by Elizabeth Nickson, Welcome to Absurdistan:
Is informed consent actionable? Or a nominal crust thrown to unwitting experimental subjects?
I am on my ninth therapist. It’s not that I’m fickle, I have lived in nine different places. And it’s not as if I am diagnosable, other than occasional anxiety, the odd depression, the normal vagaries of life.
It’s because when I was a kid I would occasionally pluck up courage to ask my father this question:
“What’s that disease mum has, again?”
“Advanced Paranoid Schizophrenia.”






