The Doctor's Tale (2 page)

Papa didn’t say any more, but even at the age of five, I suspected this discussion was not finished. Time would corroborate my suspicion,
but it didn’t matter. After that memorable Sunday evening, I knew one thing with utter certainty: I wanted to be a doctor.

For the next sixteen years, I focused on high grades, and my acceptance to medical school. Finally, the day arrived when the mailman handed a letter to Mama from University School of Medicine. She said her hands were shaking too badly, and she wanted me to open it. In truth, I suspected she didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news.

“It might not be what you expect, Tommy,” she said. “That’s okay.”

Grandpa looked at me. “Open it, Tommy. They just want to tell you how much all this is gonna cost, that’s all.” He shrugged and stared at Mama. “Oh, he got in, alright. What’s the matter with you?”

My fingers peeled back the flap of the envelope, and I glimpsed the top of the letter that opened with “Congratulations!” Hot tears welled in my eyes, but I didn’t fight them. I earned every one of them. They belonged to me.

Grandpa was right. I got into medical school.

Mama was right, too. Medical school wasn’t what I expected.

Five years later…

I crossed the street and climbed the massive front steps of City Hospital. While I parked my Pinto on the gravel lot, an orange sun—and its promise of another scorching heat wave—rose in the hazy sky. For those with no air conditioner or fan, that promise could prove fatal. At 7:00 a.m., sweat dripped down my face like I was in a sauna.

The monstrous entrance loomed before me. A security guard stroked his grizzled beard and nodded. Uncertain of a reply, I nodded in return. I tugged on the chrome handle of the door and stepped into the musty foyer. Once inside, my heart sank like a leaky rowboat.

The blades of a rusty ceiling fan twirled in the stale air. A plump rat scurried across the terrazzo floor. In the wide hall outside the Gift Shop, my dress shoe landed in a gob of gooey pink bubble gum, but I knew I had no time to clean it. Today, I would examine my first patient. I had to be prompt.

Despite Dr. Freeman’s Orientation, I got lost on the way to the clinic. Yesterday, he mentioned Dr. Skelton’s notoriously high expectations. Still, I hoped he would understand if I was a bit late on the first day. By the time I finally located his office, tucked away at the end of another long, wide hall, I breathed a sigh of relief. I knocked on the back door and waited.

“Who’s there?” Dr. Skelton said. The door cracked, and he waved at me to enter his office.

“Dr. Skelton,” I said, “I am Thomas Spezia. The new intern? I’m—”

“You’re late,” Dr. Skelton said. “Late is what you are, Thomas Spezia.” He gestured to a metal folding chair in a dark corner of the room. “Now, sit down. Pay attention. Please.” He nodded at the woman beside him. “Dr. Spezia, this is Mrs. Raines. Lori Raines. We were just discussing her latest test results.”

She used to be beautiful, I could tell. The heel of her shoe scraped the dull floor. Tensed on the edge of a wooden chair, Mrs. Raines looked incredulous. A shrill undertone spiked her soft voice. “Are you sure, doctor?”

Dr. Skelton coughed and shuffled a thick sheaf of papers. “Hmm, I’d say so, Mrs. Raines. I won’t lie. You’re a very sick woman.”

For a few moments, the woman sobbed. Her narrow shoulders shuddered with agony.

Dr. Skelton cleared his throat. “Yes, well,” he said, and gazed at a crack in the grey plaster ceiling. Finally, he swiveled in his chair and faced her.

“Mrs. Raines, now there…there now, dear, that’s enough tears,” Dr. Skelton said, “for today, at least.” He yanked a white tissue from a box on his desk and waved it in mid-air. Mrs. Raines’ trembling fingers clawed at the wispy square—much like a drowning person might grope for an inner tube. “Now, as I said earlier, you must fight to remain calm. You must use your time wisely. After a closer look at these scans, I’d say you’ve got about six months.” His hand flipped back and forth. “Give or take.”

Mrs. Raines whisked the tears from her ruddy cheeks with the crumpled tissue. Her gaze drifted to the maze of diplomas, symmetrically arranged on the cracked plaster wall. “But, this just can’t be. I just…” She straightened her shoulders and sniffled. “I don’t feel as sick as you say I am, doctor. Not like that.”

