A White Coat Is My Closet (37 page)

I was beginning to realize, however, that being vague about my personal life had been easier before I had begun dating Sergio. Concealing the raucous details of weekends spent with different friends was one thing, but suppressing the fact that I had someone significant in my life was a much bigger challenge. It became much more difficult to account for my free time when 90 percent of it was being spent with a single individual. In addition, I was so elated to be with Sergio that part of me wanted everyone I knew to have the opportunity to meet the guy who made my heart soar.

As I walked down the corridor toward the residents’ office, I made a mental note that I would have to bring this dilemma to a better resolution. This wasn’t the time, however, because thinking about the great send-off I had gotten from Sergio that morning was making my head spin, and the memory of the night before still caused my chest to feel tight. I remembered lying next to him in bed. We’d already had sex, and we were just talking lazily. Really, we were still in the process of getting to know each other.

He ran his fingers over my chest as I lay on my back staring at the ceiling. He was on his side, staring intently at my face. All his questions were punctuated by a thick Italian accent that made everything he said exponentially more endearing.

“So, what made you decide to become a doctor?”

It was a question I’d heard many times, but somehow, lying next to this handsome man, his naked body still pressed against mine, I wanted my answer to be more than just my rehearsed, canned response. I wanted it to reveal something more about who I really was.

Noticing that I hadn’t immediately answered, he pushed closer into me. “I’m just asking because I was hoping to score another complete exam. I think there were a few places on my body that your tongue missed last night. I’d hate to have to report your negligence to the medical board.”

My laugh shook his head on my chest. I pushed him over to his back, climbed on top, and pushed a kiss fiercely onto his lips. “I’ll show you negligent.” I kissed him again. “Of course, I might still get in trouble if you end up getting suffocated by kisses.”

His eyes danced merrily. “How can I suffocate while you’re performing mouth-to-mouth?”

“You have a point. But just to be on the safe side, I’d better keep practicing.” I kissed him again.

When I pulled back, I looked at him thoughtfully, still intent on answering his question. “I suppose I became a doctor for more than one reason. Certainly, and most definitely, I wanted to help people.” I raised myself on my elbows as I became a little more enthusiastic. “Especially kids. Helping kids gives me an exceptional feeling of satisfaction. They’re innocent, they’re resilient, and their response to kindness is genuine. It’s hugely rewarding to participate in their lives when they’re sick and, hopefully, to play a role in helping them to recover.” I became a little more pensive. “But I also wanted to become something.”

Sergio looked a little confused. “What do you mean, become something?”

I looked at him intently. We’d only been dating a couple months, but I felt amazingly close to Sergio. I felt like I was naked for the first time. Like I could let someone see who I really was and not fear being judged. My heart skipped a beat. I’d never dreamed someone as handsome as Sergio would ever be attracted to me. I had always been afraid that when someone got to know the real me, they’d immediately be turned off, that really knowing me translated into disappointment and ultimately rejection.

“You remember on our first bike ride when I told you I hadn’t come out to my parents because I was afraid they’d be disappointed?”

“Yeah, I remember. In fact, as far as I know, you still haven’t told them.” He grinned.

I pulled the pillow out from under his head and put it over his face a second before I pulled it off. “That’s not the point. Don’t interrupt my explanation. Do you also remember how I described to you that I was ashamed of being gay?”

He now looked at me intently. He seemed to appreciate that I had begun to demonstrate a greater degree of self-confidence, so he listened without interruption.

“I think that to some extent, feeling ashamed of who I was also influenced my decision to become a doctor.” I suppose my voice was tinged with some residual pain, because as I spoke Sergio squeezed me a little tighter. His arms around me made me feel safe and emboldened. I continued with soft but more certain conviction. “Recognizing I was gay and feeling as a consequence that I was somehow inferior made me determined to become something that could stand up against people’s scrutiny. It gave me the resolve to do something admirable. If who I was as a person was insignificant, I had to become something significant. I had to become a respected professional. I thought becoming a doctor would somehow obliterate my shame.” I blushed at the confession, realizing I’d never actually expressed to anyone what my subliminal motivations for becoming a doctor were. “Does that make sense? As tragic as it might seem, does it at least make sense?”

