Private Practices by Linda Wolfe

chemistry set he was given at nine. Ben would be Sidney’s patient, forever getting his temperature taken and his heart listened to and his back thumped hard and his mouth stuffed to overflowing with delicious candy pills. And Ben would be Sidney’s taster, sniffing, then gulping, the foul drinks Sidney concocted. Holding his nose, Ben would bravely swear the marvelous oaths by which Sidney bound him, the secret curses prompted by scatology and the movies. “I’ll be fucked to shit if I ever fail you,” “I’ll be your faithful servant forevermore.”
    Later there were rituals inspired by Sidney’s extensive reading: the hand in the gas flame, the hairs pulled out close to the temples, the bloody signatures on folded scraps of paper. Ben never tired of time spent with Sidney, even when Sidney abused him. Sara said Sidney was a genius and that genius had its own ways. And Ben was inclined to agree with her, although he didn’t know what genius was. Still, he knew that Sidney was endowed with a unique gift.
    He called it imagination, a quality he found grievously lacking in himself. He felt uninventive, dull, shallow. Sidney was exciting, unpredictable, full of undercurrents. What was a kick in the shins compared to experiencing the world through Sidney’s eyes?
    Ben submerged himself in Sidney’s depths and felt, drowning, that he had landed somewhere.
    He had slept. When he drifted to consciousness, he saw that it was after six. The office was silent. Cora and the other two nurses had undoubtedly gone home long ago. He sat up, astonished, startled that he had fallen asleep at his desk without any preparation for sleep. He had taken no pills since the night before. Still sleepy, he felt inordinately pleased with himself. Then he remembered Annette Kinney and her baby and dissatisfaction replaced his contentment. Quickly he stood up and drew on his overcoat. He had yet to take his promised second look at the mother and child.
    Annette was tearful when he saw her. “You said I’d have the baby by afternoon,” she said accusingly.
    â€œI said maybe by afternoon,” he reminded her gently. She turned her head away and began to sob.
    â€œI don’t blame you for being angry with me,” he offered, then wished he hadn’t. But it was all right. She wasn’t listening to him, but was crying loudly now.
    â€œPlease stop,” he cajoled. “The more you cry, the worse you’ll feel.” He made himself smile briskly and add in a stern voice, “If you go on crying, we’ll have to give you tranquilizers and that won’t be good for your milk.”
    Her tears subsided and he went on. “I think you’d better begin using a breast pump. Just to keep yourself ready. I’m going to tell the nurses to get you started.”
    â€œYou are? You really think the baby’s going to be all right?”
    â€œOf course I do. I’m sure of it.”
    He had almost convinced himself until he stopped in the nursery and saw the baby’s pale grayish color. Diehl was there too, agitated and ashen faced himself. “I’m sorry,” Ben said to him.
    The obstetrical resident didn’t reply.
    â€œAny improvement?” Ben asked.
    â€œNot yet,” Diehl finally muttered.
    Ben looked down at the baby in its glass nest.
    â€œI called you in time,” the younger man said then, speaking up.
    â€œSure you did.”
    â€œI thought you were going to say I called you late,” Diehl went on nervously. “It’s been known to happen. I have a friend who got kicked out of Midstate because an attending lied about when my friend called him.”
    â€œYou don’t have much confidence in me, do you?” Ben frowned.
    â€œIt isn’t you. It’s this place. The buck-passing.” Behind Diehl’s bravado, Ben could hear how worried he was.
    â€œYou don’t need to worry,” Ben said.