“Well, Mrs. Raines, then why are we here? You must not be feeling like yourself, or you would be, oh, shopping or getting your nails painted. Am I right?”

“Six months?” Outside, a robin perched on the crackled windowsill. The brunette studied her wedding ring and shifted her slender body. The creaky chair whined. “Did you say six months?” Her voice squeaked with a fresh anguish.

“Give or take, Mrs. Raines.” The morning sun sifted through the yellowed blinds. He swiped at flecks of dust in the air. “Blasted things.” Dr. Skelton slid the file across the desk.

“Now I believe we’re finished for today, but we still need a few more tests. The best way for us to get them, Mrs. Raines, is for you to go right back to the hospital and check yourself in, for a just a day or two dear, just like last time. I’ll be by to see you in the morning. My receptionist will help you with your paperwork. Oh, and Mrs. Raines?”

The frenzied woman rushed through the open doorway. “Eddie?” she said. “Eddie, where are you?” The clatter of her high heels echoed in the cavernous hall. “Eddie! I need you!”

Dr. Skelton rose from his chair and closed the door. He turned and studied the young man with the olive skin and kind eyes, clad in a starched white coat. “Well then, Spezia, you have just witnessed the delivery of some bad news. I had hoped that Mrs. Raines’ cancer wouldn’t be quite so advanced. Six months was actually an optimistic prediction on my part. As you can see, this can be a very sad business.”

“I believe the patient understood her predicament,” I said, “but she didn’t seem to accept there wasn’t much that could be done to change the outcome.”

Dr. Skelton almost smiled. “Yes, well.” He shrugged and gazed at the clock. “I’ve never been very good at the bad news thing. No matter how long you practice, Spezia, that part never gets any easier. Mrs. Raines’s case is quite complicated. We reviewed her case in great detail. It’s unfortunate for everyone involved that you missed the first part of the interview. You will need to know all of it. This situation must be extraordinarily difficult for a woman like Mrs. Raines to accept, given her professional background. From what I’m told, she used to be quite the entertainer. Exactly what she did on the stage, I really have no idea.” He waved his hand in the air as if he was swatting a fly. “I assume she did some singing, maybe some dancing. I don’t know, something like that. Spezia, are you ready to review the chart?”

I had spent the past twenty years of my life preparing for this moment. “Of course, Dr. Skelton,” I said.

Dr. Skelton cleared his throat. He grabbed the chart labeled
Lori M. Raines
and placed it in my outstretched hands. “Here you go, Spezia,” he said with a wink, “Here’s a little light reading for you. Look it over and then, why, we can discuss whatever it is that you don’t understand. If your grades are any indication of your ability, our discussion should be quite short.” The doctor yawned and glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s all quite self-explanatory.” He paused and again, cleared his throat. “Is something wrong, Spezia?”

How could I tell him the truth? That I didn’t expect that my first patient would have less than six months to live? Those were the words that I wanted to say. I decided if Dr. Skelton thought I could handle such a case, then, I could, and I would.

“No, Dr. Skelton. No.”

“No, what?”

“No, nothing is wrong. Absolutely nothing.”

“Excellent. As I said, the file speaks for itself. If only it had something better to say, hmm? I’ve admitted Mrs. Raines for more tests. It’s a real opportunity for you to educate yourself about the issues surrounding a terminal illness. Wouldn’t you agree, Dr. Spezia?”

I stared at him. “Opportunity, sir? Did you say
opportunity?”

“It is my understanding that you wish to become an oncologist.”

I nodded in agreement. How did Dr. Skelton know that? I didn’t recall sharing information with anyone except my grandmother, on the same night she died of colon cancer. “Yes sir. That is correct.”

“Excellent. Starting tomorrow morning, Mrs. Raines will become your patient.” A smile plumped his thin lips, though his eyes remained grim. “I hope the prospect doesn’t frighten you, Spezia. Tell me, does it?”

“No. No sir, it does not.”

“Well then,” Dr. Skelton’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Excellent.”

I could tell that he liked decisive people, especially decisive doctors. “Dr. Skelton,” I said, “will you be available for consultation on this case?”

