A White Coat Is My Closet (42 page)

Later that night, with his mom and dad by his side, Christopher drew his last breath. I was home at the time, but I could swear I felt an odd chill in the room at the very second Christopher died, like a ripple in the universe. I remembered having read somewhere in a physics book that when something precious is removed from a position in space, a vacuum is created. Though air immediately rushes in to fill the void, for all time and eternity, the space is forever altered.

I must have felt the transition when Christopher’s soul left his body. I wasn’t sure what the feeling meant, but I was aware that without him, the world as I knew it would never be the same.

H
AVING
just one day off did little to boost my spirits. My stomach felt like I had swallowed a gallon of kerosene followed in close sequence by a lighted match. I had so many conflicting thoughts and feelings scrabbling around in my head I’d swear someone had put my brain in a blender. In one respect, I felt obligated to be stoic, set an example for the interns and medical students. Suffering losses was an inherent part of practicing medicine. It wasn’t that physicians weren’t entitled to feel sadness, but they were expected to shoulder the burden bravely. Appropriately sentimental but not so overwhelmed as to make them inefficient. After all, Christopher’s death wasn’t unanticipated. From the moment he was diagnosed, the unspoken assumption was that he wouldn’t survive such an invasive cancer.

Why, then, did I feel so devastated? I didn’t necessarily feel responsible. Mostly, I just felt inadequate, like I should have been more instrumental in identifying other solutions. I also felt an overwhelming sense of loss. Over the months of taking care of him, Christopher had somehow become an extension of my very being, and losing him felt intensely personal. It was as if, as a result of his death, part of me had also died. My heart ached and my head felt heavy. It felt impossible I would recover. Impossible I would ever again feel anything other than sadness. Impossible I would ever again make myself vulnerable to another patient.

If knowing what to feel was difficult, knowing how to act was equally confusing. Part of me wanted to throw myself down and sob. Realistically, however, other than being exceedingly embarrassing, sobbing would accomplish nothing except maybe identify me as too sentimental to be effective in a crisis and thus inadequate as a physician. Another part of me envisioned being able to carrying on with my responsibilities and act as if I’d suffered little more than a predicted disappointment; brave, unwavering, and dependable. Unfortunately, keeping a stiff upper lip was difficult when I felt like I was going to throw up any minute. The compromise was to spend all day in a fog. I enjoyed brief interludes of efficiency mixed with periods of trying unsuccessfully to suppress a few wayward tears.

Early in the morning, I discovered I could remain relatively unshaken as long as no one asked me how I was doing. The minute someone asked, I’d feel a huge lump develop in my throat and I’d have to vigilantly modulate my voice to keep it from cracking. Avoiding any discussion had been pretty effective until Dr. Herbert came onto the ward specifically to find me. Because I had my back turned, I didn’t see her approach me from behind so was startled when I felt her hand touch my shoulder. Given my surprise, I didn’t have adequate time to build the resolve required to arrest my tears. One look at the depth of compassion she held behind her eyes and mine were swimming. I brought my sleeve to my cheek to try to blot the tears before they ran down my face.

Her voice was a whisper but irrefutably direct. “May I have word with you in my office, Dr. Sheldon?” Before I had an opportunity to reply, she had turned and was already walking away. It was understood I was expected to follow.

When we got to her office, she motioned to the same chair I had sat in only six weeks before. “Have a seat, Zack.” She closed the door behind us, then, rather than going to sit in the chair behind her desk, she sat down in the one next to mine. She let out a long sigh, then, before she said anything, reached over and patted my hand. “Zack, I’m not even going to ask how you’re doing, because I already know the answer: shitty.” She smiled at having been able to shock me, even if my reaction had been subtle. Dr. Herbert was the epitome of social decorum. She was articulate, poised, and wouldn’t think of acquiescing to crudity. I didn’t think she was capable of saying “shit” if she was choking on it. She smiled at me warmly. “Ordinarily, I’m not a fan of using vulgarities, but certain situations necessitate the use of a good expletive.” She smiled at me again. “Don’t look so surprised. I have a few more in my arsenal, and I suspect by the time we conclude this conversation, I will have used more of them.

“Look, Zack, I wish my years of experience would enable me to impart sage words of wisdom to you, but frankly, there are none. Medicine is an inexact science. It’s a combination of objective data, precise measures, analytic calculations, and a lot of hope. Being a good doctor means working to master the first three but never losing sight of the fourth. You do your best to win, but the real challenge is working even harder to endure when you lose. Sadly, the failures are frequently more deeply felt than the successes.” Her expression became slightly more intense. “But they all contribute to your being a better doctor. Bad things happen to wonderful people. Devastating diseases affect innocent, undeserving children. That’s our reality, and fighting reality frequently means being broken by it. But, Zack, it’s your willingness to fight and your willingness to care, even against insurmountable odds, that gives you the potential to be exceptional at what you do.” She patted my hand again.

“If you remember, I told you at the beginning of this odyssey that you should never underestimate the power of caring. Though I don’t believe any institution could have saved Christopher, I do believe that because he came here and because he had you, his death came more easily than it might have. Embrace that, Zack. I do. I believe Christopher did, and I want you to as well. Above all else, being a doctor isn’t about curing disease; most importantly, it’s about treating patients. You did that, and because of you, given the entirety of the situation, Christopher really did have the best possible outcome.”

She stood, walked back over to the door, and put her hand on the knob. “I’m not going to kid you. Hearing that you made a significant difference in a child’s life despite his dying might not make today any easier to endure, but if you take the enormity of that message to heart, it’s what will enable you to survive a lifetime of being a doctor.” She slowly began to open the door. “I won’t keep you any longer. I know you have work to do, and besides, I don’t want you to say anything right now. The experience is still all too raw. When the dust begins to settle, you know where to find me.”

