Grumpy Doctor

The nurses gave Piers a look as he walked past them. I smiled, but the girls didn’t smile back. I wasn’t used to that—usually, everyone was nice to the residents.

Except for when I was around him, apparently.

“This is Mr. Swanson,” Piers said, stopping outside of a room. “He’s in for a pacemaker, relatively standard stuff. You ready?”

I stared. “I’m going in with you?”

“Time you started seeing patients,” he said, and slid open the door without any more discussion.

I plunged in after him. Of course, I’d seen patients in med school, although always in a group and always supervised. I knew how to talk to them, understood how to be professional and succinct, but it was a different thing now that I was getting more and more responsibility. This man’s life could be in my hands, or at least a life like it would be.

Piers didn’t seem troubled. He went right inside, grabbed the chart, and stood looking down at Mr. Swanson with a small frown on his face.

Mr. Swanson looked back, and did not seem amused. “You realize I’m watching my favorite program?” he said.

I glanced up at the TV. Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives was playing. Guy Fieri took a bite of an absolutely enormous hamburger stuffed with what looked like every conceivable fried object imaginable, and he seemed to truly think it was taking him to Flavortown.

Piers only grunted. “Mr. Swanson, your chart looks good. We have your procedure scheduled for later today. I was wondering if you had any questions?”

“Oh, I’ve got questions.” Mr. Swanson shifted in his bed. He was a skinny man, dark hair, big nose, lots of hair poking out of it. He looked like he was in his fifties, maybe a healthy sixty, I couldn’t tell. “First of all, when am I getting that pillow I asked for? I asked for it ten minutes ago, still not here. It’s a pillow, not a hard thing.”

I stared at him, wide-eyed, then looked at Piers. I’d seen difficult patients before, and more of the doctors I was with dealt with them as gently as they could, but Piers was not known for his diplomacy. I braced myself for him to open up on poor Mr. Swanson.

Instead, Piers smiled. “I’m sure we can find you a pillow, although they’re kind of shitty.”

Mr. Swanson barked a laugh. “You’re telling me. Been lying on this thing all morning. Why’d they have me come in so early, anyway?”

“We needed to get you prepped. Drugs and such in your system. But mostly we like to torture our patients first. We’re a real sick bunch.”

Another barked laugh. “Damn right you are. This surgery, am I gonna feel anything? You know, during it. You’re gonna cut me open, right?”

Piers shook his head. “You won’t feel a thing. From your perspective, one second you’ll be in there, getting prepped, and the next it’ll all be over. You might feel groggy, like you had a really bad night’s sleep or something, maybe some post-surgical complications, but otherwise, no pain during.”

“That’s good at least.” Mr. Swanson sighed, stretched his legs. “Maybe I won’t feel this stupid, uncomfortable, scratchy sheet anymore, either. I don’t know how I’m gonna sleep in this place. You know it smells bad, right? Like body odor? And chemicals, so many chemicals, and there’s that nurse with the perfume? Big hair, lots of perfume, keeps coming in here and poking me.”

“I’ll see what I can do about the smell,” Piers said, smiling. “I’m sure if you came closer, you’d get a big whiff of my cologne.”

“Come on, doc, you don’t wear no cologne.”

“I do, it’s very smoky. Want to smell?”

Mr. Swanson cackled. “No, thanks, doc.”

“All right, your loss. Any other questions?”

“I don’t think so.” He hesitated, glanced at me. “Who’s the girl?”

“That’s Dr. Court, she’s my resident. She’ll be watching your procedure, but I’ll be handling everything.”

“Right, right, that’s good, nice to meet you, doc. Not a lot of lady docs around here, I noticed, well, maybe not many lady doc surgeons, I don’t know.” He laughed, and I realized it was a nervous laugh.

From the start of this conversation, I thought Mr. Swanson was a cranky old asshole, and Piers was going to rip him a new one. But as Piers smiled down at Mr. Swanson and flipped through the chart one more time, I realized something.

Mr. Swanson was terrified, and all the babbling was his way of coping. Piers didn’t take it out on him, because Piers clearly understood that fact already. Instead, he’d done everything to make the man laugh, to try and calm him down a little bit.

I should’ve seen it from the start. I knew what sort of surgery he was getting later, and of course he’d be afraid. Getting a pacemaker placed was a serious thing, and he must’ve been terrified.