“Cold, wet and dreary,”
I muttered shaking the water off my coat. “It should make for a quiet night.”
“Now you’ve jinxed us,”
Miss James remarked as she patted me on my butt. “But, nobody’s here at the
moment, maybe you’ll be right.”
She looked at me and
then at the clock.
“Ten minutes early.
Maybe miracles can happen,” she commented.
I just smiled as we
took the time for a cup of coffee while waiting for some business. It wasn’t
long before the buzz of the front door opening filled our little break room and
Miss James went to see our first patient.
“Abdominal pain for
four days,” she announced when she returned. “I put him in room one and drew
some labs. He doesn’t look too sick to me.”
“David Rampart, 45… no
previous surgery, no allergies… heart rate 65, BP 122/60, no fever…” I read. I
knocked on the door and went in.
Mr. Rampart was
sprawled out on the exam table, his face flushed with beads of sweat dripping
off his forehead.
“Good evening, Mr.
Rampart,” I began, “what brings you in…”
He turned his head and
vomited at my feet before I could finish my usual intro. Luckily, his emesis
missed me completely.
Maybe
a good omen.
“I’ve got this terrible
pain right here,” he reported as he pointed to his right upper abdomen. “It’s
been going on for two days. I can’t eat, nothing makes it go away. My back
hurts and I’ve thrown up about twenty times.”
“Ever have a pain like
this before?” I asked.
“Never this bad,” he
answered as he winced in pain.
“Had much to drink
recently?”
“Just the usual. No
alcohol, just beer. I never touch alcohol.”
“How much beer have you
had today?” I continued my inquiry.
“Just my usual amount,
maybe a twelvepack.”
“And how many
yesterday?”
“About the same. I
drink that amount every day, after I get home from work. But, it’s just beer.”
I felt his abdomen
which was soft, but diffusely tender. There was no scleral icterus. Heart and
lungs were normal.
“What kind of work do
you do?”
“Cop. I walk the day
time beat over on Main and Maple.”
“Ever have
pancreatitis?”
“Pancrea..what?”
“Inflammation in your
pancreas. It can be caused by alcohol and I suspect that is what you have. We’ll
need to get you to the hospital. And, you should think about giving up drinking
beer. It’s going to kill you.”
He lay on the table
with a confused look on his face when Miss James came in.
“Don’t tell me,” I
said, before she had a chance to speak. “His Lipase and amylase are elevated.”
“Correct, Dr. Barnes,”
she responded. “You’re some kind of Svengali or something.”
She had a big smile on
her face and then she added, “Dr. Svengali, I’ve already called for an
ambulance. I’ll start an IV and you can go use your amazing talents on a kid
with a sore throat in room two.”
“Thank you, kind nurse,
I will do just that.”
I went on to room two
and quickly dispatched a three year old girl with a simple case of Strep
throat. The ambulance arrived and Mr. Rampart was shipped off to the County
Hospital.
Business was slow and
we had about an hour without any patients. Miss James took out her knitting and
worked on a sweater she had started more than a year ago. I took the time to
study up on the latest treatments for Non Hodgkin’s lymphoma; I was on my last
rotation through the Oncology service before I finished my residency.
We were both roused by
a crash which came from the lobby, followed by the buzz of a patient waiting at
the front desk.
We went to investigate
and found a portly man dressed in brown tights, with a black and brown striped
cape. There was a large “R” embroidered on his chest and on the cape. He wore a
black mask which made him look, pardon the pun, bug-eyed. His suit was torn at
the right shoulder where there was a deep bloody wound.
“Can I get some help
here?” he demanded. “Patch me up quick, I need to get after them before they
escape.”
“That’s a nasty wound
you’ve got there, Mister…?” Miss James observed.
“Roachman, at your
service,” he replied.
Miss James almost
gagged as she tried to stifle her laughter and then she coughed.
“People always seem to
get choked up like that when they first see me,” Roachman commented.
Miss James composed
herself and then handed our patient a clipboard while ushering him into room
three. She emerged a few minutes later.
