We are all products of our life experiences. Our perception is naturally filtered by memories of things real or imagined that happened as we wander life's pathways. I have noticed people will confide very personal information, at times much more than I care to know. There is a certain intimacy and trust between a health care provider and patient. When I have been a patient I recognize the vulnerability I feel, so I get it.
People have confided mind-boggling information to me over the years. Infidelity, alien abduction and cannibalism are on the list. I call it the confessional effect. They may or may not see me again. If they do, it will probably be quite a while between visits. I am a stranger, but we are in a personal relationship for a very short time. Some see you as a captive audience and will try to cram their life history into the minutes you are together. Others are just compelled to blurt out a story that must go 'round and 'round in their brain. I have even had a couple of patients kiss me smack on my mouth. Yuck! 'I just wanted to thank you'. No, you wanted to be a perv. You never know what's going through a person's mind. The room is quiet while I image their heart. The light is low so I can see the computer screen. Minds wander. Best you don't know that itinerary.
Back in the 80's I worked as a supervisor in a large medical center. Nuclear Medicine and Nuclear Cardiology were separate departments, but our isotopes were stored in a common hot lab. I met Julie when she worked in Nuclear Cardiology. Every morning we would prepare for the day, discussing life and love, the usual small talk. One morning she ran in waving her left hand. A celestial blue sapphire glistened in the fluorescent light. The surrounding diamonds completed the tiny universe on her finger. She danced around the lab in delight. 'I designed it myself...' and proceeded to tell me about the proposal, the wedding plans and how many children they wanted. Cloud nine! We worked together for about a year after that. We soon lost touch. When I started a new job years later one of my first patients was Julie's dad, who had a background in nuclear medicine. I would ask for Julie and we would chat for a while.
When the Twin Towers were destroyed the list of people killed and missing was posted on a daily basis. The acrid smell of dust and death hung in the air for a week. There was that morbid compulsion to check that list every day. We knew of losses in the community. Most households were touched by death and disbelief. Then I saw Julie's name. We had not spoken to one another for many years, but I spoke to her dad not more than a month before that abomination.
The following year her dad came in for testing. We looked at one another. I told him I was sorry. He nodded, then we morphed into the same conversation we had every year about half-lives of isotopes and detection devices. That and the care of roses constitutes our yearly conversation to this day.
Two years after that Julie's dad and mom came in for tests. When her mother came into the room I could see her watching me work out of the corner of her eye. I thought I should say something. I told her I was so sorry. Then I told her I remembered how happy Julie was the day she came in wearing her sapphire engagement ring. Her mom was silent for a moment. Then she said 'They never found that ring. They never found Julie. We had a memorial service for her. Two weeks ago they called to say they found something of Julie's. A bone fragment. I cannot do this. I cannot keep burying my daughter. I told my husband not to tell me anything else. Nothing." I said I was sorry, so sorry. She shook her head. We finished the procedure. I took her hand and helped her sit up. She held my hand. She said 'Please don't take this the wrong way. It's just that I can't stand to look at you.' I knew instantly what she was telling me. I have a daughter, too. When she looked at me, how could she not wonder what Julie would be doing?
I helped her to her feet, feeling a strange bond which is difficult to explain.
They come back to our office to test their hearts each year, though their hearts have been through a test no heart should have. Her dad comes to me for his test, her mom goes to the other room. They came in yesterday. I saw her watching me out of the corner of her eye.
