A White Coat Is My Closet (46 page)

I couldn’t help but to chuckle softly when he answered in a solemn voice, “I’m not really Spider-Man. This is just my brother’s old T-shirt.”

“Oh,” I replied earnestly, “my mistake. I mean, you kind of look like Spider-Man. Look at those muscles.” I gently squeezed his bicep. “Okay.” I again glanced at the chart and read his name. “I’ll just call you Matthew, then.” I rolled a stool over and sat down so I was looking at him from eye level. “So tell me, Matthew, does it really hurt when you walk?”

He nodded and answered in a soft voice, “Yeah, it hurts a lot.”

“Really?” I looked at his mom and gave her a reassuring smile. “Maybe your mom can tell me how long it’s been hurting.”

She answered seriously, “It’s only been hurting for about two days, but the pain has been getting progressively worse. Now he’s pretty much refusing to bear any weight at all on his left leg.”

I took his left leg gently between my hands and begin to run them up and down, palpating for any irregularity or for any obvious discomfort. “Okay, Matthew, can you tell me where your leg hurts?”

He answered cautiously, “The whole thing.”

“Really? The whole thing? Hmm. That’s going to make things a little tricky. Tell you what, why don’t you take your pants and socks off and let me look at it.”

He grimaced. “Take my pants off too?”

“And your socks.” I shrugged as I pulled the curtain closed around his bed and said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, “If your whole leg is hurting, I have to be able to see your whole leg. Don’t worry. We’ll keep the curtain closed, and if you’re wearing Spider-Man underwear too, it will be our secret.”

He hesitantly toed his shoes off, let them drop to the floor, pulled his socks off, then let his mom helped him pull down his pants.

He had barely sat back down before I realized immediately where the problem was. The bottom of his left heel was red and swollen and appeared to have something embedded in it. I positioned the exam light to direct the beam onto his foot and examined it more closely. I cocked my head at Matthew and said, “My man! It looks like you have a piece of glass stuck in your foot. Have you been walking around barefooted?”

In a state of complete disbelief, his mom walked around so she could look over my shoulder. “He does have some glass in there. Matthew,” she said, looking at him incredulously, “why didn’t you tell me it was your foot that hurt and that you had stepped on something?” She looked back at me apologetically. “I feel so foolish. I didn’t even look at his foot.” She eyed him with a hint of exasperation. “In fact, I was wondering why you hadn’t been taking your socks off.” She returned her gaze at me. “Initially, he wouldn’t even admit his foot hurt. I just noticed he was limping. It was only when it got to be so bad he couldn’t walk that he confessed his whole leg was hurting. I didn’t even think to look at the bottom of his foot.” She pivoted back to him. “Matthew, honey, why didn’t you say something?”

Matthew looked down and tears began to spill from his eyes. “Because I knew it would hurt really bad if someone had to dig it out.”

I stood up and hugged Matthew around the shoulders. “Hey, that makes sense to me. You must have thought taking it out was going to be scary.” I sat back down and slouched so, despite the fact that he continued to look down, he was forced to look into my eyes. “But what if I told you I was magic and I could take it out without you feeling any pain at all?”

He brought his head up immediately, and though he gave me a hopeful glance, his voice was still filled with uncertainty when he said, “You can’t really do magic.”

“Sure I can.” I nodded convincingly. “I’ve got magic medicine. The only thing I need to know is this: Are you brave enough for magic?” I clarified, “Because, as part of the magic, I’m going to make your foot feel as cold as ice for two seconds.”

“Ice doesn’t hurt.” A little certainty crept back into his voice.

“Well, you’re right. It doesn’t. So, are you brave enough to give the magic medicine a try?”

His tears ceased. “You promise it’s not going to hurt?”

“Hey, I’m a doctor.” I smiled at him warmly. “It’s against the law for me to lie.”

“Okay, then,” he said, nodding determinedly, “I’ll be brave.”

“Okay, then.” I slapped his right knee. “Let me go get the magic. But, Matthew,” I said, looking at him sincerely, “let’s keep this a secret. I don’t have enough magic to be able to use it on every little boy who comes in here. Can I trust you to keep a secret?”

His eyes became as big as saucers and he nodded. “I won’t tell.” I heard him confirming our plan with his mom, his voice now rich with certainty. “He’s going to use magic medicine, Mom.”

