A White Coat Is My Closet (41 page)

“Lucky for me.” I walked over and stood next to him. “That’s the part I prefer to kiss and make better.” I leaned over and planted a soft kiss on the top of his head. I straightened up as I smiled down at him. “Though should the other part of your anatomy continue to cause you discomfort, my lips would be willing to offer their services down there too. They don’t usually work in that neighborhood, but for you they’d make an exception.”

Sergio started to chuckle and was forced to hold his head tighter. “Don’t make me laugh. It makes my head hurt worse. Besides, you’re cruel. You’re only making that offer now because you know I’m too incapacitated to take advantage of it.”

“Don’t worry. For you, the offer comes without an expiration date. You can redeem it anytime you want.” I kissed the top of his head again but then felt compelled to add an addendum. “Let me clarify: you can redeem it anytime you want when we’re in the privacy of one of our own bedrooms. I’d just as soon you not try to collect when we’re walking down a crowded street or even when we’re sitting in the back of a quiet restaurant. I’m not a prude, but I do have my limits.” I smiled again. “Tell you what. I’ll give you a coupon. You can read the exclusions on the back.”

Sergio fell back on the bed and pulled the pillow over his head. “You’re torturing me. Too many words. My brain was already on the verge of exploding. Now you’re filling it with redemptions and exclusions. You’re trying to kill me.” I could see his smile peek out from under the pillow.

“Here’s what I’ll do.” I pulled on a clean pair of scrubs. “I’ll bring you a glass of juice and some more Advil. Neither of my roommates is here. You just go back to sleep. You know where we hide the extra key. Just lock up when you leave. I’ll call you tonight.”

He pushed the pillow off his head just enough to look at me. “And then, through the thundering storm, I heard the voice of an angel. Bless you, my child. There is a heaven.”

I laughed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think that you just called me God. Hold that thought. I’ll be right back.”

I went into the kitchen, got the coffeemaker going, put oatmeal into the microwave, then poured Sergio some juice. I carried the bottle of Advil back to my room, helped him sit up, put four pills into his palm, and handed him the glass of juice. He downed it in five or six quick gulps then lay back down. It took some effort for me not to run my hands over his naked body, but instead, I pulled the sheet up over him and fluffed his pillow. “There will be coffee in the pot when you get up. You just sleep. I’m going to eat breakfast and then leave without waking you.” I kissed him on the lips. He tasted like orange juice. “Rest up. We’ll talk later.”

His response was groggy as he was already drifting back to sleep. “Thanks, babe. I love you.”

For the briefest of seconds, I thought my heart had stopped. I looked down at the incredible man asleep in my bed. He was snoring softly. He might not even have been aware of what he had said. I felt my mind flood with indecision, anxiety, and self-doubts. Did he mean it? Was he just hungover? Was I starting to build unrealistic expectations?

Somehow, however, as I stood there looking at him, I was able to effortlessly push the tornado of questions out of my head. Then, with absolute sincerity, I leaned over and kissed him once more lightly on the lips. “I love you too.” He emitted another soft snore without stirring. It didn’t matter, though, because I realized on my way out that I had said it as much for me as I had for him.

As I skipped down the steps of my apartment, I questioned whether I was the least bit hungover. Surprisingly, I felt like a million bucks. Either I was building an impressive tolerance to alcohol, or Sergio’s declaration that he loved me was an antidote for all my ills.

O
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THE
medical side of things, the next few weeks were relatively uneventful. I completed my rotation as resident in charge of the pediatric ward and began one of my electives: pediatric cardiology. My workdays were comparatively shorter than the ones I had grown accustomed to, but I still took call on the ward every fourth night. By continuing to maintain a presence on the ward, even though I was no longer directly responsible for helping to oversee Christopher’s care, I could still closely follow his progress. In fact, if my responsibilities during my cardiology elective required I be in the hospital rather than in the outpatient clinic, I always made a special point of going to spend time with him.

He was off chemo for only two weeks immediately following his surgery. By the third week, however, the treatment protocol he was under required that he begin both high-dose chemotherapy as well as radiation to the area in his abdomen where the tumor had been. All these measures were in anticipation of readying him for a bone-marrow transplant; the only intervention that offered any possibility for survival.

