I opened my eyes and Dr. GQ was next to me, talking to the nurse.
"Hey, you are awake! Welcome back, brown-eyed girl."
I wasn't sure where I was. I got up slightly only to be hit by the pain in my side.
"I am still in emergency?" There were about four people in the room, separated by curtains. I looked over at the clock. An hour had elapsed.
"We got your blood results back," he said while flipping my chart. Then it all came back to me. I dared not ask about the exam down below. I was hoping that my blackout episode prevented him from doing it. Nothing more eerie than to be unconscious and ...well, I think you get the idea.
I kept quiet. I had remembered what I asked before passing out. I better maintain silence than to challenge the man who held my fate in his hands.
"Your white blood cell count is very high, indicating appendicitis. So we are going to open you up and have a look. I have booked an OR. You will be going in an hour."
I swallowed the lump in my throat. The nurse smiled at me and left to attend the older man next to me who was clearly having problems breathing. She and Dr. GQ were laughing about something. I did not hear what they were saying (probably some joke about administering my rectal exam while I was conked out) but I could clearly see she was enthralled in her conversation with him. Whenever he spoke to her, she would light up. Made me want to barf. Dr. GQ walked over to a desk nearby to complete his charts. I watched him from my bed. It was too quiet, except for the old man's troubled breathing next to me. I had to make small talk.
"Were you trying to distract me from my pain by feeding me the line about my eyes?"
He stopped writing and directly looked at me. I slipped lower into the sheets. His dreamy gaze made me want to melt.
"Of course not. I do not pay compliments unless I absolutely mean them," he smiled and then returned to his chart. I became highly suspicious. The nurse said to me he was a professional. Since when do doctors compliment their female patients? My imagination ran wild and I thought about how my surgery would pan out -- they would take out my infected appendix and he would announce to me, post surgery: "We removed your beautiful appendix. May I keep it in a jar and take it home with me?"
I felt woozy. Instead of sedation, the morphine kept me talking.
"How long have you been a doctor?" I questioned. He continued to write in his files without lifting his head.
"Three years," he responded.
My suspicions were confirmed. He was a newbie! I knew he was too young.
"I fast-tracked high school, undergrad and medical school. I am just a smart guy. Its funny how many people ask me the same question, but yes, I really know what I am doing. Guess some of us are gifted," he said.
I bit my lip and sighed. His looks were affecting my ability to concentrate and I did not have enough strength to ask about his 'gift'. I lay back and after ten minutes my father arrived. He came over to me and placed his hand on my forehead.
"Are you ok? What did the doctor say?" My father explained that he got my brother's message when he came out of court that--I was taken to the hospital in excruciating pain. The doctor walked over to my father.
"Suspected appendicitis. She will be on the operating table within the hour."
My father looked past him.
"I would like to talk directly to the doctor please," my dad answered, in his heavy accent. I pulled the sheet up over my mouth, trying hard not to laugh.
The doctor smirked and folded his arms across his chest. "I AM the doctor. We ran the tests and I am pretty sure its her appendix. I will follow up with both of you after the surgery." My father looked at him confused and then proceeded to ask him if he was a resident student doctor. Dr. GQ man, trying to discern my father's accent, rubbed his chin and shook his head. He then proceed to walk out in a huff.
My father turned to me. I thought he was going to comment on his age or the fact that the looked MY age but my father... was alas, my father.
"See how young he is and he has completed his medical degree! You should learn from this example. I told you to do science instead of English! You already know how to read and write English!"
I pulled the covers over my head. I should have told him that this fine specimen of a young man just finished giving me a rectal exam.
"Your brother told me that Yvonne came to study at our house. She showed up with coffee and donuts but he told her that you went to the hospital."
Yvonne! I had totally forgot about our Sociology exam. It took me half an hour to explain the procedure of how to alert the University about missing an exam. My father did not get why I couldn't complete the surgery and write the exam the next day. I asked the nurse for more morphine.
After bidding my father goodbye, I was wheeled down the hall towards the operating room. The anesthesiologist stopped me to explain how I was to be put under. I did not hear a word he said. All I heard was Dr. GQ a few steps away, flirting with one of the surgical nurses!
The anesthesiologist noticed that I was not paying attention to him while Dr. GQ schmoozed the nurse. Instead, he stopped mid-sentence and waited. When I realized that he was no longer speaking, I looked back at him and studied his face. He was older, perhaps in his 50s, but the lines on his face told me a story -- knowledge, wisdom and genuineness. I had been physically shaking as we approached the OR but now I felt strangely comfortable and relaxed in his presence.
"Are you nervous?" he asked. I nodded my head slowly. He came closer to me and I felt I could see his soul through his eyes. He had such kind eyes.
"Well kiddo. You will do great. Focus on Dr. So and So -- as you can see, he is not hard on the eyes. I suspect something more is going on, requiring us to keep you under a bit longer," he winked at me. My heart sank.
"Are you going to be there? Will I wake up? What if I die on the table?" I asked, my eyes welling up with tears. He laughed and squeezed my arm. He had a nice, hearty laugh.
"I've been doing this for 30 years and as long as you don't mind falling asleep and waking up to me, I will stay with you every step of the way. Deal?" His eyes crinkled around the corners as he smiled. I suddenly felt ashamed.
He did not coerce, bully or pressure me into doing anything. He was real. He was true. He was no Mr. GQ but I was willing to wake up to him, welcoming me back to life after surgery. Certainly not to Dr. Your-eyes-are-so-beautiful.
Men always want to know what women are thinking. Well, I will tell you. The most handsome and attractive man can open his mouth and be revealed as the biggest tool in the shed. He loses his appeal and his words and actions betray him on the spot. Here Dr. GQ was telling me about his accolades, how gifted he was, using his wiles and charm on women to get what he wanted. Dr. Anesthesiologist won me over with his words, the twinkle in his eye and the kindness of his heart.
I learned two lessons that day: Inner beauty and that tool, Dr. GQ, was only partially right with my diagnosis.
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