“He’s got about an
eight centimeter laceration on his right shoulder, clean, looks like it was
made by a sharp blade; doesn’t go into muscle. You should be able to suture it
here. We made need to get Psych involved here. Surely he’s delusional and may
be a danger, if not to others, then to himself.
Just
great. A wacko with delusions of grandeur. First things first; check out his
wound.
I knocked on the door
and went in.
“Good evening,
Roachman, I’m Dr. Barnes. Let me check out that shoulder of yours.”
I saw him sitting on
the exam table, his legs folded. He was licking his hands and then his feet. I
noticed an unusual odor and his cape was folded in a funny way, like wings
tucked into each other.
“Hello, Dr. Barnes. I’m
glad to meet you.”
He grabbed my hand and
gave it a vigorous shake, leaving a slimy feeling on my hand. I went to the
sink and washed my hands and put on some gloves.
“You’re the second
superhero I’ve had the privilege of meeting. Captain Surgery popped in here a
few months ago and saved the lives of a couple of kids. Anyway, let me look at
your shoulder. How’d this happen?”
“Careful, Doctor,” he
winced as I took the dressing off his shoulder and then he recounted his story.
“I came upon an old lady being mugged by some young punks. Of course I had to
intervene and that’s when I got this. Believe me, those two punks got much worse.
They’re probably in Intensive Care.”
“I’ll get this stitched
up in no time, go on, tell me about Roachman.”
I cleaned the wound
with some chlorhexidine and injected some local anesthetic as he began his
story.
“Well, Dr. Barnes, I’m
sure you’ve heard of Spiderman and Batman and the Wolverine, all with their
special powers. But what’s so great about spiders or bats. What do spiders do,
spin a web, crawl around, wait for some poor unsuspecting fly to fall into
their trap? Big deal. Bats are even more mundane. They can fly, so? Batman is
all hype. A fancy car, fancy toys and attitude. And Spiderman? He’s more
screwed up than most of the villains he faces. Guilt should not be part of the
superhero gestalt. Ow…”
“Sorry, I guess I
didn’t numb that spot. Go on.”
“But roaches, there’s
something timeless and almost invincible about us. No matter how hard you try
to get rid of us, we just keep being around. And, if there’s a nuclear apocalypse
or some other natural disaster, if the earth gets smashed out of its orbit
around the sun by an asteroid, who do you think will survive? I’d bet on us;
the roaches and the rats.”
“First layer is done.
Now just the skin to close. What about roaches and rats?”
“We’re survivors,
that’s all. A million years from now, when humans have been wiped away from the
face of this planet the rats and roaches will survive.”
“I guess that’s good
news for my Uncle Sacha,” I observed.
Roachman gave me a
dirty look and then continued his story.
“I discovered my
special powers about a year ago. I was working at the waste collection center,
shoveling garbage into the furnaces and compactors. So, one day I slip and fall
into the trash compactor. I did all I could to avoid its vicious grinders and
wheels, but needless to say I was mangled to the point where I was almost dead.
It was a Friday and that Monday was a holiday, so I would have been left for
days if it hadn’t been for them?”
“Them?” I asked, almost
afraid of what the answer would be.
“The roaches. Put them
together and they’re pretty strong. They managed to carry me out of there and
nursed me back to health. It took months, but I survived and with a new
appreciation for my saviors. But, even more amazing, as I healed I felt
something new, a power flowing though my veins. I had super powers, Roach
powers and I vowed to use them for good; to restore the good name of the
cockroach forever.”
I finished putting a
dressing on his shoulder.
He
seems crazy and he may be a danger to himself. We’d better have him evaluated
at the hospital.
“Uh…Roachman, wait here
for a few minutes. I want to check your shoulder before you leave,” I
instructed.
I left him alone and
went to find Miss James.
“I’ve already called
the hospital,” she reported. “They’re sending an ambulance. Oh, and there’s
another patient in room one. You might be interested in this one. He claims he
was attacked by a rat wearing a cape.”
“First roaches and now
rats. What’s going on here?” I asked to no one in particular.
I picked up the chart
outside room one. Manuel Custer, 28, no medical problems, complaining of “rat
bite.”