When he was feeling up to it, his new favorite pastime was building with Legos. He appointed me his main contractor. Sometimes he would assist in the construction effort, but because of his fatigue, mostly he would supervise from his bed. Some of the things we built were particularly impressive. We never looked at directions. Each of our creations was the result of imaginative ingenuity. Some of our projects received such notoriety that nurses from all over the ward would come to admire the finished products. Christopher took great pride in explaining what each creation represented. One time we built what we were certain was an exact replica of the Batcave complete with computers and a bat pole. Another time we attempted to build an ogre’s castle, including a drawbridge. Unfortunately, according to Christopher’s specifications, it had to be taller than he was. We didn’t have a sufficient number of Legos to build a base broad enough for something so tall, so the tower on the side of castle kept falling over. In the end, we decided to settle on a building a castle that could comfortably accommodate Shrek. According to Christopher, he was considerably shorter than most ogres.

Unfortunately, about six weeks after his surgery, Christopher’s condition began to really deteriorate. He slept for longer periods of time and became increasing difficult to arouse. The most ominous symptoms were his breathing became more labored and his skin and the whites of his eyes turned a sallow, lifeless yellow. Evaluation of his blood work confirmed that his liver was failing. His little body just couldn’t defend itself against the rapidly advancing cancer. It was destroying him despite every possible intervention.

His parents kept a constant vigil at his bedside. They neither slept nor ate. When Dr. Herbert sat down with them and explained we had exhausted all alternatives, it was as if part of them died just as the result of hearing the news. There was nothing more we could do. There were no more chances, no more hope, no more clinging to even a glimmer of optimism that an innovative new therapy might miraculously offer a cure. The only thing left for them to do was to wait, to stand helplessly back and watch a vicious cancer slowly murder their child. It was excruciating for them. Given the choice, either of them would have endured unfathomable torture in exchange for their precious boy’s survival.

Though Christopher wasn’t my own flesh and blood, I too shared in their tragedy. Watching his cancer slowly steal his life was one of the most painful experiences I had ever endured.

One afternoon I went to visit him and, as was the usual circumstance, I found him asleep and unresponsive to my voice. Confident he could still hear me and determined to make whatever time he had left as pleasant as possible, I sat down next to his bed and laced the fingers of one of his hands between mine. I gently ran my other hand across his little bald head, and in as animated voice as possible, whispered soft words of encouragement to him.

“Hey, Superman. What’s going on, my man? What are you doing in here still sleeping? I need your help fighting the Atomic Skull. If you don’t get out of bed soon, he’s gonna beat me, for sure. Do you think you could open your eyes for just a second and show me a glimmer of some of your super strength?”

Incredibly, Christopher slowly pushed his eyelids open. His mom, who was sitting in a chair on the other side of the bed, lurched forward and gently grabbed his other hand. It was the first time he had opened his eyes that day. “Hey, sweetie. That’s my brave little boy. I’m here. I love you. Dr. Zack came to visit you too.”

He fluttered his eyes in my direction, and with incredible effort, he tried to speak. “Dr. Zack?”

I lovingly stroked his arm. “I’m here, buddy. Do you need anything? You name it, I’ll make it happen.”

He took as deep a breath as possible and ran his tongue arduously over his dry lips. “Will you take care of Yogi?”

His question left me feeling genuinely confused. I looked at his mom and begged an explanation. What did he mean, would I take care of Yogi?

She shrugged to indicate she didn’t understand his request either and then concentrated on gently dabbing his lips with a moist sponge.

I tucked Yogi more securely under his sheet and pressed his beloved bear more firmly against him. “What do you mean, will I take care of Yogi? Yogi is right here. He hasn’t left your side. He’s here, helping to take care of you.”

Christopher once again forced his eyes open and gazed at me earnestly. He concentrated all his strength on speaking. “I mean when I’m gone. Will you take care of Yogi when I’m gone? Promise me, Dr. Zack. Take care of him. Yogi’s going to need a special friend.”

Expressing his plea consumed all his strength. He closed his eyes, his breathing resumed its ragged, shallow rhythm, and his fingers became cooler to my touch.

