash, written down. He said if I keep insisting this is just me being careful, then I should be able to tolerate looking at what “careful” actually adds up to.
So. 27.
It doesn’t feel outrageous in the moment. It only feels that way once I’ve written it down.
Most of them made sense. Restroom. Lunch. Shared post. Office phone. Lift button. Copier. The kettle in the break room that everyone touches and nobody ever seems to wipe down. Ordinary things. That’s what bothers me so much, everyone acts as if ordinary things are harmless just because they’re familiar.
What doesn’t make as much sense is how washing once becomes washing twice.
I washed after handling a stack of incoming mail this morning. Dried my hands. Reached for the restroom door. Stopped. Went back because I couldn’t stop thinking about the paper towel dispenser.
Then I washed again.
Rinse and repeat.
By the time I got back to my desk, I’d missed an important phone call.
No one said anything, but Sandra gave me that look when I came back to my desk. The one that says she noticed, even if she was too polite to comment.
My hands are already starting to sting again. Especially around the knuckles. The cream helps for a little while, then I wash it off and I’m back where I started.
I didn’t sleep well last night. Woke up once around three and lay there thinking about whether my hands had actually been clean when I got into bed.
I got up and washed them again.
I almost didn’t count that one.
But if I’m counting, I should count.
Thursday, February 3rd, 2011
Today’s total: 39
I knew before lunch it’d be higher than last time.
The office has become impossible in small ways.
Not dramatic ways. Just constant ones. A man from Finance coughed into his hand and then passed me a folder. Karen used the microwave and closed the door with the same hand she’d just used to blow her nose into a tissue. Someone left a smear of something on the fridge handle. I don’t even want to know what it was.
I keep noticing all of it now.
That might be the real problem.
Once I notice, I can’t un-notice it.
There was one stretch this afternoon where I washed three times in under five minutes. Once because I’d used the restroom. Once because I touched the tap after rinsing. Once because I became convinced the sink water had splashed back onto my wrist.
Rinse and repeat.
The phrase keeps showing up in my head before I even get back to the sink.
My hands look worse. The skin on my right thumb has split in a narrow line and caught on my sleeve twice today. Both times it made my stomach turn. Not because it hurt badly. Because it made me think about broken skin. Open skin. Easier entry.
That thought stayed with me for most of the afternoon.
I used hand cream at my desk, then immediately wondered if I’d contaminated the tube by touching it first. I stood there staring at it for a ridiculous amount of time before finally putting it back in my bag.
Then I went and washed my hands. Again.
I’ve started lying awake at night replaying specific moments from the day. Not the whole day. Just the moment where I feel the need to be clean. What I touched. What I touched after that. Whether I washed after the right things. Whether I touched my face at some point without noticing.
I got up twice last night.
The second time I stood at the sink and looked at my hands after drying them and thought: they still don’t feel clean.
That’s new.
Tuesday, March 1st, 2011
Today’s total: 51
Another appointment with Dr. Moore today.
He looked over the counts and said the number mattered less than the pattern. He asked how often the first wash was reasonable and the second one wasn’t. He asked how often I go back not because something new happened, but because the first wash no longer feels complete.
I didn’t like that question.
Mostly because I knew the answer.
He wants me to start labeling them: necessary wash, repeated wash. He says if I can identify the second wash while it’s happening, I might be able to interrupt it. He also wants me to delay it when I can. Even thirty seconds. Sit with the uncertainty instead of obeying it immediately.
That sounds manageable when he says it.
It doesn’t feel manageable when I’m standing in front of the sink.
I tried this morning after handling shared mail. I washed once, dried my hands, then had the thought about the paper towel dispenser. I stood there watching myself in the mirror, counting under my breath, trying not to turn back.
I made it to twenty-two seconds.
Then I washed again.
Rinse and repeat.
He noticed my hands immediately. Hard not to, honestly. The skin is dry, red, cracked over several knuckles, and rough enough now that fabric catches on it. I told him my doctor is still treating me for eczema. He said the damage itself may now be feeding the cycle, because every sting or split gives me another reason to focus on my hands.
He’s probably right about that too.
The dream last night was different.
Still bright. Still tiled. Still water somewhere nearby. But not my bathroom, and not the office restroom either. Cleaner than either of them. Colder too.
There was a long counter, a mirror, and some kind of metal tray just out of view.
I couldn’t see anyone, but I knew I wasn’t alone.
That feeling followed me all day.
Thursday, April 14th, 2011
Today’s total: 63
Today I lost eleven minutes to one spot on my left hand.
Not dirt. Not a visible cut. Just a place near the base of my thumb that suddenly felt wrong.
That’s the only word for it.
Wrong.
