I was immediately checked in to an examination room.The double knock preceded Dr. Gee.He was a jolly old fellow, a cross between Santa and Buddha, only this was summertime Santa who just flew in from Hawaii.His yellow flowered Maui Jim shirt brought out his thick, grey eyebrows.He had a streak of black hair scattered on the side of his head, perhaps ‘Just for Men’ residue as he appeared to be five years past retirement.
“Mr. Vark?Nice meeting you,” he said, letting out a deep sigh as he took a seat on his rolling throne.He may have been a smoker before his profession.His voice was soft, but raspier than a beehive.“I wanted to meet you because I got this notice that some Mr. Vark’s sample was sent to Stanford for further evaluation and my name was listed as the PCP.I hadn’t even met you, so I thought we should chat,” he said without breaking stride “So catch me up.How did this all begin?”
I was relieved to realize my PCP’s ASAP was simply code for small talk.I proceeded to give him the chronology of events that led to my biopsy.He interrupted me a few times to ask me random questions like whether I had taken any exotic vacations, or if I had used any hard drugs.When I finished bringing him up to speed, we proceeded to the routine examination.
“Are you a smoker?” he asked.
“I used to smoke cigarettes occasionally.”
“How many packs a day?”
“I never smoked that much.I would say, on average, about five to ten cigarettes a week.It was mostly at social gatherings and I couldn’t smoke more than five without getting sick. I’ve smoked more marijuana than cigarettes.”Why I made this comment is still beyond me.
“How much marijuana?”
I had to think about this one.Maybe I hadn’t smoked more marijuana than cigarettes.Back in the day, I occasionally smoked a small amount before going to bed.It served as a natural sleeping pill.“About a bowl a night,” I replied.
“What was that?A bowl?What does that mean? How much is that?”Although I shouldn’t have dug myself into this hole, I treasured that awkward moment.He doesn’t know what a bowl is?Did he miss the hippie days?Perhaps I underestimated his age.He must have grown up in the thirties, during reefer madness.How do I explain the amount of a bowl?It’s a subjective question.The instructor in me came out.
“Well, do you know what a bong is?”
“A bong?”
“Yeah, it’s an apparatus used to smoke weed and you place the marijuana in this bowl at the end of the bong.”
“Bowl at the end of the bong?” He asked as if he was reading a line out of a Dr. Seuss book.
“OK, it’s about this much,” I used my index and thumb to approximate the size of a dime.As I looked through this imaginary hole I made, I saw the clear confusion on his face.“It’s about a quarter of a cigarette’s worth,” I finished, realizing that this could take all night.
“So why are they sending my sample to Stanford?” I asked, changing the subject.He began giving me a detailed description of what pathologists do.He was very thorough in his explanation.He took pride in stating that this didn’t happen very often and that my condition was very important to him.He went on to describe what he thought was happening in my case, drawing diagrams, using analogies and hand gestures.He even answered my questions in simple English.“We want the best of the best on this case.That’s why I wanted to meet you.You originally saw the nurse practitioner here.Not that he’s a bad nurse or anything, you just want to have the best of the best handling this, like doctors, professionals, and specialists,” he reassured me with confidence and a smile.“I would like to get a CT scan of your chest as soon as possible.Are you open tomorrow?”
“Sure, just let me know what time.”
I was glad to have met Dr. Gee.He was a comforting soul.