Obituary for Professor Hideyuki Nakane

Abstract

If I were him, I would have hesitated to become a psychiatrist. I would have because it is too easy to imagine how much conflict and pressure I would have had to bear as the son of a renowned psychiatrist in pursuing the same path. His father, Professor Emeritus Yoshibumi Nakane, is a distinguished researcher known for his outstanding achievements in the field of social psychiatry, and Hideyuki not only took on his father's research interests but made them his own specialty as well. He was already a lecturer at Nagasaki University when I arrived here as a professor in 2003. I was planning on treating him with certain “considerations” and courtesy as the son of the department's former professor. He, however, was just so gentle and genuine with an excellent character, as his given name so aptly expresses, that people said that his character made people respect his father even more. There may have been some who had unfounded suspicions of him just because of his position, but his devotion to research was unshakable, which was highly recognized at the WHO headquarters where he studied. Later on, he was promoted to associate professor at the Department of Psychiatry, helping me a great deal with a range of matters from teaching to human resources. I recommended him for professorship at the School of Health Sciences, solely on the basis of his character and work, both of which had been well received. He contributed to developing collaboration with the Red Cross in South Korea to help atomic-bomb survivors outside Japan. Thanks to that, Kyung Hee University and our university still exchange psychiatric residents to this day. Also, he was on the board of trustees of the Japanese Society of Gender Identity Disorder, and helped establish a multi-disciplinary liaison system for conducting conferences prior to introducing patients to treatment. In addition he was involved in the launch of a palliative care team at Nagasaki University Hospital, brought awareness to international studies on suicide prevention, and recently was working on field research at Kawauchi Village in Fukushima Prefecture to investigate the psychological impacts of the Fukushima Nuclear Power Plant disaster. By building up a long list of achievements, he was able to become the kind of clinician/researcher who could be trusted in these deceiving and transitory times. Hideyuki never complained about anything and was a quiet and strong person. He even attended a faculty meeting just before he passed away, battling the disease. I recall one episode when Hideyuki showed me an unexpected side of himself. There was a time when I was addicted to cooking with a Dutch oven. One day I made cabbage soup. I made it for my seminar students by stewing a whole cabbage with plenty of meat and spices. Perhaps drawn by the pleasant smell, Hideyuki wandered into the kitchen and asked if he could have some. “Sure,” I said, but I was a little surprised that Mr. Hideyuki, always so reserved, would take the trouble to ask for the same soup as the students. And there's one more episode to share with you. He had a low, calm voice, which is a great attribute for a psychiatrist to have, and he used that beautiful voice to his advantage at karaoke, where he would accept the honor of closing with the Japanese song ‘Scorpion Woman,’ just as everyone expected. While parting is never easy especially when it comes this prematurely, if I were to ask one question to him, I would ask him, “Did you do what you wanted to, to your heart's content?” I would have liked to have seen more of him just being himself, free and easy, as he did when he asked for soup, or as he did when he so enthusiastically sang ‘Scorpion Woman.’ The world is full of uncertainty right now, and I wish I could talk to him about our university, our department, psychiatry, and many other things. We will meet again in heaven, and when we do, let's have a bowl of cabbage soup together. Until then, it's time to say goodbye. Rest in peace, Hideyuki.