I was in the restroom at work, looked down while drying my hands, and became convinced that the skin there looked tighter than the same spot on the other hand. Then warmer. Then maybe slightly redder. I held both hands under the light and compared them like an idiot.
Then I pressed at it.
Then I washed because I’d been touching it.
Then I washed again because the sink itself started bothering me halfway through.
Rinse and repeat.
It took me longer than I want to admit to pull myself out of that one.
I saw Dr. Moore earlier this week and told him the dreams were getting clearer. He asked if there was anything particular about them now.
I said not exactly.
That wasn’t entirely true.
Last night there was definitely someone there.
I couldn’t see his face properly, but I saw the edge of a pale coat and a gloved hand resting near the metal tray. I was standing at a sink, washing again and again, and he said, very calmly, “You’ve already cleaned the surface.”
Then I woke up.
I’ve been thinking about that line all day.
Why did he say “surface”?
The rest of the day was bad in small ways. I wiped down my desk twice. Avoided using the office stapler. Missed part of lunch because I couldn’t stop thinking about the fridge handle. My coworkers have stopped handing me things directly if they can help it. They just put them down and let me pick them up myself.
I should probably be grateful.
My hands hurt more now than they used to. Not sharp pain all the time. Just constant soreness and the occasional sting when soap gets into the splits. The cream helps, but not enough. Nothing feels like enough anymore.
I just want it to stop. But I can’t.
Thursday, August 11th, 2011
Today’s total: 84
I didn’t think it would get this high.
It’s an absurd number and it feels like I spent more time of my day washing my hands than doing anything else.
At this point the day feels divided into before and after each wash. Before touching something. After touching it. Before food. After the food. Before answering the phone. After hanging up. Before bed. After the bedside lamp. Before putting cream on my hands. After touching the tube.
Rinse and repeat.
The phrase doesn’t even sound absurd to me anymore. It sounds accurate.
The dreams have become the clearest part of all this.
Same room now, nearly every time. Bright light. White tile. Stainless steel. Water running. The chair. The tray.
And him.
I still haven’t seen his face fully. I don’t want to. But he’s there now from the start, standing just beside me in a pale coat, calm in a way that makes my stomach drop. Always watching.
Last night he took my hand and turned it under the light.
He touched one of the cracks near my thumb and said, “You keep rinsing what can be seen.”
Then he pressed slightly lower, into the flesh beneath it, and said, “The affected part is deeper.”
I woke up with my hand clenched against my chest.
I kept hearing that same line in my head.
The affected part is deeper.
Today that same place on my hand felt hot again. It almost felt infected. Slightly swollen. Wrong in a way I couldn’t stop thinking about. I spent most of my lunch break in the restroom pressing around it and comparing it to the other hand.
Then I washed.
Then again because touching it made me think I’d spread something.
Rinse and repeat.
Tuesday, November 29th, 2011
Today’s total is… It doesn’t matter.
I stopped counting after I reached yesterday’s count, it feels so pointless now.
At some point this stopped being caution and became procedure.
Rinse and repeat.
I had an appointment with Dr. Moore last week. He was careful with his wording, but I could tell he thinks this is moving beyond him. He asked more about the dreams than before. Asked me to describe the room again. Asked whether the figure had said anything new. Asked whether the fixation on my hands was still only about contamination or whether it now felt more specific than that.
I didn’t answer him properly.
But I should have.
Today the skin at the base of my left thumb felt wrong again. Tight. Warm. Occupied. I know that’s not a medical word. But that’s the only way I can describe it.
I spent half my lunch break under the restroom light, stretching the skin, pressing around the area, looking for some sign I could point to. Something objective. Some reason the feeling made sense.
Then I washed.
And then again.
Then sanitizer because the second wash didn’t settle it.
Then water again because the sanitizer felt like residue.
Rinse and repeat.
Last night’s dream was the worst one yet.
I was already on the examination chair when it began. The tray was uncovered. I still couldn’t make out every instrument on it, only metal and white cloth and the shine of something sharp beneath the light. He lifted my hand and looked at the cracked skin as if examining a specimen.
Then he said, “You’ve mistaken repetition for treatment.”
I asked him what I was supposed to do instead.
He traced one gloved finger along the split in my skin and said, “Once it settles beneath the surface, washing only spreads the irritation.”
Then he said, “The affected part will have to be removed.”
I shot awake and gasped for air.
And for one awful second, sitting there in the dark with my hand in my lap, I understood exactly what he meant.
Not because I believe it. I don’t. Not really.
But because the thought hit me before I could stop it.
If the problem is deeper, then of course the surface never feels clean enough.
I just sat there staring at my hand until morning, thinking the same thing over and over again.
Rinse and repeat.