I stood up. I didn’t trust my voice to speak. When I walked by her, however, I stopped and gave her a quick hug. “Thanks.” I wanted to say more but didn’t want to risk being overwhelmed by everything I was feeling. Instead, I gave her another quick hug and repeated, “Just… thanks.” I walked away quickly and ducked into the public restroom, intent on washing my face. I hoped a lot of cold water and a dry paper towel would succeed in restoring my appearance to something less reminiscent of a complete emotional wreck. Instead, I spent those next few minutes crying. Ironically, I found there was a benefit to sobbing. It drained some of the painful emotion from my heart and enabled me to recalibrate my head.

By later that afternoon, I had successfully pulled myself together as well as could be expected. Diane, acting somewhat like a stealth bomber, had been circling me periodically throughout the morning. Though she was intentionally being unobtrusive, she also seemed determined to keep tabs on me. When she recognized that I needed something, she would instantaneously appear by my side. Finally, by about two o’clock, I took pity on her obsessiveness. I caught her attention and smiled. “How about I give you a break in the mother hen department, and the two of us go and get something to eat?”

She gave me a hint of a self-conscious smile. “I’m not being a mother hen. I just wanted to be sure you were doing okay.” She bumped me with her shoulder. “Care for an egg salad sandwich? I laid three fresh ones this morning.”

She made me laugh, and I threw my arms around her and gave her a hug. “I do appreciate you having my back. Sorry I’ve been so despondent today. This whole situation with Christopher threw me a greater curveball than I anticipated.” I gave her a quick kiss on the top of the head. “Knowing I can depend on you is sometimes the only thing that gives me sufficient strength to endure this godforsaken job.”

She hugged me back. “That would be a ditto, Zack. Besides,” she said as she smiled jokingly, “there are probably dozens of men out there enduring their otherwise dismal existences just to hold on to the hope of one day being able to go to lunch with me. Fortunately for you, I just happen to be free right now. It’s a pleasure for me to give you something to live for.”

I suspected Diane might have a slight crush on me, but I responded in my typical fashion—by acting oblivious. “Hallelujah. The rest of them be damned. Now my life is complete.” I pulled her arm through mine, and we started down the hallway, laughing. It was the first time I had laughed in a couple days.

We took the elevator to the ground level and started walking down the main hallway toward the cafeteria, still arm in arm, joking and bumping shoulders with one another. We hadn’t walked more than twenty feet when we almost slammed right into Sergio. He was standing in front of the hospital directory kiosk and looked completely confused. In one hand, he was holding some directions written on a piece of paper. He was comparing what was written on it to the map of the hospital corridors. In his other hand, he was carrying a dozen red roses. When he saw us, his face broke into an exuberant smile. “I thought for sure I was going to get lost trying to find you. I knew you were having a rough day, so I wanted to surprise you by bringing you something to cheer you up. Must be my lucky day. I end up running right into you.”

I froze. In fact, I’m sure the blood rushed out of my face. For my entire professional existence, I felt like my survival was dependent on keeping my work life and my private life separate. Now Sergio stood in front of me with his arms loaded with roses. The only bigger announcement I was gay would have been a Broadway marquee complete with flashing lights above my head. My tongue got temporarily lodged in the back of my throat. When I was finally able to speak, I was incapable of uttering anything more than, “What are you doing here?”

Sergio’s smile was slowly wiped from his face and was replaced by an expression of utter confusion. “Like I said, I thought I’d come by to cheer you up. I thought that was what a supportive partner was supposed to do. You know, to be there when the chips were down.”

His gaze wavered between mine and Diane’s. She looked equally confused. Whereas before she had had her arm wrapped under mine, she now let it drop and just stared at the two of us. I was paralyzed. I stood there like a deer in the headlights. My brain refused to allow my mouth to form words. Sergio was here. The man who just a few months ago I had said I love you to for the first time. Now he was standing in front of me, and I was mortified. I wasn’t ready to out myself at work. I wasn’t ready for my colleagues to know I was gay. I wasn’t prepared to be on the receiving end of the fallout I was certain would occur. Humiliation. Alienation. I had no desire to suffer the repercussions of being a gay physician in a homophobic hospital. In that moment, the only thing I could envision was the vitriolic contempt Dr. Klein would unleash upon me.

The flicker in Sergio’s eyes began to fade. He went from looking confused to looking hurt. I still hadn’t spoken, still hadn’t moved. Then, beginning to feel uncomfortable by my apparent rejection, he began to get angry. “Look, I came here today because I was worried about you. I thought getting a dozen roses would make you happy. Apparently I was wrong. Sorry for the inconvenience. It won’t happen again.” He dropped the roses at my feet, did an immediate about-face, and walked hurriedly toward the exit.

Seeing him leaving caused the vise that held me motionless to relinquish its suffocating grip. He was already out the door when my feet finally began to move. I started to run after him. “Sergio, wait! Let me explain.”

Sergio did little more than to snarl over his shoulder. “Fuck you, Zack. You don’t have to explain anything. I got your message loud and clear. You don’t want to see me. I get it. Rest assured, I won’t bother you again. Ever!” He was down the sidewalk and through the door of the visitor’s parking garage before I was able to say another word.

I dropped my head and slowly retraced my path. Diane was still standing where I had left her. Rather than looking angry, she looked sympathetic. “Zack, is there something that maybe you’ve been neglecting to tell me?”

Once again, my eyes welled up with tears. This time, I didn’t even try to disguise them. Over the past few days, I had cried more than I had in my entire life. I stood in front of her but couldn’t bring myself to look at her directly. My gaze remained fixed on the carpet at our feet. When I spoke, my voice was thick with emotion. “Do you hate me?”