Coma

“Be sure to put the volume back where you found it,” said Harris as he turned to close the door, his speech slow and deliberate as if addressed to a child. He removed his long white coat and hung it on the hook on the back of the door. Without another word he retreated behind his desk to open a large ledger and make several notations. He acted as if Susan were not even there.

Susan closed the textbook and replaced it on the shelf. Then she returned to the director’s chair in which she had started her wait for Dr. Harris thirty minutes before.

The only window was directly behind Harris, and its light, combining with the overhead fluorescent light, gave a strange shimmering quality to Harris’s appearance. Susan had to squint against the glare coming directly at her.

The smooth tawny color of Harris’s arms was a perfect setting for the gold digital watch on his left wrist. His forearms were massive, tapering to surprisingly narrow shafts. Despite the time of year and the temperature, Dr. Harris was dressed in a short-sleeved blue shirt.

Several minutes went by before he finished with the ledger. After closing the cover he pressed a buzzer for his secretary to come in and take it. Only then did he turn and acknowledge Susan’s existence.

“Miss Wheeler, I am certainly surprised to see you in my office.” Dr.

Harris slowly leaned back in his chair. He seemed to have some difficulty looking directly at Susan. Because of the background lighting Susan could not see the details of his face. His tone was cold. There was a silence.

“I would like to apologize,” began Susan, “for my apparent impertinence yesterday in the recovery room. As you probably are aware, this is my first clinical rotation, and I’m unaccustomed to the hospital environment, particularly to the recovery room. On top of that there had been a strange coincidence. About two hours prior to our meeting I had spent some time with the very patient you were attending. I had started his I.V. prior to surgery.”

Susan paused, hoping for some sign of acknowledgment from the faceless figure in front of her. There was none. There was no movement whatsoever. Susan continued.

“The fact of the matter was that my conversation with the patient had not remained on an entirely professional level; in fact, we had tentatively agreed to meet sometime on a social basis.”

Susan paused again but silence continued from Dr. Harris.

“I’m offering this information more as an explanation than an excuse for my reaction in the recovery room. Needless to say, when I was confronted with the reality of the patient’s condition, I became quite upset.”

“So you reverted to the vestiges of your sex,” said Harris condescendingly.

“Excuse me?” Susan had heard his comment, but by reflex she questioned whether she had heard him correctly.

“I said, so you reverted to the vestiges of your sex.”

Susan felt a flush spread across her cheeks. “I’m not sure how to take that.”

“Take it at face value.”

There was an awkward pause. Susan fidgeted, then spoke. “If that is your opinion of being a woman, then I plead guilty; emotionalism under such circumstances is understandable from any human being. I admit the fact that I was not the archetypical professional at the first meeting with the patient, but I think that if the roles had been reversed, I being the patient and the patient being the doctor, it probably would have come out the same. I hardly think that susceptibility to human responses is a frailty reserved for female medical students, especially when I have to put up with the patronizing attitudes of my male counterparts with the female nurses. But I did not come here to discuss such matters. I came here to apologize for impertinence to you and that is all. I’m not apologizing for being a woman.”

Susan paused again, expecting some sort of reply. None was forthcoming. Susan felt a definite feeling of irritation spread through her.

“If my being a woman bothers you, then that’s your problem,” said Susan with emphasis.

“You’re being impertinent again, my dear,” said Harris.

Susan stood up. Gazing down, she looked at Harris’s face, his narrowed eyes, his full cheeks and broad chin. Light played through the edge of his hair, making it appear like silver filigree.

“I can see this is getting us nowhere. I’m sorry I came. Goodbye, Dr.

Harris.”

Susan turned and opened the door to the corridor.

“Why did you come?” said Harris after her.

With her hand on the door, Susan looked out into the corridor and considered Harris’s question. Obviously debating with herself whether to leave or not, she finally turned and faced the Chief of Anesthesiology again.

“I thought I’d apologize so that we could let bygones be bygones. I had the irrational hope that you might be willing to lend me some assistance.”

“In what regard?” said Harris, his voice relaxing its aloofness by a degree.