“What should we do
about it?” I asked for the thousandth time. “I’m not even done with my
training. Having a baby was definitely not in my plans. A nice cushy
Dermatology fellowship was more what I had in mind.”
“Well you should think
about such things next time you take off your pants,” Miss James responded. “I
did go to nursing school and it definitely takes two parties to make one baby.”
“So what are you going
to do?” I asked again, only leaving the we out this time.
“Well,” she said with
ice in her voice, “in about two hundred and thirty five days we,
God willing, will be parents to a beautiful baby boy or girl.”
She turned and walked
up to the front of the clinic to respond to the bell we both had just heard.
Me,
a father? I’m barely a doctor. Well…it could be worse. I’m sure I can figure
out a way to be a father with the lovely Miss James and I still be a
Dermatologist. I thought I was being clever, telling that murderous Dr. Adams that
Miss James was pregnant, but I guess I was clairvoyant.
“Look at this,” Miss
James remarked as she placed a package on the table. “It was on the reception
desk, no delivery man, no mail or UPS truck, just this package. It isn’t even
addressed to anyone. Just this.”
She tilted the package
forward and showed me the white label on the top:
A.T.
To
A.P.
“Very strange, strange
indeed,” I observed. The package was about two feet, by three feet by two feet,
covered in brown wrapping paper and tied with string. It was pretty light; I
almost thought it was an empty box.
“Should we open it?” my
companion asked.
“I’m not sure…but there’s
the bell again. I guess we’ll have to deal with this later. Time to go to
work.”
We put the package on
the floor behind the table in the break room, not completely hidden, but also
not in plain sight. Miss James began all the administrative paper work on out
new patient while I took a few moments to look at the offers I’d recently
received for Dermatology fellowships.
Southern
California looks good, sun and sand…maybe Arizona, no rain, no cold weather…
“Mr. Phelps is waiting
in exam room one, Dr. Schlemiel,” Miss James announced, still with a frosty
edge to he words.
I
hope this doesn’t go on all night.”
I picked up the chart
and read about Anthony Phelps. “Fifty one, No Allergies, No Meds, chief
complaint: fever and rash.”
Right
up my alley.
I knocked and went in
and greeted Mr. Phelps with my usual bedside banter, “Good evening, Mr. Phelps,
what is the problem you are having today?”
“Hello, Dr. Barnes. Tony
Phelps,” he rose from his chair and shook my hand. His grip was tight, a little
too tight as if he was trying to establish some sort of hierarchy. “I’ve had a
fever for several days, nothing much 99.8, a hundred and I’ve also developed a
rash on my buttocks. It is quite uncomfortable.”
“Just on your
backside?”
“Yes.”
“Did it start as a
small area and spread or did it start by covering the whole area?”
“The whole area.”
“Come in contact with
anything unusual? Been traveling? Any allergies?”
“No, no and no,” he
replied, but he looked around as he answered my questions, as if someone else
was listening. Then he added, “I’m usually very healthy.”
“Well, I guess I should
check out the culprit. Here’s a gown. Take everything off from the waist down.
I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Before you go, Dr.
Barnes, I was wondering, were any strange packages delivered here recently. I
was told I might find what I’m looking for here.”
“We get things
delivered here all the time. Medical supplies, test results, free samples from
pharmaceutical companies. What does this package look like?”
“It would be about Yay
big,” and he held his hands about twelve inches apart and feel like there was a
jar or bottle inside.”
“No, I can’t say we’ve
received any such package, at least not that I know of. Now, your gown?”
“The package may have
been bigger. I was told it would be here.”
“I’ll tell you what,” I
finally said, “you put this gown on so I can finish checking you out and I will
check with my nurse about your missing package, OK?”
He
murmured an affirmation and I left him alone. I found Miss James checking in
another patient and gestured for her to join me. She handed a very large man a
clipboard to fill out and then we went to the back to look at the package. It
looked smaller to me and felt a little heavier.
