I Promise You Its Not Hysteria

Hello, this is my first proper attempt at romance. I normally write pure smut, so I hope this hits the right story beats. I tried to make it as historically accurate as I could, the treatment for 'Hysteria' and that 'invention', completely real, google it you're in for a wild read. Otherwise I hope you enjoy. =)

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Anders had made himself a cup of tea and was sitting in his office early that morning reviewing the files of the patients with appointments for the day. Letting out a sigh of relief, there were no 'hysteria' patients today. He had long come to the conclusion there was no such thing, just bored housewives whose husbands couldn't bring them satisfaction. Since he had officially joined his father's practice the number of women requesting appointments with him for their treatment was astonishing.

He couldn't fault them that much, he was young, only recently turned thirty and been told on many occasions he was handsome. He had an angular face, defined jaw, prominent cheekbones and a strong brow. He was tall, with broad shoulders, blonde hair cut short styled neatly and wore round glasses over his ice blue eyes. Considering the nature of the 'treatment' it was understandable why they would choose him.

It was an almost daily occurrence that he would have a woman on his examination table who would need to be stimulated to 'paroxysm' to manage her 'hysteria'. In layman's terms, he fingered them until they came. For the younger and more attractive women, having them moan and squeeze his fingers as they eagerly wanted him to bring them to orgasm. While it was rare it sometimes left him with an erection he would be forced to hide and ignore, there wouldn't be time to deal with it. He had been given the impression on more than one occasion that the women didn't see him in a purely professional manner. When he got questions posing as small talk.

'Do you use a shapesmith or is there a particular exercise you do to fill out your suit so well?'

'You must find it difficult to find trousers that fit? Assuming everything is in proportion.'

'If you spend most of your day on your feet, you must have a lot of stamina?'

Despite their less than subtle invitations he was never tempted. He never wanted to cross that professional boundary nor deal with angry husbands. At one point he considered buying Dr George Taylor's invention to make the process more efficient and professionally detached. But when he saw the specifics of it, he changed his mind. The machine was huge and frankly it was terrifying the way it pistoned the penile attachment. It made him cross his legs and scrunch up his face in horror upon witnessing a demo at a medical conference. He wasn't even the one who would be using it. He decided to stick with doing it the old fashioned way.

There was one name in his appointment schedule today that he didn't recognise. A new patient it seemed, he would have to fill out a patient record for her when she came in that afternoon.

The time came and she was escorted into his exam room by the receptionist accompanied by who he assumed was her father. He was more than double her age and had a thick walrus like moustache. She on the other hand was a little taller than average, chestnut hair styled in an elegant updo with a hat pinned on top. Her face defined, heart shaped with high cheekbones, sitting below almond shaped hazel eyes. Before she even had a chance to speak, the older man talked over her.

In a gruff tone. "Hello Doctor Karlsson, pleasure to make your acquaintance, my daughter seems to suffer from bouts of exaggerated emotion. I need you to correct her hysteria before I can marry her off. It'll be impossible to do as she is now. Her temperament is far too disagreeable." He barked.

Anders saw the young woman quietly huff and roll her eyes. This was new, it was normally oblivious husbands, unaware to the true source of their wives unhappiness assuming this diagnosis. Regardless, he couldn't do this consultation with her father in the room.

He held out a hand in greeting to the mustachioed fool in front of him in a baritone timbre.

"Mr Starling, it is nice to meet you. While I appreciate your summary I will need to have a private consultation with the young lady to properly assess her. Having her father in the room may affect what she is willing to volunteer. Perhaps you should pop into the cafe across the street, have a cup of tea, and read the paper while you wait. I can update you when we finish." Anders addressed him with a friendly yet professional manner.

"You have a stellar reputation Doctor. I hope you can find a way to fix her. We'll talk about it later." He gave her a stern look before leaving.

Upon her father leaving the room, Anders turned to the young woman, giving her the respect of holding out a hand to shake, which she took.

"I am Doctor Anders Karlsson."

