Rebel without a Gauze

Abstract

It had been one of those busy but rewarding mornings where nothing could throw off my groove. I'd reassured one patient about a scary test result, eased another's shoulder pain with a cortisone injection, and provided the open ear that a third needed. when the first patient of the afternoon took my hand with a smirk and squeezed it hard, I wasn't fazed. But it wasn't one of those firm but friendly handshakes. This one felt mean. I wondered if I'd done something. I was five minutes late but I'd apologized. John Stroup plunked himself down and stared at the floor. He was fifty-four, muscular and compact. His Adam's apple jutted from his neck like a sharp rock. How are you today, I said, affecting a bright tone. It's been awhile since you saw a doctor here. He shrugged. I peered at my computer. The note from his last physical was brief and unremarkable--nothing about this seeming hostility. Looks like it's been almost two years. So why're you asking? have it right there. I exhaled silently and tried a more professional tone. What brings you here today? Got a letter. Presumably, he was referring to a computer-generated letter sent to patients who hadn't been to the clinic in a while. Do you have any concerns about your health? Nope. I inquired about his work. Drive a truck. What do you transport? Don't know, don't care. His muscular upper arms strained against the short sleeves of his black T-shirt. If only I'd remembered what we teach our medical students to do when a patient cries, or is angry, or expresses some other kind of emotion. don't ignore the elephant in the room: you address it. But it was too late. My patients were usually respectful and pleasant. I wasn't used to this. Somebody knocked on the door. Need you for a second, the nurse's raised eyebrows said. I'll be right back, I said and closed the door behind me. After answering the nurse's question about another patient's blood pressure, I knocked and opened the door. Mr. Stroup was shutting a cabinet drawer. My mind went blank. At first I thought he was impatiently sliding the drawer in and out. But then I saw his handful of gauze pads. I drew my breath in sharply. What are you doing? I heard myself asking, my heart beating fast. Taking some gauze, he said. His upper lip curled like he had a bad taste in his mouth. You want me to put it back? I looked at him, tongue-tied. …