Sergio squeezed me tighter and softly kissed my eyelids, allowing my embarrassment to stay hidden behind them. His voice was low and resonated from deep within his chest when he said, “Sounds to me like you never appreciated how incredible you were before you even stepped foot into a medical school.” The kisses continued. Then he drew back and searched my expression soulfully. “Do you understand that now?”

“Understand what?” Now I was the one who was a little confused.

His answer was so sincere it raised goose bumps down my back. “Being incredible has nothing to do with your being a doctor.” His smile sweetened. “I’m beginning to think you’re pretty damned amazing, and you’ve never even had to give me a prescription.” His humor didn’t conceal the sincerity of his voice. “Look, Zack, I have every certainty that you’re on the road to becoming a great doctor, but that has nothing to do with what makes you a great person. Greatness is something you bring to your profession; it’s not something your profession gives you. You’re way more than just a doctor.” He lifted my chin to look me directly in the eye, and then he emphasized each additional comment with an individual kiss. “You’re kind, you’re smart, you’re genuine.” He bit my chin. “You’re sexy.” He pulled me into a deeper kiss. “And you’re gay.” His smile radiated. “Sounds like just the combination I’m looking for!”

I fell forward onto Sergio’s chest and pressed myself against him with more force than I might have intended. I wanted to eliminate any distance between us, wanted every possible inch of our bodies to touch. If possible, I wanted for us to feel like one.

I acknowledged that my heart was racing a little fast and felt briefly self-conscious. Sergio probably didn’t have any idea how deeply his words affected me, how powerful they felt. His gentle acceptance of me, his approval, even his endorsement, felt empowering. Ultimately, I knew that developing a stronger sense of self-confidence was a journey uniquely my own; Sergio’s validation of me wouldn’t prove to be a missing link that, when identified, would succeed in making me feel whole. Though, as I lay on him, with my head cradled on his shoulder and with his arms wrapped tightly around me, I thought,
It sure couldn’t hurt.

I pushed myself up and extended my arms so I could look directly at him. He looked handsome, confident, assured. His dark hair fell across his forehead, his eyes were soft and welcoming, his smile genuine. I ran my fingers over his beautiful olive complexion and smiled at the irony. While I was loving being able to admire his skin, he was helping me to feel more comfortable living in mine.

The heartwarming memory didn’t evaporate instantly, but it was certainly pushed to the back of my mind as I reviewed the list of patients I was responsible for. Fifteen children, fifteen different diagnoses. Chief rounds had the potential of being harrowing. Dr. Franklin, the chairman of the department, could ask anything about any one of them. My stomach felt kind of queasy. There was way too much shit to be expected to know off the top of my head. Hopefully, with such a heavy patient census, he’d choose to stick to the basics and not quiz us on minutiae.
One can only hope
, I thought dismally.

I carefully reviewed the names of all the patients on the list and then compared the list to the computer printout of labs. When I discovered an abnormality, I made certain that I understood why it had occurred and how it should be corrected. In addition, I reviewed Diane’s notes from the night shift to assure myself that none of the patients’ conditions had changed significantly since I’d signed out the day before. I didn’t review the specifics of the patients she had admitted during the night because I knew she would be required to talk about them on chief rounds. She would sign them out to me after rounds had finished and before she was ready to go home for the afternoon. Lastly, I checked to see if any X-rays would need to be looked at. There was nothing more embarrassing than finding out during rounds that there was radiographic evidence of a new clinical finding that, as senior resident, you were unaware of.

When I got back from radiology, the team was already assembling. Dr. Franklin was shaking hands with the medical students he hadn’t met and then smiled warmly at me and the two interns I was supervising, Jessica and Brian. I returned his greeting enthusiastically, but I was a little cynical. While his smile seemed genuine, I couldn’t help but think it was the same smile a fox would have prior to entering a henhouse.