PATIENT RECORD ADDENDUM
Patient: Catherine Hodgson
Date: December 6th, 2011
Subject: Follow-up summary; transfer of care to Dr. Renwyck
Ms. Hodgson has remained under my care for several months following her initial consultation in January of this year. During that time I have tried to treat the problem as a severe contamination-based compulsive pattern, with particular attention to the way one act of washing immediately gives rise to the next. The aim was to reduce repetition, increase her tolerance for uncertainty, and restore some sense of proportion to the behavior.
If anything, it has gotten much worse.
Over the course of treatment, her handwashing has continued to increase rather than settle. The damage to her hands is now difficult to ignore. Both are visibly irritated, with cracked skin, soreness, and repeated flare-ups made worse by constant washing and disinfectant use. Her primary physician has continued treating the eczema, but the underlying behavior has made any real improvement difficult to maintain.
Just as concerning is the way her thinking around contamination has changed. Earlier in treatment, her fear centered on surfaces, shared objects, and the spread of germs through contact. More recently, that fear has shifted inward. Ms. Hodgson now speaks less about what is on her hands and more about what already may be beneath the skin. Washing no longer seems to function as an attempt to clean. It has become an attempt to correct something she increasingly experiences as already wrong.
At her most recent review, she disclosed that after waking from one of these recurring dreams, she took a steel cleaning brush to the back of one hand in an effort to, in her words, “get to the infection.” The injury did not require stitches, but it was severe enough to require bandages. Most striking was the way she described the act. Not as self-harm, not as panic, but as something that briefly felt necessary.
Her dream material has also become more specific. What she first described as a bright, tiled clinical room has, in later discussion, been identified more clearly as a dentist’s office. She described the reclining chair, the tray of instruments, and a male figure in clinical attire who repeatedly tells her that she has only cleaned the surface, and that the “affected part” lies deeper and must be removed.
Given that development, and given the persistence of the pattern despite treatment, I am transferring Ms. Hodgson to Dr. Renwyck for further evaluation and continued care.
CASE TRANSFERRED
CONCLUSION
ALEX
Hmm… so Moore just sends her off to Renwyck once the obsession almost entirely takes hold…
[pause]
He did mention in the previous file that Renwyck gave him very specific conditions for referrals…
But… was he aware of this from the start?
MADDY
Or was he in on it from the beginning?
ALEX
[spooked]
HOLY SHIT, HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN STANDING THERE?!
MADDY
A while…
ALEX
Don’t sneak up on me like that, please…
MADDY
[chuckles]
Master of Hacking and Master of Stealth, oh yeah!
[pause]
Anyway, you were saying?
ALEX
Uhh… yeah. So Moore transfers Catherine to Renwyck right after she mentions the dentist office dream.
MADDY
Dr. Brine.
ALEX
[very slight static can be heard in the background]
Maybe…
Or maybe Moore was new, saw something that matched whatever criteria Renwyck gave him, and checked the box.
MADDY
Alex, please tell me you don’t still believe in coincidences.
ALEX
No, no, I know.
I just don’t know how much Moore knew at that point.
MADDY
Enough to recognize the pattern, apparently.
[static can be heard slightly louder now]
ALEX
Yeah, whatever these “patterns” are is what ends up happening to these people.
MADDY
That hard drive doesn’t happen to have a list now, does it?
ALEX
No… so far all I’ve discovered is some case files have words written in the margins.
I think the words might’ve been a sort of identification system for Renwyck to stick a name on them.
MADDY
Have you written any of that down?
ALEX
Not as a proper list, no.
MADDY
You should.
ALEX
Okay so, one of the earliest ones that showed up was Glass.
MADDY
Glass… was that the wedding photographer?
ALEX
That’s right and also the lady who was humiliated in front of her colleagues.
[pause]
[static still present]
And then there’s the cases that mention Dr. Brine. The margins had notes like “teeth” and “Extraction”
MADDY
And we know from the lawyer’s case file that this Dr. Brine is some kind of dentist…
ALEX
Right.
Then there’s the file that was marked “dangerous” and “avoid”.
[static starts growing]
I think one of the words on there was “Broadcast”…
MADDY
[tries to interrupt]
Alex. The static.
ALEX
[static grows louder]
And then there was the one about the lady whose husband went missing-
MADDY
[shouts]
ALEX!
ALEX
What?!
MADDY
Turn it off!
ALEX
What?
MADDY
[the static is deafeningly loud now]
[yelling]
TURN OFF THE HARD DRIVE!
ALEX
Shit. Shit. Shit.
[rummaging on the desk]
[mic gets knocked over]
[hdd spins down]
[static dies down]
MADDY
[distant]
What the hell?!
ALEX
[distant]
Stop. Don’t touch it.
MADDY
[distant]
Stop the fucking recording already!
OUTRO PLAYS