She introduced herself, her voice had a soothing lilt as it left her inviting full lips. "Ivy Starling. Is this where you nod along to what I tell you, then disregard all of it and give my father the answer he wants to hear at the end." Raising an eyebrow and giving him a wry half smile.

He chuckled in response. "How about we have a chat? You answer my questions as honestly as you can. I'll examine you, determine if there is actually anything wrong with you. Then give your father an answer we can both agree on." Giving her a warm smile. " Take a seat, Let's start with filling out your patient record."

She seemed appeased by this answer. She hopped up onto the end of the examining table as he took a seat nearby. He picked up a paper form and a pen, writing her name at the top.

"What's your age and date of birth?"

"Twenty years old, March 16th, 1850."

"Are you in good health? No chronic pain, headaches et cetera?"

She shook her head.

"Are your menses regular?"

She nodded.

"Please take off your glove and roll up your sleeve."

She obliged, he held two fingers on her wrist. Checking his watch as he monitored her pulse for fifteen seconds.

"That's all fine." He noted it down on the form. "Could you please unbutton your dress? I want to check your lungs."

She did as instructed, he pulled out his stethoscope from his desk to be greeted with the swell of her breasts pushing out of the top of her corset. An enchanting milky white, skin that had never seen the sun. He pressed the end of the stethoscope above.

"Breathe in...and out." His eyes momentarily flicked to her cleavage as she inhaled. Then repeated the process on the other side.

"Nothing unusual there. You can button back up."

He scribbled the note down.

"No issues when urinating or defecating?"

She shook her head. He shuffled a bit closer.

"Just going to check your glands."

He ran his fingers up and down her neck, examining it for any lumps and finding none. Promptly making a note of that fact.

"At the times of these 'bouts of exaggerated emotion' your father referred to what was happening exactly?"

She sighed. "Usually my father either tries to force me to quit my studies or browbeat me into having a meeting with another one of his friend's sons, for the purposes of organising an engagement."

"What do you study?" He asked, raising his eyebrows with interest.

"Chemistry, specialising in biochemistry at King's." She answered.

He nodded, making an approving noise. "I can assume you are passionate about it if you don't want to cease your studies."

"Yes...but my father thinks being educated to that level makes me less marriageable. That men will find it unattractive. I would rather be in a lab than be a housewife." She huffed.

"Why do you think your father is so keen to marry you off?" He asked, studying her as she answered.

"My mother passed away last year. She was the one that held the purse strings, since she and my father lived separately for the last ten years, married in name alone. She changed her will without telling him, putting the majority in a trust for me, accessible when I turn twenty five or get married. If he marries me off to a man he has influence over, he thinks he can get the money." She lamented.

Anders pondered this. "You only have another year to hold out before he has no further say on your life but...if he tries to have you declared mentally incompetent, he could extend his guardianship and potentially have you hospitalised." He warned. "Is that something he might do to you?" He asked with concern.

"I...think he might...but I'm perfectly sane. A reluctance to forgo higher education and get married to some witless bore is not a sign of mental fragility." She said, trying to comfort herself.

"That's a belief I share, but not all my fellow medical professionals do. Here's the thing, you seem perfectly healthy to me but...if I tell your father that, there's a chance he's going to keep taking you to doctors until one gives him the answer he's looking for. One who might be less than faithful to the Hippocratic oath...if you catch my meaning." He warned.

"There are doctors who would do that?" She asked, eyebrows raising in surprise, as though the idea had never occurred to her.

"Sadly yes, I can think of five names off the top of my head for which that kind of behaviour wouldn't be remotely surprising. The kind of doctor who would spend a night in an opium den then head to work after having a coffee with a dram of cocaine mixed in. It would not be hard for your father to find a disreputable doctor." He laid it out clearly.

"What do I do? How can I avoid that?" She searched his face for an answer.

"I am prepared to lie to your father. I can tell him that you have an entirely treatable case of hysteria. That you can receive treatment in my office, that it might take some time but you'll eventually become the obedient daughter he wants that he just needs to be patient. Then we stall him for as long as we can." He proposed this solution to her.

She thought it over for a minute. "I read up on the therapy for hysteria. Are you actually going to 'treat' me?" She gave him a speculative, suspicious look.