Diane showed up shortly thereafter, frantically giving her notes a final review. She knew part of the expectation of chief rounds was that she be familiar with even the subtle details of all her patients’ conditions, even if she had just admitted some of them a few hours earlier. Though it was intended to be educational, the whole ritual accomplished little more than causing ulcers.

Diane was followed by her two interns, Shelly and Gil. Interns were on call every fourth night, so while Shelly had just arrived from home having slept, Gil had been working all night with Diane, and he showed up looking disheveled and exhausted. His eyes probably hadn’t closed for more than four consecutive seconds in the past twenty-four hours.

Once all players, including the medical students assigned to the general pediatric ward service, were accounted for, the team began its procession down the hall. Moments later, the whole entourage stopped in front of the first door in the corridor. One of the four medical students, after being nudged by my intern, Jessica, launched into his well-rehearsed monologue. “Four-year-old male. Hospital day number three for treatment of right lower lobe pneumonia. Patient has responded well to IV antibiotics and has been without fever for twenty-four hours. Yesterday, he was weaned off supplemental oxygen and is now breathing room air. Plan is to switch him over to oral antibiotics and discharge him home later this afternoon, with directions to follow up with his private doctor within forty-eight hours.” He made the entire presentation without taking a single breath, and when he finished he had to take a deep gasp to keep from passing out.

Dr. Franklin gave a benevolent nod of approval, but, incapable of letting an opportunity to ask a question pass, he shifted his gaze to Shelly, one of Diane’s interns, and asked in a clipped voice, “Dr. Lamont. What is the oral antibiotic of choice for treatment of an uncomplicated lobar pneumonia?”

Shelly winced noticeably, but after only a moment of hesitation, she responded, albeit uncertainly, “Amoxicillin.”

Dr. Franklin barely slowed his progression but acknowledged her answer with an affirmative shake of his head. “Good. Let’s move on.”

In front of the next door, the assigned medical student, a young woman named Jane, began speaking without prompting: “Six-year-old female. Known asthmatic admitted for respiratory distress.” She consulted her notes to ensure she listed all the medications accurately and in their appropriate dosages, included them in her spiel, then concluded by saying, “She continues to require supplemental oxygen but is improving. Plan is to continue the current therapy and attempt to decrease the amount of oxygen she requires.”

And so the arduous exercise continued, from one door to the next. One patient after another, the questions getting ever more complicated and more esoteric as rounds stretched into their second hour.

With just three patients to go, the team came to a stop in front of one of the final doors. Everyone’s eyes were slightly glazed over in response to the barrage of information and from having been dragged through multiple inquisitions. Dr. Franklin, however, was seemingly unfazed. He looked as if he was just warming up.

The medical student dutifully made her presentation. “Five-year-old admitted with the diagnosis of orbital cellulitis. The patient didn’t require surgery and is responding favorably to antibiotics.” We all knew orbital cellulitis was an infection of the tissues immediately surrounding the eye; if not emergently treated, it could lead to blindness. We were surprised, though, that before the medical student had even finished her presentation, Dr. Franklin interrupted her to ask a question.

He eyed my intern, Brian, with a disapproving glare. I liked Brian. He would sometimes give the impression of being cavalier, but he was really a pretty hard worker and tried to conscientiously take care of his patients. Trouble was, he didn’t always show the appropriate reverence for authority.

“Dr. Mitchell.” Dr. Franklin modulated his tone as if he were asking the most obvious question in the world. “One of the complications of orbital cellulitis is thrombosis. In which sinus is the thrombosis most likely to occur?”

Everyone, including myself, froze in place. Who the fuck knew? People began to shift from one foot to the other, probably praying earnestly that should Brian fail to answer correctly, the question wouldn’t be directed to them.

Brian stared pensively at the ceiling, stroked his chin, then nodded slightly, as if he had formulated the correct answer. He looked directly at Dr. Franklin, and though his voice was soft, his reply was confident. “Florence Henderson.”