“Maybe
this is what Mr. Phelps is looking for,” Miss James concluded.
“I
don’t know. I get the feeling we’ve been drawn into some sort of international
espionage. Maybe it’s a ‘Mission Impossible,’ after all he is Mr. Phelps. I
don’t think we should give him the package without some sort of proof that it’s
his even if his initials are A.P.”
I
went back to check on my patient. He was laying face down on the table,
properly attired in his gown. I pulled up the gown to see a cacophony of skin
disorders all come together on his buttocks. There were patches of obvious
bacterial infections, others which looked like chemical burns, reactive
dermatitis, weeping sores and petechial rashes, all limited to his derriere.
“Your
buttocks are quite unusual, that is the skin disorder you have is unusual. Are
you sure you haven’t come in contact with anything toxic or out of the ordinary?
Because, it looks like you’ve been attacked by a mixture of Strep, acid, fire ants and I don’t know
what else.”
Mr.
Phelps closed his eyes, pulled his gown over his butt and turned towards me. He
looked a bit sheepish.
“It’s
hard to explain, Dr. Barnes. In my line of work there is the potential to come
in contact with a variety of toxins and poisons, dangerous chemical and
biological agents. One way to deal with this is to intentionally expose oneself
to these noxious materials to build up a sort of immunity or at least a
tolerance. I think I tried to do too much at one time.”
“What
are you some kind of secret agent or a garbage collector? Well, I suppose it
doesn’t matter. I’ll give you a prescription for some antibiotics and some
cream to put on your backside. Try it for three or four days. If you’re better,
fine, but if you’re not improving, come back. I gave him a prescription for
Cipro and another for some antifungal, antibacterial, steroid cream.
“Check
out with Miss James at the front and if there’s no improvement come back here
or see your own doctor.”
“Thank
you, Dr. Barnes. You’ve been very helpful,” Mr. Phelps replied as I escorted
him to the front.
I
left him to look at the chart of my next patient, the very large man I’d seen
in the waiting room, K. Gutman, no age listed, no medical problems, no
allergies, chief complaint shortness of breath, blood pressure 180/95. I was
about to go when I felt the pocket of my white coat and realized I didn’t have
my stethoscope.
Must have left it in the break
room.
I
heard some rustling and furniture moving as I approached the break room
entrance. I stopped and peeked inside and saw a man in a beige rain coat
bending over behind the table. When he stood up I saw that it was Mr. Phelps,
now holding our mysterious package.
“I’ve
been searching for this for years. Never would have thought it turn up in some
rinky dink medical clinic in the middle of the city,” he commented as he put
the package under his arm.
“Do
you think it’s safe for you to just walk out of here carrying that bundle.
Don’t you think they’ve been following you?” I answered.
Phelps
looked around, up and down, towards the window, inside his coat and then he put
the package back behind the table.
“You’re
right; they’re probably watching me right now; probably don’t believe that I
would come to the clinic with a real medical condition.”
He
stroked his chin as he thought, “I’ll tell you what. You keep it here, keep it
safe. I’ll give them the slip and then come back for it.”
He
didn’t wait for me to answer. He put on a pair of dark glasses and snuck out
the back of the clinic. I shrugged my shoulders, found my stethoscope and went
back to see Mr. Gutman.
Gutman, that name sounds familiar.
“Good
evening, Mr. Gutman, my name is Dr. Barnes. What’s the problem that brings you
into our wonderful little clinic?” I began.
“Nice
to see you, doctor. I will dispense with the usual pleasantries and get straight
to the point,” he replied.
Great. When someone says tey’ll get
straight to the point, they usually do everything but get straight to the
point.
Gutman
was big, rotund, with beads of sweat dotting his forehead. He was dressed in
finely tailored gray suit and I detected a slight accent in his voice.
