RSS Feeds
Blockers
The guy's an iceberg. I feel the cold breeze the moment I walk into the office, where he stands beside the examining table, his arms crossed, a thin man, pale eyes, dour face, measured stare. I'd say he's about 40 and prematurely bald.
Maybe iceberg isn't right. How about an oven? I get the feeling he might explode at any second. Or minefield. That's it; he's a walking minefield. I've heard there are millions of mines left over from the war in Western Europe, tens of millions in Southeast Asia. Here on Long Island, we have minefields, too, but they're not from the war. They just grow, like potatoes. They're metaphorical.
The man's handshake slides quickly away. Thus far, all I've said is, “Good morning, Mr. Lindsay, I'm Dr. Ritter.” Thus far, he's nodded half an inch.
Turns out Lindsay is a neuroscientist who works at the university. He likes to be called “Doctor”—my first mistake of the day. His physician retired a couple of months ago, and he wants to “establish care” with a new internist. Turns out he's on four medications, three for blood pressure that “nobody can get to go down” and one for cholesterol. He's 38 years old. As far as I can tell from the verbal synopsis, he's never had a symptom.
“I want tests, too,” Lindsay tells me. “I want a complete panel.”
Well, my work's cut out for me this time. Or, rather, it's not cut out—I have to do the cutting. Reminds me of a movie the kids and I saw a few years back, about a Neanderthal man frozen in an ice block at the bottom of a ravine or something. Against all odds the guy is still alive, and the scientists figure if they warm him slowly he'll be okay. …