“Good Evening, Mr.
Custer, I’m Dr. Barnes. What’s the problem that brought you in here tonight?” I
greeted him, with my usual bedside banter.
“Man, Dr. Barnes, it
was a rat, big as a German Shepherd attacked me and bit me right here.”
He pointed to his arm
where there was an ugly wound, macerated, but not bleeding.
“What time did this
happen?”
“About an hour ago. I
was just minding my own business, walking down the street. First I feel
something crawl up my leg.”
“The huge rat?” I
asked.
“No…no, it was a roach.
Crawled right along my chest and between my eyes. Well, I swatted it away and
then there was this rat, wearing a black cape, stood up on its hind legs and
took I bite out of my arm. Well I pulled out my knife and took a swipe at it. Then,
this fat guy in tights and a mask shows up and I get him instead. That fat guy
had a cape on, too. Well, it was just too weird for me, so I got out of there.
I’m telling you this neighborhood ain’t safe. Vicious roaches, giant rats and
crazy fat dudes.”
I was beginning to
think that maybe Roachman wasn’t so crazy, but then a thought crossed my head.
First I dressed Mr. Custer’s wound and applied some topical local anesthetic;
then I went back to room three.
“Let me check this
wound before you go,” I requested as I peaked at Roachman’s bandage, which was
dry.
“By the way,” I
continued, “does Roachman have a sidekick? Batman has Robin and the Green Hornet
has Kato or something.”
“Well yes, as a matter
of fact, I do. He’s right here. Super Rat.”
He reached under his
cape and pulled out a medium sized rat with gray brown fur and wearing a black
cape with a large “R” on it. Roachman held his companion up and then kissed the
rat on its nose.
“He’s the best, most
reliable buddy anyone could have. He saved me from those muggers tonight.”
Curioser
and curioser.
“What did Super Rat do,
if I might be so bold to ask?” I inquired.
“Why, he drove them
off. Bit one of them on the arm, he did. Those cowards took off as if they’d
seen a ghost.”
“Was one of the muggers
about five foot ten, black curly hair, thick black moustache, really thin?”
“Yeah, how’d you know?”
“Let’s just say that we
doctors have some super powers also. Wait here for a few more minutes, please,
and we might catch one of the muggers.”
“They’re here, the
muggers, I know it, I felt it. One thing about us roaches and rats: we have an
uncanny ability to sense when garbage is nearby. Let us at ’em. We’ll teach
them to leave poor defenseless ladies alone.”
“You just wait here
while I call the police. I don’t want you getting cut any worse.”
“No mugger scares me.
I’m Roachman and I can take on the vilest villains this world can dish out.”
“I’m sure you can, but
you’ve done your part for tonight. It’s time to let the police do their job.”
As I left him Miss
James grabbed me and whispered in my ear, “I think another of the muggers is in
room four.”
“Call the police,
Nurse, while I check out our new patient.”
She nodded as I picked
up the chart outside room four.
Malcolm Johnson, twenty
two, no medical problems, chief complaint, insect bites on the groin, rat bite
on leg.
“Good evening, Mr.
Johnson, I’m Dr. Barnes. From your chart it looks like you have been attacked
while visiting a garbage dump or sewer. What happened?”
“I don’t know, exactly.
I was minding my own business when this huge roach crawled up my leg and bit
me. It took me a while to shoe it away and then this big rat comes out of
nowhere and bites me, right through my jeans. I’m not going to get the plague,
am I? I hear that rats carry the plague.”
“We’ll just have to
wait and see, won’t we,” I replied as I scribbled some notes on his chart.
“Tell me Mr. Johnson,
why do you think a roach and a rat would attack you? What were you doing? And,
did you see where they went? We might need to try to catch that rat and have it
tested, to see if it’s carrying the Plague. In the meantime, let me check your
injuries.”
I handed him a gown and
told him I’d be back in few minutes. I found Miss James in the front.
“Mr. Custer and Mr.
Johnson definitely have some bond between them. They each have a dragon
tattooed on their left forearm,” I reported.