“I’ve
been having trouble catching my breath, Dr. Barnes. I first noticed it on the
train from Istanbul to Prague. Since then I’ve noticed that I have to stop and
rest on a regular basis.”
“Have
you seen a doctor before?”
“No,
I haven’t have had the time. I frequently have to leave one venue for another
on very short notice and doctors have not fit into my busy calendar.
Fortunately, my travels have crossed with your clinic and so, I thought I would
‘kill two birds with one stone’ as you Americans so quaintly articulate.”
“Well,
it’s good that you stopped here. Your blood pressure is very high and I can see
thta you are dangerously overweight.”
“Yes,
yes, one of the consequences of living one’s life from hotel to train to cruise
ship and back to hotels. One never gets the proper opportunity to exercise or
to eat healthily.”
“I
think you’ve done a bit too much eating, healthily or unhealthily.”
“Harrumph,”
was all he could say so I continued.
“Your
blood pressure is dangerously elevated, you have bilateral carotid artery
bruits which suggests to me that you are heading for a serious stroke. You have
wheezing in both lungs and your legs look like tree trunks. In short, you are a
walking time bomb. I recommend you start on a medically supervised diet and
medication for your blood pressure. We need to get the results of your blood
work also, I’m betting your sugar will be high which means you’re probably
diabetic. We can manage your health problems here at the Clinic or you can
follow up with your own doctor. But, I would not ignore these medical conditions,
that is if you want to live beyond the next six months or so.”
“My
dear Dr. Barnes,” he responded, “I am grateful for your concern, but these
‘medical problems’ are mere trifles in the grand scheme of this world. I have
been in pursuit of a truly remarkable and valuable treasure and I have followed
it to your clinic. I believe a package was delivered here earlier?”
I
didn’t answer, but I think he could tell from the look on my face that he was
correct.
“This
package, sir, is one that I have following for many years. I thought I had
finally secured it in Oslo three years ago, but, at the last moment it eluded
my grasp, only to resurface in Cairo. My contact there met with an unfortunate
accident before he could make delivery. I’ve since chased this prize through
every corner of the continent and now it has turned up in your medical clinic. As
one can easily surmise, sir, I have spent a considerable sum of money chasing
this prize. And, if you were to be so kind as to deliver it to me I would pay
you handsomely for your brief troubles.”
I
looked at him and saw the combination of greed and desperation in his loose
jowls and pig like eyes.
“What,
if I may be so bold as to ask, is in this little package?”
“A
magnificent bird, fourteen inches tall, made of solid gold and bejeweled with
perfect diamonds, emeralds, rubies and sapphires. It was a gift to the ruler of
the Ottoman Turks in 1647, but was lost in 1800. It reappeared briefly in London
in the 1820’s and also was held by a private collector in Paris some years
later. It was taken by the Nazi’s during the occupation and was thought lost
forever, a victim of the war. It was only after the fall of the Soviet Union
that it resurfaced, first in Moscow, then Budapest.”
“This
bird manages to make it all over Europe,” I commented. Gutman only raised his
eyebrows slightly at my remark.
“I
have it on very reliable information that the package which was delivered,
quite mistakenly, to your clinic is the priceless falcon. And now, Dr. Barnes,
I will take that package. If you would be so kind as to bring it here.”
I
was staring at a pistol.
Why do I feel Like Humphrey Bogart?
Give him his package; it’s probably a fake anyway.
“OK,
OK, I’ll get it for you. It’s been nothing but trouble since it arrived anyway.
Don’t forget, however, that you need to look after yourself. Remember, if you
don’t have your health, you don’t have anything.”
I
went to the break room and found the package behind the table where I’d left
it. As I started to bring it to Gutman, Miss James stopped me.
“Where
are you taking our mysterious box?” she wondered.
“Mr.
Gutman says it belongs to him and he has a nine millimeter handgun that makes
it difficult for me to argue.”
“Oh,”
was all she said. “Probably for the best anyway. It has been nothing but
trouble.”
