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Dr Paul Weston has blood on his couch … quite literally. In the midst of a marital psychotherapy session with a warring couple, the pregnant wife mis-carries her foetus and leaves a mark on Dr Weston's sofa. Afterwards, as Dr Weston attempts to scrub away the stain, his own wife enters the consulting room in Weston's home-office and promptly confesses that she has begun to have an extramarital affair and will soon be jetting off to Italy with her new lover for a romantic tryst. Enraged and distraught, Weston decides to sleep in his consulting room, on the aforementioned blood-stained sofa.
Having now forsaken his marital bedroom, Dr Weston places his toiletries in the bathroom adjoining his office, the one used by his patients. These toiletries include a bottle of prescription sleeping tablets. Soon thereafter, a suicidal adolescent girl, referred to Weston for an assessment, having ridden her bicycle headlong into oncoming traffic, excuses herself mid-session and enters the bathroom. Of course, this teenager cannot resist the urge to rummage through her psychotherapist's medicine chest and, before long, she discovers Weston's bottle of sleeping pills and promptly swallows the contents. Shortly after emerging from the bathroom, the adolescent patient collapses on the floor of Dr Weston's office, necessitating immediate hospitalization.
Shockingly, Weston has blood not only on his couch, but, also on his hands … quite literally. Fortunately, his adolescent patient has recovered from her overdose, but now two of Weston's adult patients, a sexy female anaesthesiologist and a male fighter pilot, have begun to sleep together, having met, ‘by chance’, outside Weston's house. Dr Weston becomes completely disequilibrated by this news because he harbours a barely-contained erotic attraction for the female patient, and he has even gone back into supervision-cum-personal therapy in an effort to manage his malignant countertransference reaction.
Meanwhile, in one very heated sessi