Year of the Intern by Cook Robin

Author:Cook, Robin [Cook, Robin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 1972-02-08T00:00:00+00:00

DAY 307

General Surgery:

Private Teaching Service

To an intern in medical practice during the latter half of the twentieth century, Alexander Graham Bell is the arch villain of all time. The blame, of course, must be spread a bit wider, to include not only the man who invented the telephone, but also the sadist who designed the ring. And then all those fellows working for Ma Bell who perpetuate the jangle— they're in it, too. How did hospitals function before the invention of the telephone? I often thought of myself, nowadays, as a mere extension of that little piece of black plastic. It was every bit as terrifying as the ambulance, and a good bit more sudden—always somehow expected in the back of my mind, and yet at the same time coming on me unawares. In all the world, there is no sound like it for disturbing the peace.

My peace just then consisted of falling gently asleep beside Karen Christie in her apartment after, I trust, a mutually satisfying encounter. When the telephone rang at 2:00 A.M., we both reached. I let her have it—not because it was probably for her. Since I was on call, it would more likely be the hospital night operator extending me an invitation to return to those corridors. But it might have been Karen's so-called boyfriend.

Indeed it was the hospital operator, who put me through to a nurse. "Doctor, would you come immediately? One of Dr. Jarvis's private patients is having trouble breathing, and Dr. Jarvis wants you to handle it."

Rolling over on my back, I stared at the ceiling and cursed inwardly, holding the telephone away from my ear. Dr. Jarvis I knew all too well. He was none other than our old friend the Supercharger, famous for his OR butchery, especially on breast biopsies. "Are you still there, Doctor?" the nurse intoned.

"Yes, Nurse, I'm still here. Does Dr. Jarvis plan to come in?"

"I don't know, Doctor."

Typical. Not only of the Supercharger, but of most private doctors affiliated with the hospital. The intern would go to see the patient, work up a recommendation, and phone the private doctor, who, of course, would tell the intern to do what he thought best. On most such occasions these guys didn't even bother with the amenities. One time I had spent about an hour going over one of the Supercharger's cases. When I called in my report. Supercharger had stepped out of his office and I had to leave a message with his secretary for him to ring me back. He rang back, all right, but to the floor nurse, not me. When she told him I wanted urgently to speak with him, he said he didn't have time to talk to every intern in the hospital. Rush, rush, for a few more bucks—that was the Supercharger's game.

Supercharger had another endearing habit. He admitted almost all his patients on the so-called teaching program. One might naturally think that a teaching program would in fact teach, at least a little.

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