New Outlook

Lookout at Rockefeller Center in NYC

The beeps. 

I know those beeps.

From where? 

I don’t have the energy to find out. My head hurts something fierce. I slip away, choosing to remain in the darkness for now.

*****************************************

The pain at my sternum is excruciating. 

Make it stop!

Except that I don’t have a voice. There is a tube down my throat and I cannot speak. I try to grab the hand at my chest by my arms do not respond.

“Dr. Slaughter? Wake up. Can you hear me?” The voice is much too loud and the words are spoken slowly as if the man enunciating them were speaking to an imbecile.

The pain stops. Then I realize…

A sternal rub!

My eyes are open. He moves his face close enough to mine that I can smell his aftershave. 

“Dr. Slaughter? My name is Dr. Holcomb.” He was too young to be a doctor. Too young to be competent. “Wake up!” he shouts into my ear. 

The pain again. Stop with the damn sternal rubs you f***er! I AM awake.

*****************************************

“The patient is a 45 year old male who happens to be a local physician. A neurologist. He suffered a brain stem hemorrhage two weeks ago and is currently in a persistent vegetative state. He has no family we have been able to locate.”

*****************************************

I take inventory. What can I move? Arms? No. Legs? No. I try to tense my abdominal muscles. Nothing. A shift or a scoot to take pressure off of my hips. Not even a millimeter. Smile? No. Wrinkle the nose? No. Tongue? Not that either. Blink? Ok. Yes. A blink. I try to move my eyes. Left. No. Right. No. Up? Yes. Down? Yes. 

Not much to work with but it’s something.

*****************************************

My dog! Who is feeding my dog?

He was probably dead by now.

*****************************************

“Well, his catheter caught on the IV pole so when they were wheeling him down for the MRI, it got rippped right out. We have to place a new one.”

“Should we use the lidocaine jelly?”

“Nah. He can’t feel anything anyway.”

I felt it, bitch. I felt that catheter rip right through my urethra. Use the goddamn lidocaine jelly. Come on. Look at my EYES. See me moving them? Blinking? 

Please? Just LOOK at me. Really look look at me. Someone?

I can make tears.

The night nurses here suck. 
*****************************************

The woman is smiling at me. 

Who is she?

She’s gorgeous. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Long lashes. I have this strange feeling. I think I should know her. 

“Remember me?” She whispers. 

No. No, I don’t.

“I was the intern you came on to ten years ago. A newbie. You told me to go get some gauze and then followed me into the supply room, locking the door and forcing yourself on me. I made it seem I was flattered.” She fixed her gaze onto my eyes and leaned in closer. “But I wasn’t.” 

Her hand was under the sheet, stroking my genitals. An erection. Horror and pleasure washed over me.

Oh, God.

The heart monitor registered the increase in heart rate. A nurse stuck her head in. The hand was withdrawn.

“Oh! Dr. Rutherford. I didn’t realize you were in here.” 

“Dr. Holcomb asked me to see the patient.”

The nurse nodded then stepped out, drawing the curtain closed behind her.

“I hate you.”

Suddenly, fingers wrapped themselves around my scrotum and squeezed tight. Painfully tight. I closed my eyes, fighting the excruciating pain.

“You have locked in syndrome, don’t you, Dr. Slaughter?” She laughed. “You can feel everything but you cannot move. Well….” she chuckled again. “You can move your eyeballs up and down and blink but they haven’t figured that out yet, have they? You taught me well about so many things…”

Another squeeze. More pain.

“You probably know better than anyone that you likely won’t recover.” She smiles sweetly. “But I’ll be back to check on you. Every single day…”

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Friday the 13th

Ellis Island building detail

Every Friday the 13th I tell myself I am NOT going to work. I am so over the bad luck. 

Is it really that much worse than other days? Are people sicker? Is it maybe that everyone is walking around irritable and more afraid than usual and it boils over into how they interact with others? Am I just hypersensitive? Is it a self fulfilling prophecy? 

I dunno. 

All I know is that I don’t want to do it anymore.

Then it sneaks up on me. Every single dang time.

BAM! 

There is nothing to do but just get through it. Buckle down and get it done. 

Survive. 

And we do. 

We always do.

This Friday the 13th it was different, though.

“She looks yellow…” the medical assistant whispered as I pulled up the chart. 

I scanned her info. I’d never seen her before. Hypertension. Diabetes. Cholesterol. Nothing else remarkable.

Knocking authoritatively on the exam room door, I entered.

“Hi! I’m Dr. Denisof. Tell me what’s been going on?” I shook her hand, taking in her appearance. She was quite jaundiced. 

“I don’t know. I woke up this morning and pretty much freaked out when I looked in the mirror.”

“Any other symptoms?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“No fevers? Abdominal pain? Nausea? Diarrhea?” She shook head no each time. 

“Hmmmmm.”

I started examining, working my way from her head down. Eyes, ears, nose, throat all fine. Lungs clear. Heart regular rate and rhythm, no murmurs. 

“Let’s have you lie down.”

She complied.

Her abdomen sounded normal. I pulled off the stethoscope and palpated her abdomen. No masses. Liver felt maybe a bit enlarged. No pain. 

I helped her sit up.

A strange look came over her face and she doubled over, gagging. Blood poured out of her mouth and into her hands, dripping onto her lap.

“Call the ambulance!” I yelled out the door then grabbed an emesis bag, thrusting it under her mouth. She gasped and the vomit stopped for a moment before another retch wracked her body, bringing up more. The room filled with the scent of rust and iron. 

“Need help?” An MA stuck her head in:

“You called 911?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Can you print a chart summary and her last set of labs for the EMS?”