He laughed. "I assumed we would sit and enjoy a cup of tea during that time. But I can give you some 'treatment' if you really want." Giving her a flirty wink.

She blushed, looking sheepish. "The tea will suffice. Please, could you maintain that lie to my father."

He smiled warmly at her. "Okay, we'll tell your father you have hysteria. Let's see how long we can string him along for."

Her father soon returned and entered the exam room without knocking, just barging in.

"Well, what's your diagnosis doctor? It's hysteria isn't it?" He asked imperiously.

Anders put on his best serious tone. "Yes, I'm afraid so. But I believe it's perfectly treatable, weekly appointments should make a noticeable difference." He hid the disdain he felt instinctively for this man.

"How long before she's cured and starts acting like a woman should?" He asked.

"I can't give you an exact time frame. Especially when it comes to treating psychiatric disorders, but as long as no undue stress is put on her and she keeps up with treatment. We should eventually see a difference. So she shouldn't be put through any dramatic life changes for the time being." Anders said, this was technically true, just not about her.

Mr Starling seemed to huff. This wasn't the answer he was fully hoping for, but it validated enough of his assumptions that he was willing to trust Anders' words.

"What if she gets worse? Becomes a danger to herself or others? Won't more extreme measures need to be taken?" He seemed to be almost enthusiastic at this prospect.

Anders kept his tone neutral. "We can cross that bridge if we come to it. For now let's just schedule weekly appointments and go from there."

Her father nodded and walked out to talk to the receptionist. Anders gave Ivy a comforting squeeze on her shoulder before she left the exam room. Once she closed the door behind her Anders let out a sigh. What a beautiful vibrant flower she was, he could only hope their subterfuge would give her the chance to grow into the sun. Instead of being deprived and trapped in the dark as so many of her gender.

A week rolled by and she was sitting in his exam room enjoying a cup of tea with him. Anders was enjoying the break from actual appointments.

She asked him a question.

"How many women are there like me amongst your patients?" She asked curiously.

He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. "Could you be more specific, what do you mean exactly?"

She clarified. "Women who there is technically nothing wrong with, people just think there is."

He pondered her question before he answered. "You are a notable exception. In the majority of the time, there's still a problem, just not the one people assume."

"What do you mean?" She asked, truly intrigued.

"Truly happy healthy women don't end up in a doctor's office the majority of the time. It's just intellectual and professional laziness or the need to conceal the root cause of the problem. Far easier to slap on the label of hysteria than find the true diagnosis or say the actual issue out loud." He explained.

"What is the actual issue?" She asked her attention afixed on him.

He let out a pensive sigh.

"Like how the majority of the women with 'hysteria' aren't sick, not really, they're just unhappy with their circumstances, stuck in unfulfilling marriages."

She took this in, chewing over this information. "Sounds like avoiding marriage is the sensible choice." She reasoned.

He chuckled. "Avoiding marriage to someone unsuitable, certainly. There are some couples who are happy, my parents for example. Married for thirty five years and still enjoy each other's company. Your parents on the other hand are not as good a model to follow from what you mentioned."

"Yes." She lamented. "My father has been living with his mistress for the last nine years. When he was still living with us he always seemed to get angry she didn't give him full control of her accounts. While she would be forever frustrated and snapping at him with his spending and attention he gave other women. It always baffled me why they even got married in the first place. When I asked her, she said her parents encouraged the match, saying he was from a good family. Not caring if they were actually compatible."

He smirked sadly. "It's a common enough tale. People getting married who should never have done so. Since you and your father have a strained relationship, do you have anyone else you are close to since you lost your mother?" He gave her a sympathetic look.

She sighed. "Just my aunt, we see each other regularly and often exchange letters. We both miss my mother though. She's been a true source of comfort." A warm smile crept onto her lips.

"Are you living with your father and his mistress?" He asked with concern.

"Yes, but I have rooms at King's. He routinely tries to badger me to give them up. Saying 'It's not proper for a young lady to live by herself'." He scrunched up her face in irritation. Anders found the expression somewhat adorable on her.

