Ch. 06 (A COOKIE for PUPPY GIRL) – Trading Places^[1]

Upon returning home from our boys’ weekend in Nebraska, I was feeling a little beat-up so when Rick and I commuted to work on the following Monday morning, I told him that I wanted to just relax that evening. He suggested that we have a low-key dinner in San Francisco, and he was excited to introduce me to the wonderful Italian food in the iconic North Beach area. We finally found parking a few blocks away and as we walked by the popular Washington Square Bar & Grill, advertised as, “A favorite gathering place for a generation of writers, politicians, musicians, and social elite”, Rick thought I should see it, so we took a quick detour and went inside. The mood was rather subdued other than a very lively table near the back where several gentlemen were drinking expensive champagne and clearly celebrating something. Suddenly, one of the guys looked up from the table and Rick realized it was a friend of his who, as it turns out, had just earned a $50,000 advance on a book deal he had signed hours earlier which was why they were all celebrating. Of course, he insisted we join in, and in spite of my protests, I learned that $200 bottles of Dom Perignon are worldly better than the cheap champagne I was used to drinking at fraternity parties, so it took about one minute to fully join in the festivities. We ended up partying with them for several hours until, thankfully, the restaurant was closing for the evening. As we stumbled out to the car, Rick and I both realized that neither of us were fit to drive so we decided to recline our car seats and take a couple hour nap to ‘sleep it off’. Unfortunately, neither of us woke up until a police car was about to break the backseat car window to gain entry into the car around 6 am when Rick must have sensed something and suddenly opened his eyes and sat up. It turns out the spot we were parked in had been legal the evening prior but it became part of an extra ‘commute lane’ during the busy morning commute into the city. Our car was surrounded by yellow ‘crime-scene’ tape because the tow truck driver had seen us inside sleeping and when we didn’t wake up when he tapped on the window, he assumed we were dead and therefore, called the police, who then secured the area. I don’t know who was more surprised between Rickand that police officer when Rick suddenly awoke, but thankfully he did. The officer was totally cool and instead of hassling or lecturing us, he just smiled and allowed us to drive away without incident. I certainly believe his kindness is more than deserving of a Cookie Cookie for Puppy Girl Award as my brother and I remain eternally grateful.

 Of course, the story didn’t end there because we both needed to get to work and there was not enough time to drive back to my place in Marin County to shower and get ready for Tuesday morning work so we drove to the public tennis facility near my work and shaved and rinsed off in the adjoining bathroom facility using the electric razor Rick always kept in the glove box of his car. Of note, Rick always packed a suitcase for his overnight stay but since he had planned to crash at my place, his suitcase was gone and neither of us had a change of clothes for the next day’s work. However, since we were almost exactly the same size, we switched clothes with each other, wearing each other’s shirt, tie and suit from the day prior, which were both a little wrinkled from sleeping in all night but certainly passable. Rick dropped me off for work and as I walked by the receptionist in the lobby, I received my daily warm smile and pleasant greeting from her, and as I sat down at my desk, I remember my big sigh of relief for dodging the proverbial bullet from a nearly disastrous outcome of spending the day in jail or worse. However, that evening, as I walked by the receptionist to head home, she smiled coyly and whispered, “Did you know your brother has that exact same shirt, tie and suit?”.

            In reflection, it turned out that when Rick had picked me up from work on the evening prior, he had run inside to use the bathroom, which he almost never did, and in the process, had stopped to visit with the receptionist for a few minutes. Fortunately, it remained our little secret until she relayed the story a year later at my ‘going away’ party when I took a job elsewhere. I was a little EMBARRASSED at the time but it remains one of the funniest stories that I have told, and retold over the years. Also, thank God we had the good sense not to drive home that evening.

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^[1]Disclaimer: This excerpt and corresponding writing sample display some color but the actual book is in black and white.

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Ch. 31 (A TURD in THE PICKLE JAR)– I Have Surprises for You^[1]

Fast forward to the end of the summer, at which time I finished my final shift and moved back to start my sophomore year at OHSU. Unfortunately, the wear-and-tear on my body had taken its toll as a golf-ball sized lump had developed in my left inguinal region exactly where I had been using the area to help guide the wood into the dryer. The pain was getting worse so my roommate, George, convinced me to visit the student infirmary to have it checked out and likely be given antibiotics for an infection. The doctor on call took one look at the lump which was extremely red and inflamed and she was immediately concerned that I might have a rare form of lymphatic cancer (i.e., related to the lymph system which fights infection) called ‘Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma’. The best way to confirm the diagnosis is by performing a needle aspiration biopsy, which requires removing a small sample of tissue and studying it with histopathology to determine if cancerous cells are present. The procedure was rather painful but fortunately they did not have to also perform a trans-rectal biopsy of my prostate, which can be excruciating.