I went to find a nurse to elicit her help and to explain my plan to her. I was going to hang a drape so Matthew couldn’t see what I was doing. Then, I would have the nurse spray his foot with ethyl chloride. Ethyl chloride was a freezing agent, and it would leave his foot numb for a period of seconds. I would use the opportunity to inject the area with an anesthetic. If I mixed lidocaine with bicarb and used a really tiny needle, I was confident that Matthew wouldn’t feel a thing.

Marge, the nurse, was completely on board. I collected everything I anticipated I would need from the medicine room, grabbed a drape, then returned to Matthew’s room.

When I arrived at Matthew’s bedside, I instructed his mom to stand at the head of the bed next to him. Then I had him lie down with his foot extended just beyond the end of the bed. While I was positioning him, I explained that Marge was going to be my assistant and that she too had a lot of experience using magic medicine. Marge dutifully took a bow and then began helping me hang the drape between two IV poles on either side of his bed. The drape fell to Matthew’s midcalf, and he was thus unable to see his foot.

“Hey, what are you guys doing?” Matthew became instantly apprehensive when the drape went up.

I looked at him over the drape and tried to appear surprised that he was asking. “This is the magic curtain. Haven’t you ever seen a real magician? They always stand behind a magic curtain so no one can copy their tricks. This drape doesn’t hurt, does it?

Matthew immediately looked relieved. “No, it doesn’t hurt. Not even a little bit.”

“Oh, good, then it’s already working. Okay, are you ready for your foot to feel as cold as ice?”

Matthew squished his eyes closed and squeezed his mom’s hand so tightly I could see her fingers blanch. “I’m ready.”

“Then let the magic begin.” I ducked behind the drape and directed Marge to begin spraying the ethyl chloride directly on the skin around the piece of embedded glass. “If the magic is working, your toes should already begin feeling really cold. Are they?” I took a peek over the drape and saw that even though Matthew kept his eyes tightly closed, he was nodding. Meanwhile, I pulled the syringe I had already filled with the anesthetic solution out of my pocket. The second Marge stopped spraying, I pushed the small needle into Matthew’s numb skin and began injecting the anesthetic very slowly.

The worst part was over and Matthew hadn’t so much as budged. I pushed the drape down just a few inches so he could see my face, then encouraged him to look at me. “Hey, champ, I’m almost done here. Does your foot hurt?

His eyes flew open in disbelief. “You’re done? Did you get the glass out?”

“Well, it’s not quite out, but I’m going to touch it and you tell me if you can feel it moving.” I massaged the area around the glass with my finger to better distribute the anesthetic. “Does this hurt?”

He looked at me thoughtfully, giving the impression of being determined to answer the question correctly. “I sort of feel it, but it doesn’t hurt.”

“Excellent,” I said, “then the magic’s working. We’ll have this glass out in no time.”

Marge handed me a pair of forceps, and I was able to begin dislodging the glass without Matthew feeling anything. By opening the wound a little wider, I was able to grab the glass and pull it out with a gentle tug. “There you go, my friend—it’s out. Now Marge is going to wash the cut a little bit. The magic show is over.” I pushed the drape completely down. “What do you say? Am I pretty good magician?”

He smiled broadly though he acted as if he couldn’t believe the procedure was really over. He darted his gaze between me and Marge, like any minute one of us was going to jump on him and dig the glass out with a shovel. As he became more convinced that I was really done, his smile widened even more, and he relaxed noticeably. “Yeah, you’re a great magician. That magic medicine really works. I didn’t feel anything.” Then he looked at me and his expression became serious. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll keep it a secret. We won’t even tell my brother, will we, Mom?”

“Not even your brother.” His mom pulled him into a hug as she said it.

I stood up and addressed his mom as I began to wrap things up. “Keep the wound clean and dry for a few days. Soak it in warm soapy water a couple times a day, dry it well, then cover it with a clean dressing. It’s a dirty wound, so I’m not going to close it with stitches. Fortunately, it’s not very big. I’m going to leave a prescription for antibiotics with Marge. She’ll give Matthew a dose before you leave, but be sure to fill the prescription today. If it gets more swollen, if the redness spreads, or if Matthew develops a fever, bring him back.” I smiled at Matthew and ran my hands through his thick hair. “But I think that he’s going to be fine.”