I
picked the box up and noticed that it was much heavier than I remembered.
Solid gold bird would be pretty
heavy.
I
started to hand the box to Gutman who was sitting on the exam table. He had
more sweat on his forehead and his head was bent down and he was struggling to
breathe. The pistol was hanging on two fingers and crashed to the floor
followed shortly by Mr. Gutman.
“Mr.
Gutman…Mr. Gutman, can you hear me?” I asked. He was still breathing and his
eyes were looking around the room as if he was trying to remember where he was.
“The
bird,” he whispered, “do you have it? May I see it?”
“I
have the package here. I’ll put it in your arms,” I answered. I gently lay the
package across his chest and folded his arms around it. He held it tightly to
his chest and a smile graced his face.
“At
last, at last, after years and years of …” his voice trailed off.
Miss
James was already there with the crash cart as Kasper Gutman breathed his last
breath. We performed CPR and the ambulance arrived, all to no avail. With
considerable effort they managed to get him onto a stretcher. I even thought we
had brought him back, but then he went back into V. Fib and then asystole.
I
put the cursed package back in the break room and then filled out all the
paperwork which is required if someone dies at the Clinic. The Coroner’s
assistant arrived and carted Gutman away and that was that.
“Anyone
else waiting Miss Ja…?” I started to ask but was interrupted by a person
dressed in black medieval armor, holding a long, shiny, sharp sword gracefully
pointed at my heart.
“I
will take the Grail,” the muffled voice commanded.
“Grail?”
I asked, my voice filled with confusion.
“The
Holy Grail. I saw it delivered here today. I’ve been on a quest to retrieve it
for years and years. Now, young sir, you shall deliver it to me or suffer the
consequences. Perhaps,” he mused, “I shall run you through just for the sport
of it and then take my prize anyway.
They don’t pay me enough for this.
“I’m
sure I don’t know what you are talking about. This is a Medical Clinic. We take
care of sick people here. We don’t have any grails.”
He
pushed his sword against my chest, then raised it above his head as he prepared
to run me through. As his arm moved forward and I closed my eyes I heard a loud
“CLANG” as metal struck metal.
A
second knight, this one clad in silver armor had appeared.
“Forsooth
and avast, ye wicked Black Knight. You shall never possess the Holy Grail as
long as I can draw a breath,” the Silver Knight shouted.
Avast? Don’t pirates say that?
My
attention returned to the ensuing battle.
“Sir
Lancelot, you are more relentless than I imagined. But the Holy Grail shall be
mine.”
Swords
clanged together as the two knights battled from one end of the clinic waiting
room to the other. Chairs were slashed, potted plants upended and magazines
strewn about.
A
very large woman came in as the sword fight raged. She walked past the two
knights, ignoring the combat, to the reception desk.
“Ya’ll
open?” she asked in a very demanding voice. “Cuz my back is killin’ me and I
can’t get no sleep.”
I
stared at her and then at the two combatants and then back at her.
She
saw the confused look on my face, but went right on talking.
“Listen
up, Dr….Barnes,” she stared at my ID badge, “When I’m talkin’ to you, you pays
me propa attention. That Fightin’ goes on all the time in this neighborhood,
but I’sa hurtin and you got’s to do somethin’.”
I
turned my attention to her. “Certainly, Ms….”
“Angelina,
just like Angelina Jolie. Angelina Babbett. Like I was sayin’, my back is sore
like someone’s stickin’ a knife.”
“OK,
Ms. Jolie, I mean Babbett. Fill out these forms and we’ll get you right back.”
She
took the clipboard and sat down while Lancelot and the Black Knight fought on.
The clanging of metal mixed with Ms. Babbett’s murmuring as she answered the
pages of questions. Every time a chair was knocked over or there was an
especially loud crash she looked up and gave the knights an especially dirty
look. Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore. She jumped up from her seat and
rapped the Black Knight on his helmet with the clipboard. The fighting stopped
abruptly as both surprised Knights stared at her.