In any case, I was checked into the hospital overnight, anxiously awaiting the next day’s biopsy results. Finally, my doctor returned with the news, and much to my relief, I only had an infection that would respond nicely to antibiotics well before school was to start the following Monday. However, it is worth mentioning that OHSU is a teaching hospital, and typically, the doctors are accompanied by interns, residents or even medical students who are allowed to observe and occasionally perform routine procedures. It is also worth mentioning that, coincidentally, the on-call doctor (and surgeon) who was assigned to my case, was also the wife of one of my first-year professors, as both worked in Surgical Pathology. Consequently, she entered the room along with three student interns, and after delivering the good news, she then proceeded to discuss my case, performing a digital rectal exam in order to rule out abscesses, infections, hemorrhoids or an enlarged prostate. Needless to say, it was rather unpleasant, but much to my dismay, she then had each of the four interns perform the rectal procedure at length as she taught each how to navigate the sensitive region with a digital (finger) examination. It might also be worth mentioning that all three of the student interns were actually fourth year medical students, all three were female, and I recognized all three of them from living (and socializing) on the tiny OHSU campus over the past two years. In fact, I had gotten to know one of the young women and was planning to ask her out for dinner soon.

In reflection, I probably should have visited a doctor down In Roseburg, weeks earlier, but I didn’t have any medical insurance, which does seem ironic since I was a medical student. As well, I am grateful for the excellent medical care I received, however, I was beyond EMBARRASSED, maybe even mortified by the strange circumstance I was now facing. In fact, I have often wondered if my attending physician had singled me out for the additional, and quite uncomfortable rectal exams because I was a lowly second-year student. That said, and at the risk of seeming ungrateful for her excellent medical care, I feel it is imperative to present a Turd in the Pickle Jar Award^[2] to my doctor here, even if she was originally prepared to save my life, if necessary

In any case, the whole sordid affair reminded me of one of my favorite Shel Silverstein poems, ‘The Crocodile’s Toothache’ (Silverstein, 1974):

The Crocodile went to the dentist
And sat down in the chair
And the dentist said, “Now, tell me sir”
“Why does it hurt, and where?”
And the crocodile said, “I’ll tell you the truth”
“I have a terrible ache in my tooth”.
And he opened his jaws so wide, so wide
That the dentist, he climbed right up inside.
And the dentist laughed, “Oh, isn’t this fun”
As he pulled the teeth out, one by one.
And the crocodile cried, “You’re hurting me so”
“Please put down your pliers and let me go”
But the dentist just laughed with a “Ho Ho Ho”.
And he said, “I still have twelve to go”
“Oops, that’s the wrong one, I confess”
“But what’s one crocodile tooth, more or less?”
Then suddenly the jaws went SNAP
And the dentist was gone, right off the map.
And where he went one could only guess . . .
To North or South or East or West
He left no forwarding address
But what’s one dentist more or less?

For me, that physician showed the same profound lack of empathy, by allowing the interns, one-by-one, to perform rectal exams on me just as the dentist in the poem painstakingly pulled out the crocodile’s teeth, one-by-one. Of course, the crocodile pleaded, “You’re hurting me so, please put down your pliers and let me go”, but the dentist ignored him and kept inflicting more and more pain on his patient. As a result, I am quite pleased that the crocodile exacted his revenge when ‘his jaws went snap’, devouring the dentist, and incidentally, just the outcome I might have fantasized for my doctor. Oh, and incidentally, my relationship with that student intern changed that day, as I never ended up asking her out on a date.

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Silverstein, S. (1974). “The Crocodile’s Toothache” [Poem]. Where the Sidewalk Ends. New York: Harper & Row.

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^[1]Disclaimer: This excerpt and corresponding writing sample display some color but the actual book is in black and white.

^[2] Inspired by and awarded to those toxic individuals who seem to disrupt the vibe for everyone else at a gathering, after all, it only takes one to ruin it for all! Note that this image uses color whereas the actual memoir is in black and white.