I directed my parting comment directly to Matthew: “You did great, champ.” I winked at him. “I think that you’re even braver than Spider-Man.”

I made my way back to the central desk to complete the paperwork. Patty was still juggling phones and fielding questions. When she came up for air, I waved to get her attention. She hung up the phone she had had cradled under her chin and walked over to me. “So,” she kidded, “you save another life?”

“Fifth one today.” I returned her teasing as I finished filling out Matthew’s prescription and shoved it into Marge’s in-box. “You out of here at eleven?”

“Unfortunately not. We had a couple nurses call in sick, and I have a daughter in college.” She shrugged. “I’m going to end up doing a double. Won’t clock out until 7:00 a.m. tomorrow.” She smiled as she again reached for the ringing phone. “What can I say? No rest for the wicked. Why don’t you come back down around three in the morning to keep me company? I’ll buy you that cup of coffee.” Her eyes danced with ominous intentions.

I pushed myself away from the desk. “I don’t think so. I like to drink my coffee standing up, not bending over.” I protectively covered my ass with both my hands, grimaced, then broke out into a smile. “Chances are, I’ll see you at 3:00 a.m. anyway, though. I have a black cloud. When I’m on duty, it’s like there’s a tsunami of sick kids. I’m sure I’ll be back down.” I completed my note, pushed my pen back into my pocket, and waved. “So, on that note, see you around.” I headed for the stairs.

The rest of the night was actually pretty easy. I had only gotten a few admissions, but they were mostly straightforward and the kids weren’t too sick. As a matter of fact, I tried to suppress a little wave of optimism; if things remained quiet, I might even get some sleep. At that very moment, though, I heard the page operator’s voice over the loud speaker: “Code Trauma, Code Trauma, Code Trauma.” I held my breath. I knew if my beeper went off in the next few seconds, it would mean the trauma involved a child and my quiet night would hit the skids.

When after a couple minutes the beeper remained silent, I was able to breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe my night would be less than insane. Grateful for not being obligated to go to the ER, I was free to choose another activity to occupy my time. I knew a bunch of my patients had had X-rays taken that afternoon, so I decided to take advantage of the lull and run down to Radiology to review them.

It was late, and because my energy had begun to flag, I decided to take the elevator down rather than forcing myself to take the stairs. Jogging down four flights before midnight was exercise; attempting the same feat after midnight was insanity.

When the elevator door opened, I came face to face with Dr. Klein. He was flanked by his resident, Victor Maldonado, an intern and a medical student. I stepped in, nodded a greeting, the elevator door closed, and for a minute everyone stood in uncomfortable silence. We all fixed our gaze on the panel that illuminated the floor numbers as we descended. Not knowing what to say but feeling the quiet was becoming oppressive, I offhandedly commented, “I heard the code trauma announced over the hospital speaker system. You guys look pretty relaxed. Must be pretty confident in your ability to save the day.” I tried to offer an unassuming smile.

Dr. Klein gave his head a disgruntled shake. “Ambulance is just rolling in. Some fairy princess from the West Village took a bullet to the chest. Probably the result of some circle jerk gone wrong. If I had my way, I’d relocate this whole hospital a little farther away from faggot central. Waste of my time to have to deal with those kind, and I resent having to operate on them. Puts my life at risk every time I have to cut into one of them. Which reminds me,” he said as he scowled at Victor, “when we take this guy to the OR, be sure to double glove. No telling what kind of fucking diseases he might be carrying.”

I was mortified. My cheeks burned with anger, but intimidation prevented me from voicing either my objection or my disgust. I was paralyzed by the fear that challenging him would immediately identify me as gay and that I would subsequently be the target of all his demeaning insults. That, and the label would spread through the hospital like wildfire and my reputation would suffer critical damage. Everything I had just said to Diane not six hours before suddenly rang hollow. I hadn’t moved four inches closer to better accepting myself. I was just standing motionless in my life hoping desperately that one day the world would arbitrarily decide to accept me. Thankfully, I was absolved from having to face my indecision, because as soon as he finished his rant, the elevator doors opened on the ground floor and we all exited.

Despite feeling impotent, I was so furious as I walked away that I couldn’t help but make a subtle parting rebuttal: “Or you might consider giving him the same compassionate care you’d give any other human being.”