"I'm surprised he hasn't married his mistress. Considering he's legally free to do so?" He puzzled.

She mulled it over

"He said he's waiting until the right time. That could mean so many things..."

They heard a knock at the door.

"Doctor, it's time for your next patient." The receptionist said through the door.

"Just a minute!" He called back. He turned his attention back to Ivy. "Looks like our time is up, see you next week." He bid her goodbye.

She gave him a nod and a smile, then left through the door, leaving Anders free to see his next patient. He found himself looking forward to their next visit when he would have tea with her again.

The following week Ivy was sitting in the waiting room for Dr Karlsson's office. She found herself pleasantly surprised at how beneficial being his 'hysteria' patient was. For the last couple of weeks her father had not even mentioned trying to get her to give up her academic career or coerce any further meetings with the buffoonish sons of his friends. She hoped it would continue. She was calmly waiting for her appointment where they would have a cup of tea and chat.

When unusual noises came from the exam room. It was loud, sounding like feminine whimpers and moans. At the moment she was the only person waiting but she and the receptionist shared a look. A moment of awkwardness passed between them as they mutually understood what was happening in there. Eventually it stopped and a woman walked out of the exam room with a blissful look on her face. While Ivy and the receptionist did their best not to make eye contact. As the woman left the office the receptionist cleared her throat.

"Ahem. Doctor Karlsson will see you now." She said sheepishly.

Ivy nodded at her, picking up her handbag and walking into the exam room. She saw Anders washing his hands in the sink, and he turned to greet her.

"Ah Miss Starling, welcome."

He shook his hands dry and walked over to the door as Ivy stepped in. She eyed the exam table suspiciously and his fingers, finding a blush creep onto her cheeks.

He poked his head out the door and called to the receptionist. "Meredith, would you mind bringing us two cups of tea, please." Then pulled back into the room. Finding Ivy sitting on a chair looking embarrassed. "Is something wrong? You seem a bit off?" He asked.

She finally found the will to speak. "Good Morning, your previous patient...was quite loud..."

The vexatious atmosphere hung for a moment, before he let out a laugh.

"Oh dear, well I guess that makes it obvious what she was in here for. I'm guessing Meredith heard as well?"

Ivy nodded. He chuckled.

"I'm sure the patient would be mortified if she knew, best keep it between ourselves."

The blush refused to leave Ivy's cheeks. Now her mind welding the connection between 'that' and his fingers. Before, it had been purely theoretical.

"Why do you offer that treatment?" She managed to choke out the question. "Last week you made it seem like you didn't really believe in the existence of hysteria, yet here you are treating it in that manner? I thought you said that kind of diagnosis was lazy." She asked, wondering about his contrarian behaviour and why she felt she had to examine it.

He gave her a smirk, feeling tickled by her interrogation. "I don't ever diagnose it myself. But I end up with many patients already diagnosed as such. Many of whom use their diagnosis as a means to access 'treatment'. Rather than challenge them on it, I just let them. It's a form of easy money for the practice and it's better than them medicating themselves unnecessarily. Nobody really loses. For those whose problem is deeper than 'hysteria' I do try to steer them towards actual therapies that might help them." He gave her a comforting smile. "I hope that hasn't lowered your opinion of me too much."

She cogitated on his words. As she thought it over, she realised once she got over the shock and awkwardness of it. He did have a point.

"Doesn't it bother you? Being used like this?" Asking him yet another burning question.

He took a seat in the chair opposite. Meredith came in and handed them each a cup of tea before leaving again.

"Being a doctor has many parts that are less than palatable. I have a friend who works in the morgue at Scotland Yard, the stories he tells. Or a colleague who works at St Bart's who's constantly dealing with patients trying to score morphine. It's just part of the job." He shrugged, taking a sip of tea.

"Doesn't it concern your wife?" She asked.

"I'm not married." He said nonchalantly.

"Oh, I'm sorry...I now see you're not wearing a ring. My apologies. But...surely that would bother your hypothetical wife?" She gave him a sheepish yet wry smile.