A White Coat Is My Closet (44 page)

Finally, I found my voice. Though tears moistened my eyes, there was now no uncertainty in my tone. “I want both.”

“You want both what?”

“I love you, Sergio. I want your love and your forgiveness.”

His gaze dropped back to study his feet. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it, Zack.”

I stood up, carefully placed the bunch of roses on the hood of his car, and began to slowly walk toward him. “Sergio, you shouldn’t act surprised to learn that I’m an idiot. Hollywood could make a documentary about all the stupid things I’ve done in my life. Had this afternoon’s performance been caught on film, the audience would cringe at seeing what a complete ass I made of myself. Undoubtedly, they would have found my behavior so infuriating they probably would have gotten up and walked out of the theater. But,” I said as I slowly began to close the distance between us, “if they had somehow found the patience to stay, if they had watched the movie in its entirety, in the end, they would have come to realize that my actions were the result of my own insecurities and had nothing at all to do with my feelings for you. In fact, like all great love stories, the audience would eventually have become overwhelmed with understanding and compassion. They would be willing the handsome Italian hero to give the thoughtless but well-intending, ridiculously closeted doctor another chance.”

By the time I finished speaking I was standing within inches of Sergio. He still hadn’t brought his head up to look directly at me. Instead, he spoke to the ground. “That’s the trouble with Hollywood, Zack. It has very little to do with real life.”

I was hugely apprehensive that I had completely exhausted Sergio’s patience. I was afraid my neurotic behavior had finally pushed him to the point of no return and he had decided his life would be significantly more satisfying without me. My voice quivered a little when I said, “In my experience, real life is not all it’s cracked up to be. You’re my fantasy, Sergio. You’re everything I’ve ever dreamed of. Trouble is, now that I’ve found what I’ve always wanted, I’m no longer sure how to live my life. My life has never been real. I’ve spent most of it trying to live a lie.”

Our gazes finally met. “You can’t live in a fantasy world, Zack.” Sergio’s voice softened. It wasn’t impatient but instead tinged with subtle sadness. “You have to live in reality, with all its ugliness, prejudice, and homophobia. We can try to change it, but you don’t get to choose. You have to live in it. I’m trying to be patient and understanding, Zack. Really, I am. I would never intentionally push you into a situation that makes you feel uncomfortable. But I won’t live a lie. If you want to live a lie, you’ll have to live without me.”

I looked back at him. I could tell he recognized the pleading in my expression, but I also knew he must have seen my frustration. I pushed my hand through my hair and tried to calm the emotional tsunami brewing in my gut. “Sergio, if you’ve been trying to understand, then you’d recognize that I’ve been trying also. I’m not sure you appreciate how complicated this is for me. I know you think it’s my choice to hide who I am, and I suppose to a great extent it is. But it’s also a situation I was pushed into from an early age. I had no gay role models when I was growing up. I didn’t grow up in a large urban community. Hell, I’m not even sure there was another gay man in the entire county, much less the town. The only education I got came from cruel jokes and hateful innuendos. Growing up in a small community where a young man earns respect by playing football, hunting deer, and hitting home runs, the message I got was clear: better dead than gay.”

I made a conscious attempt to slow my speech. Previous experience had taught me that once these particular floodgates were opened, they weren’t easily closed. “And don’t think I don’t know how pathetic that sounds.” My voice went up in pitch. “Anyone’s advice to me would be to grow up. Stop being a victim of influences you experienced as a child. The solution is always easy for someone who hasn’t lived through it. Unfortunately, what well-intending people don’t seem to understand is that I’m trying. A lifetime of conditioning doesn’t disappear just because I will it to. Some of these feelings are so deeply engrained I sometimes can’t differentiate where healthy self-esteem ends and pathologic thinking starts.

In addition, it’s not as if all the negative influences have disappeared. I’m still subjected to them every day. Even as we speak, there are a number of physicians who oversee my work at the hospital who, if they knew I was gay, would love to see me fail on that basis alone. Intellectually, I know that despite the prestigious positions they hold, they’re narrow-minded bigots; I still can’t help having their attitudes stir my discomfort. How do I stand proudly in front of my colleagues when many of them think society is being done a disservice by even allowing gay men to work in pediatrics?”

I felt compelled to say more. I desperately wanted Sergio to understand how earnestly I was trying not only to be a man he could be proud of, but more importantly, how hard I was working to be proud of myself. In the end however, I fell silent. The week had been exhausting. The combination of losing Christopher, coming out to Diane, and arguing with Sergio made me feel like I was being crushed under a rock. I felt another tear escape my eye. “I don’t want to live a lie, Sergio. I love you. That’s not a lie. It’s one of the most profound truths of my entire life.” My head felt heavy. I didn’t even have the energy to look up. Diane’s words rang in my head:
Humans are designed with imperfections, inconsistencies, and ridiculously obvious flaws
. I let out a heavy sigh. “I’m a work in progress, Sergio. Still woefully incomplete, but doing the best I can. I’m sorry that’s not enough for you.”

I turned to walk away. I had left my car parked on the street in front of the restaurant, so I forced my feet to move in that direction. Lifting them was an arduous task. It felt like they had been encased in cement.

Before I had taken more than three steps, I felt myself being pulled into strong arms. “Who said it’s not enough?”

The feeling of again being pressed firmly against Sergio was greater than any adrenaline rush I had ever felt. The exhaustion that had consumed me just moments before evaporated like drops of water on a hot sidewalk. He turned me around, and before I knew it, my mouth was enveloped in a kiss.