“Sure thing!”

“And let the other patients know I am going to be running late while we deal with an emergency.”

“No problem.” 

Sirens were audible in the background, growing louder. Having a clinic so near the fire station definitely had its benefits.

Another retch, more blood. 

I put my hand on the patient’s back and looked into her frightened eyes. “You are going to be OK.” She nodded but did not look convinced.

My mind was running through the differential diagnosis. Causes of rapid liver failure, fulminant hepatitis…. infection? Some sort of aggressive cancer? Drugs? A closet alcoholic? 

The sound of a stretcher came from outside the door and two hunky firefighters in dark blue uniforms stepped in. 

“What do we have here?” the tall one asked.

I gave the run down of what I knew, pointing at the bloody emesis bag. 

As I spoke four sets of eyes grew bigger and the firefighters suddenly backed out of the room. 

What the hell?

“Hang on, I’ll be right back,” I told the patient. I left the door cracked so I could hear any more vomiting or any sounds of distress.

One of the men muttered into a radio receiver on his shoulder. The other took a step toward me, his hands raised.

“Doc, we need for you to step back into the room.”

“Why? What’s going on.”

“You are quarantined.”

What?” More sirens. Through the windows I could see police cars racing into the parking lot, surrounding the building.

“Look, no one can leave this clinic. No one. The CDC will be here shortly and they’ll explain everything.”

*****************************************

The above was a bit of fictional doctor horror brought to you by the month of October…

The Overseers

Through a window at the American Museum of Natural History in NYC

I see your drones flying overhead,
Your truck driving by.
I know you are watching me,
Following my every move… 
Silently waiting 
For the proper time to strike. 
You know my internet searches,
The names of my kids. 
You know my habits 
And my darkest faults. 
Some days you know my secret wishes 
Before I can even get the chance 
To wish them. 
Always there, behind the scenes 
Your satellites measuring my level 
Of devotion. 
Well placed hints, strategic glimpses, 
All forms of intimidation
Meant to remind me that I am yours 
Entirely,
Forever subject
To your every whim.

*****************************************

If you want to see something fun, zoom in on the bottom left of the photo.

Cirrhosis 

Laundry room, Ellis Island hospital

He sat silently weeping in the corner. His hand shook terribly as he reached up to wipe his eyes. Misery was etched across his face.

“You didn’t stay at the treatment center.” He had not even lasted a day. “What happened?”

“My wife cried so hard when she left me there. I couldn’t stand it.”

“What about an outpatient center? A day program?”

“Maybe,” he said, noncommittal.

Each visit, fewer family members came until finally it was just him. 

Alone.

And each visit there was less of him. His body was swollen and bloated, faded. A once strong man, now made a shadow. It was hard to stand by and watch. Not as hard as living it, though, I was sure. How he could continue to do this to himself was a testament to the power of addiction.

“You’re going to die.”

“I know.” Then he smiled. “This is the one way I can kill myself and the family still gets the life insurance payout…”

Infertility 

Ellis Island hospital

Graciously bestowing 
You spilled your precious seed
Upon my barren ground
Ignorant and unknowing
An unfulfilled wanton need
Your attempt at marking 
A territory unfound
Traversing the open sea

The ownership unclaimed
My body left untamed
Believing you were deceived
I’m naked beneath the gown
Empty loss echoes down 
Long abandoned corridors
Infertility finally decreed
By the sterile orators 

Devoid of progeny 
The solemn sodomy
Repeats itself again
Another painful bleed
An unwelcome visitor
Testifing silently
Before the Inquisitor
Sounding the final amen

A viscous self loathing
Clogs the rusted plumbing
Magnified through your eyes
Value is forever drowned
Held down by a flood of lies
I’m merely something to breed
A conduit for birthing
Your immortality 

Past Pains

Ruins of the Ellis Island Hospital

A deafening shriek reverberated again off of the tiled walls and metal tables, the sound of pain and fear made all the more palpable as it echoed around the cold, hard surfaces and magnified until it shook the very core of anyone listening. 

The staff inside that room did not make eye contact with each other over their masks. To acknowledge anyone’s humanity, even their own, would only serve to distract from the task at hand.

*****************************************

This is another shot from inside the ruins of the Ellis Island hospital. Several areas contain art by JR, a French artist. Generally speaking, I prefer my ruins untouched but this image seemed to enhance the spooky feel rather than detract from it.

It is disconcerting to stand in the empty rooms and corridors imagining the hustle and bustle of a busy hospital. There are times you can almost feel the brush of someone passing or hear the echoes of fear and hope whispering off of the crumbling walls. 

I ran into some photos of the hospital taken in areas that I did not get to see when I was there and it makes me want to go back, to somehow have more access. I wonder what that would take? 

Have you ever felt drawn to a place in a way you cannot explain? 


Split 

Room in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC

Shadows watched from the corners of the room… ever present, ever vigilant. 

She waited.

Footsteps in the hallway. Raucous laughter. 

The door flung open and he stumbled in, drunk, clinging to the arm of a woman.

Who was it this time? 

It was hard to see clearly in the dim light. 

Her.

Their eyes met for a long moment. Silent words passing between them. Then she turned her attention back to him, allowing him to undress her. He fumbled. The process took much longer than it should have. 

Naked.

She glanced at the mirror again, seeing the other woman once more, the one who looked like her but was more charming, the one whose laughter came more easily. She was the one who was not ashamed of being naked, the one who demanded love and attention from everyone.

The drugs made her beautiful and charismatic. She knew the flame could not burn this high for very long. It would go out soon, extinguishing her in the process.

But it was worth it. 

Every day was worth the price to avoid the loneliness again.