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Two years ago, I arranged for my consulting room to be redecorated. The administrator of the office building in which I work notified me that during the coming summer holiday some painters and decorators would be undertaking repairs, replastering and repainting the hallways, and she wondered whether I might wish to avail myself of the opportunity to have them spruce up my office as well. As I had not updated the décor of my consulting room in quite some time, I responded with enthusiasm, and arranged for new paint on the walls, new carpet on the floors, as well as new chairs and pictures. The work began on August 1, and finished in plenty of time before my return to work on September 1.
In spite of the changes, I did, however, keep my stalwart analytic couch. In fact, I have used the same couch for approximately twenty years. It has served me well, supporting patients both concretely and psychologically. I knew that my patients had become quite attached to this particular couch, as have I, and thus I saw no reason to purchase a new one.
The workmen undertook the refurbishment in a most straightforward manner, and the new chairs arrived in time. The room looked much more fresh and modern, and in spite of the lingering smell of new paint and new carpets (which would soon fade), I returned to work with an extra spring in my step, enjoying my revivified surroundings, which I surveyed from my comfortable, new leather chair.
I suspected that patients would in time notice the various changes, but I had no preconceptions about how each particular person would respond. Early on Monday morning, Miss A. entered the room and lay on the couch. She immediately clocked the transformation and chirped straightaway, “You've got new