“You
two good fo’ nuthin’s get yo asses out o’ my way. My back is killing me and I
canna get this here paper filled out with all that there racket. You got
fightin’ to do, you does it outside and leave this here clinic fo’ the sick
folks.”
I
approached Lancelot.
“I’ll
keep it safe for you, right here. You go battle the Black Knight and defeat him
and then you can come back for the Grail.”
“Excellent
plan, young doctor. But, be sure to keep it safe or it shall be you I will
pursue.”
“I
promise I will treat the package with all the respect and care it deserves.”
And I opened the door and ushered him out. The Black Knight had already made his
escape and when Lancelot saw his adversary riding away he made a hasty exit and
mounted his armored horse.
“Au revoir, good Doctor,” he shouted as
he rode away.
I
have to admit it was quite a sight, two men in full armor, each astride an
equally armored horse, racing down the street with swords raised, illuminated
by the pale light of the street lamps. I turned away, shaking my head.
This box…this mysterious box. I
don’t think I want to know what’s really inside. It’s going to get us killed.
“Miss
Babbett is waiting in room one. I suspect a shot of Dilaudid will send her on
her way,” Miss James reported from the doorway.
I
looked again towards Lancelot and the Black Knight as they faded into the night
and then turned and headed back into the clinic.
“Do
you think we should open it?” Miss James asked.
“Perhaps,”
was all I could say. I thought for a few more moments. “I think I know what we
would find inside. We would be disappointed.”
“Do
you think it’s empty?” she wondered out loud.
“I
think it’s full and empty and everything in between.”
“Please,
don’t speak in riddles,” she replied.
“I
have no choice because that little package is just that…a riddle. ‘A.T. to A.
P.’ is a riddle. Now, I’m going to see poor Miss Babbett and maybe you can
solve the riddle while you’re waiting.”
Before
I could escape to the exam room a quartet waltzed through the door, an unusual
group, even for the Clinic.
“If
you please, sir, I believe there is a package here that would be of great
benefit to us,” said the little girl.
Why am I not surprised.
Standing
at the reception desk were Dorothy, The Scarecrow, the Tin Man and the Cowardly
Lion.
The
Scarecrow explained, “We’ve been following that box all the way from Oz. It’s
the only thing that will give me a brain or the Tin Man his heart…”
“Or
me my courage,” the Lion chimed in.
“And
it will help Dorothy find her way home,” the Tin Man added.
“Now
wait a minute, wait a minute,” I replied. “I do believe that the Wizard was
supposed to have granted all your requests.”
“The
Wizard? You mean the Charlatan,” Scarecrow answered. “Do you really believe that
a fake diploma from some fake ‘university’ qualifies as a brain? I was laughed
right out of the cornfield when I showed it to one of the crows. That crow said
he was smarter than me and stole all of my corn just to prove it.”
“And
that heart?” the Tin Man added followed by a sigh. “I was so careful with it,
Kept it around my neck right over my chest. Five days after he gave it to me it
started running backwards and then it went ‘Fhht’ followed by complete cardiac
arrest, if you get my meaning. If I was dependent on it to pump blood I’d be
face down in the gutter. Hmmph, how could I be duped to think a two dollar drug
store clock is as good as a Jarvik seven.”
“That
medal was nice,” The Lion said in a soft, almost embarrassed voice, “although
it hurt when he pinned it on.”
“Yes,
yes, very nice and what did it get you? The first time you tried to stand up to
another beast they laughed and that was just a squirrel. What did you do?”
Dorothy asked.
“Please,
don’t tell, don’t…”
“He
runs away and hides in the bushes; some courage. And, I guess it’s clear that I
am not in Kansas, Dr….Barnes.”
“Yes,
this is definitely not Kansas. Just what makes you think that this box you’re looking
for has all these things which you desire?”
