unsaid seemed tantamount to lying… big-time.
The ache in his gut spread through him – like a stain.
8:00 P.M.
Geriatrics Wing,
New York City Hospital
She had no idea how long she’d been dozing when a soft cough roused her.
“Hi, Bessie.”
She blinked a few times to bring her eyes into focus on the figure who was standing inside the room. “Melanie? Melanie Collins?”
“Yes. I just dropped by to say hello.”
“My, I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Little wonder. You were snoring like a truck driver. How are you doing?”
“Well, I obviously could have used you when I came into ER three months ago.”
“Oh, Bessie, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”
“Pull up a seat.” She gestured to the little-used visitor’s chair with her good arm.
Melanie obliged.
Soon they fell deep in conversation making small talk, but after a few minutes Bessie inexorably returned to her present plight. She found release in complaining about it to other doctors, knowing they would best understand the scope of the outrage that had been done to her. When her own patients had gone on and on about their various illnesses, reciting the relapses and symptoms far more than necessary for her to make the diagnosis, she thought it was because they had little else to talk about, their diseases having pervaded every aspect of their lives. Over the last few months she’d come to realize that they’d been venting, sharing their symptoms so they wouldn’t feel so alone – a compulsion, she ruefully acknowledged, that she couldn’t even stop in herself.
“So-called emergency doctors – they simply didn’t get it the way you did.”
“Well, I knew your history. And remember, you were already admitted for pneumonia, so there were no delays. Who knows what would have been the outcome if I hadn’t had you on the floor and under my thumb when it happened? But since I did, the rest was easy-”
“Easy my ass, Melanie. Remember, you’re talking to a physician here. Don’t make excuses for their shoddy work by minimizing how great you were.”
“Now, Bessie-”
“I know full well that the blood tests indicated I was properly anticoagulated and shouldn’t have had another embolus. But unlike the bozos this last time, you were smart enough to treat the patient-”
“ ‘And not the test.’ ” Melanie gave an understanding shake of the head. “I know. I tell that to the residents all the time.”
“I hope those young punks in ER have at least learned to listen, or pay attention to someone even when they can’t talk.”
“I’m sure they have.”
“But look at me.” She laboriously raised her right shoulder and upper limb. Her hand and fingers drooped off the forearm, curled into a lifeless claw. “God, I didn’t think I’d end up like this.”
“I know.”
“And does anybody want to talk about it? Not on your life. They all think I’m going to sue.”
“Are you?”
“Of course not. I’m a doctor. I won’t go after my own. But I damn well want them to improve – be like you were in training.”
“Bessie, you’re making me blush-”
“In ’seventy-four you did nothing less than give me the second half of my life. The residents back then would have done me in, too, if you hadn’t stopped them. I’d never have seen my grandchildren. So give credit where credit is due, I say.”
“It was nothing.”
“There you go again. Nothing? My heart racing. Unable to get my breath. And everybody shouting, grabbing at the ECG tracing. I remember everything like yesterday.”
“Well, you know how it is in a precode when only residents are around.”
“But you measured out the rhythm and saw it for what it was.”
As part of developing the lore of her own sickness, Bessie had never stopped extolling to anyone who would listen how someone so young had maintained the presence of mind to pick out such a subtle distinction on a cardiogram in the midst of all that wild confusion. As she told and
The ache in his gut spread through him – like a stain.
8:00 P.M.
Geriatrics Wing,
New York City Hospital
She had no idea how long she’d been dozing when a soft cough roused her.
“Hi, Bessie.”
She blinked a few times to bring her eyes into focus on the figure who was standing inside the room. “Melanie? Melanie Collins?”
“Yes. I just dropped by to say hello.”
“My, I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Little wonder. You were snoring like a truck driver. How are you doing?”
“Well, I obviously could have used you when I came into ER three months ago.”
“Oh, Bessie, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”
“Pull up a seat.” She gestured to the little-used visitor’s chair with her good arm.
Melanie obliged.
Soon they fell deep in conversation making small talk, but after a few minutes Bessie inexorably returned to her present plight. She found release in complaining about it to other doctors, knowing they would best understand the scope of the outrage that had been done to her. When her own patients had gone on and on about their various illnesses, reciting the relapses and symptoms far more than necessary for her to make the diagnosis, she thought it was because they had little else to talk about, their diseases having pervaded every aspect of their lives. Over the last few months she’d come to realize that they’d been venting, sharing their symptoms so they wouldn’t feel so alone – a compulsion, she ruefully acknowledged, that she couldn’t even stop in herself.
“So-called emergency doctors – they simply didn’t get it the way you did.”
“Well, I knew your history. And remember, you were already admitted for pneumonia, so there were no delays. Who knows what would have been the outcome if I hadn’t had you on the floor and under my thumb when it happened? But since I did, the rest was easy-”
“Easy my ass, Melanie. Remember, you’re talking to a physician here. Don’t make excuses for their shoddy work by minimizing how great you were.”
“Now, Bessie-”
“I know full well that the blood tests indicated I was properly anticoagulated and shouldn’t have had another embolus. But unlike the bozos this last time, you were smart enough to treat the patient-”
“ ‘And not the test.’ ” Melanie gave an understanding shake of the head. “I know. I tell that to the residents all the time.”
“I hope those young punks in ER have at least learned to listen, or pay attention to someone even when they can’t talk.”
“I’m sure they have.”
“But look at me.” She laboriously raised her right shoulder and upper limb. Her hand and fingers drooped off the forearm, curled into a lifeless claw. “God, I didn’t think I’d end up like this.”
“I know.”
“And does anybody want to talk about it? Not on your life. They all think I’m going to sue.”
“Are you?”
“Of course not. I’m a doctor. I won’t go after my own. But I damn well want them to improve – be like you were in training.”
“Bessie, you’re making me blush-”
“In ’seventy-four you did nothing less than give me the second half of my life. The residents back then would have done me in, too, if you hadn’t stopped them. I’d never have seen my grandchildren. So give credit where credit is due, I say.”
“It was nothing.”
“There you go again. Nothing? My heart racing. Unable to get my breath. And everybody shouting, grabbing at the ECG tracing. I remember everything like yesterday.”
“Well, you know how it is in a precode when only residents are around.”
“But you measured out the rhythm and saw it for what it was.”
As part of developing the lore of her own sickness, Bessie had never stopped extolling to anyone who would listen how someone so young had maintained the presence of mind to pick out such a subtle distinction on a cardiogram in the midst of all that wild confusion. As she told and
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