A Case history (n.) reads like a short story, Freud admitted with some embarrassment, because the subject demands a novelist's detail.
A Case history (n.) that is incomplete should be restored like a careful archaeologist's find, marking where the authentic ends and the construction begins.
A Case history (n.) told at the start of treatment is like an unnavigable river, choked by rocks in one place and lost among shallows in another.
Case history (n.) must never alter a detail, however good the motive: one cannot tell which aspect a reader of independent judgement will pick out.
A Case history (n.) told by the patient cannot be taken at face value, any more than a syphilitic's account of his own past.
A Case history (n.) can be pure metal, its findings visible almost without interpretation, where elsewhere they must be smelted from ore.