“It
must, we were promised. I sold my ruby slippers to get what’s in that box. The man
promised.”
“Someone
from around here?” I surmised.
“Yes,
he had a black coat and an ID that said he was from the government and would
help us,” she answered meekly.
They can have it, the stupid box.
It’s been only trouble.
“Well
the box is here and you are welcome to it. Just wait here and I’ll fetch it for
you.”
I
went to the back to retrieve the troublesome parcel. I looked behind the table,
but there was no box. I looked under and around and over every nook and cranny:
no box. I went to find Miss James, but she had no idea where the box
disappeared to.
Miss
Babbett was standing in the doorway to the exam room and saw us searching high
and low.
“Looking
for something?” she inquired.
“There
was a package back here, wrapped in brown paper about so big,” Miss James
explained.
“You
mean that there stinky box that was in that room back there? I throwed it away.
I couldna’ stand the stench, almos’ made me to vomick. It’s in the garbage
dumpster. Now what about my back?”
“I’ll
be right back and take care of you,” I said as I ran towards the back of the Clinic.
It
was getting late, almost 5:30 and this was garbage day. I heard the roar of a
truck in the alley and ran outside just in time to see the garbage truck
driving away. I peered over the edge of the dumpster and saw only a few dirty
rags which had clung to the bottom. I went back to inform Dorothy and her
companions.
“I’m
terribly sorry, Miss Gale, but the package you are seeking is gone. It was
inadvertently thrown away and now it’s on that garbage truck which you can see
down the street. I pointed to the truck and,before I could say another word,
the four raced away after it. I went inside to take care of Ms. Barrett just as
a big RV pulled up. There was a colorful logo painted on its side:
JASON
and the ARGONAUTS
I’ve heard of them, some sort of
rock group.
A
solidly built young man emerged from the door on the RV’s side and came inside.
“I’m
Jason, lead singer for the Argonauts. I was told I might find something here,
something I’ve been searching for…”
I
stopped and stared into his eyes. He was tall with blonde hair and a dark
complexion.
“If
you’re looking for the Golden Fleece you are about five minutes too late. If
you hurry you can probably catch it. It’s in that garbage truck you just passed.
Just look for a truck being chased by a little girl, a scarecrow, tin man and
lion.
“Thank
you, doctor.” And he turned and walked out.
I
went back to the exam room to tend to my patient.
“That
ther’ box sho did stink. Almos’ made me fogit about thes here back pain. But,
now it’s a throbbin agin. Musta bin some sort of dead possum or rottin’ trash
in thet package.”
“How
long have you been having back pain, Ms. Barrett?” I asked, trying to focus on
her problems.
“Wha
was in thet ther’ box anyways? Do you knows?” she wondered.
I
stopped and thought for a moment, staring off into the distance.
“Dreams,
Ms. Barrett, lost and unfulfilled dreams,” I replied in a soft voice.
She
looked at me as if I had lost my mind.
“But,
for you, I think a shot of Dilaudid will work just fine and then you can follow
up at the Back Clinic over at County Hospital.”
“Demerol
woks better,” she interjected.
“OK,
Demerol.”
“Seventy
five IV.”
“OK,
OK.”
Miss
James gave her the medication and we sent her on her way.
Afterwards
it was just the two of us alone in the Clinic.
“What
are you thinking?” although I didn’t really need to ask.
“That
box; so much hope wrapped up in a plain brown wrapper. Do you think any of them
will ever find what they are looking for?”
“I
suppose they’ll all find something and, in the end, they will probably be
disappointed. It’s the anticipation of something better which keeps us going. How
often are we let down in the end? But, back to ‘A.T. to A.P.’ What is the
answer?”
“You
keep thinking about it, Dr. Barnes, that’s what you’re best at,” Miss James
commented, but then she patted her belly. “Well, I have to admit, you are good
at a few other things, too.”