Dr. Skelton flipped the grimy switch on the wall. He grazed the tip of a cigarette with a Zippo lighter, and an orange glow smoldered in the shadows. “Apparently, Dr. Spezia, you are unaware of a recent development with major implications for the entire medical community. That is unfortunate, but I will update you with the unbelievably fantastic news. You see, I have been promoted to the position of Dean of the School of Medicine, which is the pinnacle of my so far illustrious career. Obviously, the transition to such a prominent position will demand my strongest efforts. I thought it prudent to reassign some of my more demanding cases. This case is quite the challenge, Spezia. I know you will manage it conscientiously. Remember, always give your best, and you will have no regrets.”

“Of course, Dr. Skelton, sir.” When I reached to shake his hand, I almost lost my balance.

“Are you feeling all right, Spezia?” Dr. Skelton said. “Did you understand everything?”

“Oh, yes sir.”

“Tomorrow, you might want to wear more comfortable shoes. You’re going to be on your feet, you know, and you’ve got to be able to move.” For a moment, Dr. Skelton stared at my right foot. “I realize
the Raines case may have been a bit of a surprise. Are you feeling up to the challenge, Dr. Spezia?”

“Yes sir.”

“Well, then. Excellent. Meet me at the hospital tomorrow morning, around 6:30 or so. Perhaps Mrs. Raines’s husband, Eddie, will be with her in her room. As much as possible, Spezia, keep him involved in her care. Family support is so vital to a patient’s recovery. Always remember that.” Dr. Skelton opened the door and stepped into the cavernous hall. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Oh, and Spezia? See to it that you are on time, hmm?”

About an hour later, I stood in the drafty foyer of my apartment building, and decided to check my mailbox. Recessed in a plaster wall, the worn brass boxes waited. While I scooped up bills and catalogues, angry voices in 1-A intensified. The sounds of clinking beer bottles and bitter accusations echoed in the foyer.

“You said you quit!”

“I’ll quit when you quit!”

“Cynda, sweetheart, love of my life, I am bound for greatness! All actors—and actresses, by the way—drink a little something to clear their head before a stellar performance. That, by the way, describes me, Cynda.
Stellar.
Yeah, look in the dictionary under ‘S’ there. I promise you, there you will find my name.”

“Oh, I’ll find Sol Freeman all right, listed next to ‘starving.’ How long do you expect me to wait for you to make it, huh?”

I glanced at the names on the mailboxes: Cynda and Sol Freeman, 1-A.

The voices sounded like they belonged to a couple in their thirties, but right now, their ages didn’t matter. Right now, thoughts of Mrs. Raines filled my mind.

I opened the door to 2-B, located on the second floor, and faced a rumpled bed, a pile of laundry and a stack of crusty dishes. My grandmother’s clock stood in what I loosely termed my “living room.” In fact, it was a “grandmother” clock, a smaller version of the traditional grandfather clock. The predictable chimes lulled me to sleep in my
childhood. Now, while I sipped a beer and downed part of a turkey TV dinner, the clock worked its magic. Across the hall, a door opened and slammed. Outside, footsteps pounded the sidewalk. Before I drifted off to sleep, the chimes bonged eleven times.

The phone rang in the middle of the night. When I answered the call, no one answered. I replaced the receiver and stared at the ceiling. Minutes passed and once again, I drifted into a troubled slumber.

Sometime later, an insistent knock rattled the door. I grabbed a robe from the cluttered closet and groped my way to the living room. The doorknob jiggled. A loud voice shouted, “Police! Open up! Police!” I squinted through the peephole in the door. A shiny gold shield gleamed in the shadows. “Police! Open up!”

I opened the door and faced a long, tall woman in uniform. Under different circumstances, I might have asked her if she wanted to have a beer and talk. Yeah, she was that pretty.

“Good evening,” she said. “Or, should I say Good Morning?” Her cordial greetings surprised me. She flashed the shiny shield. “Everything all right up here?”

“As far as I know,” I said. “Is something wrong?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “A cop’s been shot in the next block. We’re checking the neighborhood for leads.” She opened a notebook and stared at my forehead. “Name?”