“The police are on the
way, as a matter of fact there they are now,” Miss James answered as we both
noticed the flashing lights outside. We greeted two uniformed officers at the
door when we all heard it:
“YEOW, GET AWAY, GET
AWAY.”
We hurried to room four
and found Mr. Johnson cowering in the corner, looking like he had been accosted
by the devil himself. I heard some scurrying from somewhere in the room, but I didn’t
see anyone or anything. Then there was a second scream from down the hall. One
of the officers and Miss James stayed with the terrified Mr. Johnson while I
took the other policeman to investigate Mr. Custer.
“There he goes…look
there,” Mr. Custer said with terror in his voice, pointing to the far corner of
the room.
“I don’t see any…,” the
Officer Krupa started to say but then we both saw him or it. A big, dark brown
roach, the size of big mouse. It raced under a table and when we pulled that
table away from the wall, it was gone.
“Stay here, Officer,” I
requested and I stepped out of room four and into room one where I found Roachman
calmly sitting in the chair stroking the belly of Super Rat.
“Sorry, Roachman, but
there’s been some excitement. You haven’t left this room?”
“Not for a moment, Dr.
Barnes,” and he licked his hands again before resuming his gentle caressing of
Super Rat.
I
don’t know why I find Roachman so disgusting ... Yes, I do know why.
I went back to room
four.
“What did you see, Mr.
Custer?” I queried.
“It was a roach, eight
feet tall, standing over me, threatening me. It threatened to bite my head off,
only it wasn’t really talking. I mean I heard this voice inside my head and I
knew it was from that monster standing over me. There it is again…that
voice….AIEEEE!!!”
And he passed out.
Very
Kafkaesque
I turned and saw
Roachman in the doorway.
“It’s strange what
games guilt can play with the mind and soul,” he commented and then went back
to room three.
I went back to Mr.
Custer, who was coming around.
“Where am …” he started
to say and then he looked at me and Officer Krupa and blurted out, “I did it, I
attacked that lady and stole her purse and beat her up. Please, please, take me
away from here. Protect me from them.”
“Well, officer, you
can’t get a cleaner confession than that, spontaneous, no cercion. Let me
finish cleaning up his wounds and then you can have him; rather, both of them.
Mr. Johnson was your partner in crime, Mr. Custer?”
“Yes, yes, just get me
out of here. I’ll feel safer in jail.”
The policeman gathered
the two petty thieves together in handcuffs and carted them away to jail. I
went back to check on our “superheroes.”
Room three was empty. I
went out to the lobby just in time to see a large rat with a cape out on the
sidewalk. Perched on the back of its neck was a big dark brown roach. I watched
in amazement as the rat spread its four legs out and took off, flying through
the air with, pardon my English, the greatest of ease. As they made their
escape I heard Roachman’s voice inside my head.
“Thanks
for patching me up, Dr, Barnes, you did a great job. And, never underestimate
the powers that we vermin possess. Remember, when the apocalypse comes and most
life on this planet is destroyed, it will be the rats and roaches who inherit
the earth.”
“Doctor,
Dr. Barnes,” I heard the voice of Miss James and felt her hand rubbing my
shoulder. “Are you OK?”
“Yes,
nurse, I am quite well,” I answered, but I think I still had a peculiar look on
my face.
“You
don’t look ‘quite well.’ You look like you’ve been staring into the eyes of a
vicious monster or something.”
“It’s
funny Miss James. Something which is good can also be terrifying and it’s
ironic that this terror can be used to combat evil. I guess it’s sort of like
the pain one feels from a shot. At first, all the recipient feels is the pain
of the injection. The good after effect, be it a vaccination which prevents a
dread disease or the well being which may come from medication; this may not be
associated with the pain at all. Maybe
Roachman is something like that. Anyway, I don’t think he’s any sort of a danger.
You can call the hospital and cancel the Psych eval.”
She
gave me a funny look.
“Roachman
is just a crazy fat guy in Spandex with a pet rat, Dr. Barnes. See there he
goes.”
Sure
enough, there was Roachman walking past the Clinic, Super Rat gently cradled in
his arm. He smiled and winked as he passed by.