When Sergio drew his head back, he looked at me intently. “I wish you could see yourself the way I do, Zack. If you did, you’d never apologize to anyone for being who you are.”

I leaned my head against his shoulder. “That sounds funny coming from you, because I end up having to apologize to you on almost a daily basis.”

He squeezed me tightly. “That’s different. You’ll still have to apologize when you’re a thoughtless dick.” He lifted my chin so I had to look him in the eye. “And for acting like you’re ashamed to be seen with me. But you’ll never have to apologize to me for being who you are.”

My laugh was almost indistinguishable from a sob. “Haven’t we been over this territory already? My shame is something I’ve been carrying since long before I met you. In fact, there have been times in my life when I felt like the burden of carrying it would surely break me. If anything, having you as a part of my life has lessened the load considerably. You might think I’m still living a lie, but actually, I’m finally getting strong enough to try to live the truth. Amazingly, though you might not appreciate it from today’s pitiful exhibition, I’m less fearful of the consequences than ever before. It would be impossible for me to be ashamed to be seen with you. I would like to say that my determination for trying to get a better handle on this is for the singular purpose of feeling more comfortable living in my own skin, but that’s not entirely true. Partly, I’m also doing this because of you. You make me want to be a better man. You make me want to be someone of whom you can be proud.”

Sergio again tightened his squeeze around my shoulders and kissed me lightly on the cheek. “You’re right, Zack. We have been over this territory before. I’m already proud of who you are. I couldn’t love you if I wasn’t.”

I pulled back and stared into Sergio’s amber eyes. Even in the faint light of the overhead security lamp, I could see them sparkle. “Fair enough. Let’s call it a draw. You keep loving me, and I’ll keep trying to prevent my insecurities from holding me back.” I pulled Sergio’s lips down to meet mine.

When we broke apart, Sergio was smiling. “I’ve got a better suggestion: Why don’t we just concentrate on loving one another? I figure everything else will work itself out.”

“Is that a suggestion that can be implemented while naked in bed?”

“Oddly enough, I believe that’s exactly what the originator intended.”

T
HE
next few weeks couldn’t have played better if they’d been an orchestrated symphony. If anything, the misunderstanding between Sergio and me actually strengthened our relationship. We worried less about having to be on our best behavior in front of one another and were consistently more relaxed, just being ourselves. As was his inherent nature, Sergio continued to go to great lengths to take care of me. When I finished working a long shift, I would always come home to find dinner waiting for me. Frequently, even if he needed to be at work before I got off, he’d let himself into my apartment using the key I had given him and leave something for me to eat in the refrigerator. I felt like I was being really spoiled.

In addition, we both made more concerted efforts to be sure that we spent time with one another’s friends. Certainly Declan and I eked out time to be alone together, but overall, our socializing occurred as a couple. It felt comfortable, it felt domestic, it felt right. I couldn’t have been happier.

Those were among the thoughts dancing through my mind as I began to prepare to take sign-outs for another night on call. Thus far, the day had been mostly uneventful. Even though it was now kind of unusual, I had opted to sleep at home the night before because I knew I was going to be on call, and I wanted to get a good eight hours of sleep. Sergio had been working and wouldn’t get off until after midnight. If I had waited for him, he would have arrived in the wee hours of the morning, I wouldn’t have been able to resist molesting him, and then I would have come to work with little more than a couple hours of shut-eye. Sleeping with him always represented a huge temptation, but it would have made the prospect of having to work all night impossible. Sex was great, but not worth putting lives in jeopardy.

Most of the patients on my service were pretty stable, so I was enjoying having the luxury of being able to follow up on some of the less urgent details. I decided to go check on Emily, a five-year-old girl who had been admitted ten days before with osteomyelitis of her left femur. Osteomyelitis was an infection of the bone and required a prolonged course of IV antibiotics. The infectious disease specialist had recommended treating her for a total of fourteen days. By now she was feeling much better, so she was getting really bored. An extended hospital stay could easily result in a secondary case of cabin fever. Five-year-olds were really unaccustomed to being held captive in a hospital bed. Even though some had practiced endurance, a kid could only play so many hours of video games.

Surprisingly, though, even as I began to consider going in and trying to cheer her up, my chest tightened. Memories of Christopher came surging through my mind. His loss continued to feel raw. The world around me suddenly began to move in slow motion, and without making the conscious decision to do so, my feet came to a gradual standstill. Emily was a beautiful little girl with an engaging smile. Was I ready to begin to build another bond with a sick child? What if her condition worsened? If I became closer to her and the severity of her disease unexpectedly accelerated, would I be capable of watching her suffer? Had I lost all clinical objectivity? Had I morphed from a physician with relatively good clinical instincts into someone persistently on the verge of becoming an emotional mess?

I was about to turn around and quietly retreat in the other direction when some of Dr. Herbert’s words of advice came floating through my brain:
Appreciate the power of caring, 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.

Her words continued to resonate through me:
Power of caring… being exceptional
. I took a deep breath, steeled my resolve, and went into the play therapy room to grab a puzzle. I intentionally ignored the many Superman puzzles I had put together with Christopher and reached instead for a princess puzzle. What the hell, I probably had a half hour to kill; I might as well spend some of it trying to cheer Emily up. I couldn’t allow Christopher’s death to forever harden my heart. It was the last thing he would have wanted, and it wasn’t how I wanted to see myself. Besides, it was incredibly unlikely Emily would have a significant complication from a bone infection. Deciding to play the odds, I headed for Emily’s room.