[ WP ] Marty McFly asks Doc Brown what his Ph.D. is in . The answer is not what Marty expected ...

`` Doc, what's your Ph.D. in?'' 
 
 `` We've been over this, Marty,'' I replied as gently as I could. `` I do n't have one: I'm an M.D. Unless you count my titanium hip, I do n't have an engineering or technical bone in my body.'' 
 
 `` What? But how'd we travel through time? How'd you fix up the Delorean? What about my hover board?'' 
 
 I hated this part: it was going to go south. It always did. The orderly ( standing behind him ) tensed up, too. `` My boy, those are just... in your head. You've retreated into your own little world after the incident.'' 
 
 `` Tell me,'' I continued. `` Do you remember being in the train accident? Ye Olde Wilde West Theme Park?'' 
 
 ``'Theme Park?! No, Doc -- you were there! It *was* the wild west! We were trying to get the Delorean up to 88 miles per hour!'' I and the other staff had been incorporated into his fantasies for quite some time, now. 
 
 `` No, that was the summer of the accident. You were on the train, it derailed, and you ended up in a full body cast for the full summer. Your family was supposed to nurse you back to health.'' 
 
 `` Ha! Nursing back to health. You remember, Doc? When we went back in time to the fifties, and my mom had a thing for me? I did everything I could to try to keep from altering the time stream, and to get her and my dad together...'' 
 
 Damn. Sexual trauma was n't what I'd signed up for in med school. The accident, in addition to battering his body and breaking his arms and legs, had put him into a coma for nearly a month. He'd come back changed -- poor impulse control, anger, exceedingly difficult to deal with. [ Maybe that's what had led to it all ] ( http: //www.reddit.com/r/IAmA/comments/nmmjr/iama_man_who_had_a_sexual_relationship_with_his/c3a9uqg? context=1 ) *\ [ Ed.: NSFW\ ] *. I suspected his mind was trying to stitch itself back together, a quilted patchwork of fragmentary real memories and fantasy, with the people and things around him as filler. 
 
 `` Doc, you remember the time she ended up with Bif? He went back in time with the sports almanac, killed my dad, changed everything'til we fixed it! Big, bad, Bif...'' He was staring murderously at the orderly, Mr. Tannen. Had he not been restrained, perhaps he would've chosen then to leap at him. For his small frame and cherubic looks, he was surprisingly strong and could be exceedingly ferocious. 
 
 `` Now, Marty -- you know you've never met Mr. Tannen before you got here, and certainly not before he started last week.'' I felt bad for Bif, but he'd been a corpsman, and had dealt with psychiatric patients before. It was all externalization and projection, of course: his mother's suicide had led Marty to gun down his own father, perhaps blaming him for the abuse he'd suffered, or to remove his rival, or whatever else made sense in his head. He'd finally lost his grasp on reality that day -- the word on the news was that he'd even been trying to blind himself, proclaiming he'd never want to see the light again. 
 
 `` It's time for your medication now, Marty. Mr. Tannen: 8.8 mg of the Myo-Perfornin and the J. G. Dwatt 121, please.'' A sedative and the antipsychotic. 
 
 `` Eight point eight... eight-eight... eighty-eight miles per hour! 1.21 jigawatts! I'm flyin' Doc, I'm flyin'!'' 
 
 A few minutes later, he came down off his euphoria, and started mumbling. `` Back to the fuuuuuture...'' 
 
 Such a broken young man. Perhaps it's a good thing that his imagination is so vivid: I do n't think that he'll ever leave this place.