I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. I looked up and found his mother’s gaze. Tears spilled down both our cheeks. Neither of us spoke; we were both too consumed by grief. Christopher and Yogi were inseparable. They were constant companions. By worrying that Yogi would feel abandoned, with pure and loving innocence, Christopher was acknowledging that he knew he was dying.

We remained silent; both gently caressing Christopher’s arms. By now, our tears fell freely. They formed little puddles where they landed on the hospital sheet that covered him. I felt like I was being pummeled from all sides by emotions that surged through me like hurricane-force winds over the arctic tundra. I was racked by the most heart-wrenching sorrow I had ever experienced, and yet I also felt inspired by Christopher’s courage. Surprisingly, I was also furious and felt betrayed. Christopher had done nothing to deserve such a horrible fate. At its very core, in the cosmic heart of the universe, unimaginable evil must exist to allow such senseless pain and tragedy to befall an innocent child.

I never said anything. I leaned over and kissed Christopher on the top of the head and then, on impulse, did the same thing to his mother. Without looking up, she wiped away some of her tears with a Kleenex and gave me a nod of genuine appreciation. In her heart, she knew our entire team would have moved heaven and earth to have arrived at a more favorable outcome. Sadly, however, that understanding wouldn’t prevent her from losing her son.

She didn’t shift her gaze even as she heard me quietly leave the room. She just sat and stared at Christopher, wanting to experience his every breath. She had to know there were not likely to be many more.

As I was walking away from Christopher’s room, I ran into Christopher’s father carrying their two-year-old son Dillon in his arms. The little boy was smiling and happy. As was our own special tradition, when Dillon saw me, he raised his hand to give me a high-five. His dad, on the other hand, was ashen gray. He looked at me, and for the benefit of Dillon, tried unsuccessfully to contain his tears. “Christopher’s mom and I talked about it. We’re still not certain it’s the right thing to do, but we finally decided it was important to bring Dillon down to be able to say good-bye.” The tears flowed more freely. “He doesn’t understand cancer, he certainly doesn’t understand death, but he’s beginning to understand ‘good-bye,’ and we felt that years from now, we might regret it if we never gave him the opportunity to say it to his brother.”

Dillon’s animated and fun-loving expression changed to one of concern when he read the sorrow on his father’s face. He lifted his little fingers to his father’s face and very deliberately tried to wipe away each individual tear. “Don’t cry, Daddy. Kisstofer get better. He come home to play.”

Christopher’s dad squeezed Dillon lovingly in his arms. “Yeah, sweetie. Christopher may come home someday. But for now, he’s decided to go help Superman fight bad guys. That’s why we’re here today, remember? So you can tell him good-bye and wish him good luck.”

Dillon pulled out of his dad’s arms far enough to study his face. In a solemn voice, he whispered, “Kisstofer is very brave.”

Christopher’s dad squeezed him tighter. “Yes, he is, son. Yes he is.”

Then, with his free arm, Christopher’s dad pulled me into a hug also. “But we’re all going to miss him, and we’re sorry that fighting bad guys is going to take Christopher so far away.”

With Dillon in his father’s arms, the three of us remained locked in a firm embrace. When he released me, Christopher’s dad had composed himself a little. “Okay, Dillon. Give Dr. Zack a hug and tell him thank you. He was a big help in getting Christopher ready for his trip.”

Dillon reached for me with both arms. The faucet behind my eyes was again turned on. “I didn’t do anything. Really, I didn’t. But I can’t tell you what a pleasure it’s been for me to have had the chance to get to know all of you.” Caught in Dillon’s embrace, I was able to see past him and look at his father. Though my response to Dillon was simple, I knew his father understood the gravity and sincerity of the sentiment I was trying to express. “I’m so sorry Christopher decided not to stay.” I finished returning Dillon’s hug. “But I know Superman is proud of him. And I feel better knowing he’s going to be flying around to protect us.”

Shortly thereafter, they disappeared into Christopher’s room. They later told me about an hour after they arrived, Christopher again opened his eyes briefly. He looked at his entire family purposefully and softly whispered, “I love you,” and he then closed his eyes again.