Yeah, thats right, she said. Her face lit up, clearly remembering Pete, but then she frowned as she looked me up and down, still having no clue at all as to where I fitted in.
This was getting really painful. I waited a bit, hoping that Sarah would remember me without further prompting, but unable to bear the awkwardness any longer I started to fill in the gaps.
I used to live with Pete and we met a few times
Suddenly, Sarah threw her hand over her mouth as the penny finally dropped.
Oh my god. Youre that bloke who tried to and then you vomited in my and then you tried again to
By this point Sarah was clearly remembering me with some horror. If she was trying to conceal her overwhelming feeling of disgust, she was doing an extremely poor job.
And they let you become a doctor? she added finally, with a combination of surprise and dismay.
Er, yeah I mean, well, that was a long time ago, wasnt it?
Thankfully, drunken vomiting in inappropriate places and failed attempts at seduction are not considered exclusion criteria for graduating from medical school. If they were I think there would be a massive world shortage of doctors and absolutely no orthopaedic surgeons whatsoever.
When I was simply the anonymous new doctor, Sarah had been only too happy to describe to me her bowel movements in bewildering detail and had no qualms about presenting to me the haemorrhoids protruding from her backside. Now that I had been exposed as the drunken idiot who once tried to chat her up after vomiting in her bathtub, she seemed less enamoured with the idea.
Maybe it would be better if I waited for Dr Bailey to come back. I mean, Ive known him for years. You know, as like a doctor rather than someone who well, you know.
By this point, I already knew that Dr Bailey wasnt coming back, but before I had the chance to explain that, Sarah was out the door. In fact, her getaway was almost as quick as the one shed made 15 years ago when we last met.
Crackhead Kenny I
It was 4 a.m. and I had just given myself a little hit of coffee and chocolate in an attempt to help drag myself through those last few painful hours of an A&E night shift. The caffeine was giving me palpitations and an odd buzzing sensation, but not successfully eradicating the overwhelming hazy blur of exhaustion. It had only been an hour since I had necked two cans of Red Bull, but I just needed one more coffee to help me muster the energy to see my next patient.
Despite having one wrist handcuffed to a prison officer and the other hand chained to the metal frame of the trolley, Kenny was, metaphorically, bouncing off the ceiling. The prison officers grey and expressionless face was in stark contrast to his prisoners, whose beaming grin and intense shining eyes were almost mesmerising. It was apparent that the drugs market within our local prison could provide stimulants considerably stronger than my vending-machine coffee and out-of-date Twix bar.
Kenny reached out his cuffed hand, but I paused. There is something about someone being handcuffed that makes me automatically think he must be horrendously dangerous. If I took his hand would he somehow be able to slip out of his cuffs and take me hostage? Being taken hostage by a drug-crazed prisoner is a scenario I would handle particularly badly. Looking Kenny up and down, I realised that my sleep deprivation was making me paranoid. Kenny really didnt look very dangerous. He was scruffy and scrawny, but his missing teeth didnt inhibit his childlike smile. I reached out my hand and he gave me a warm and enthusiastic handshake.
Im Kenny, but all my friends call me Crackhead Kenny.
Im Dr Ben, but all my friends call me Big Nose Benny.
I instantly regretted the informality of my response, but I often find myself slightly less reserved during the early hours of the morning. Its as if patient-doctor etiquette has a vaguely different set of rules at night. Either that or I simply become increasingly inappropriate the more sleep deprived I become.
I reckon my nickname trumps yours, Kenny declared triumphantly.
I suppose, but youll have to change yours when you stop taking crack. Ill always have a big nose.
True, he nodded. But I reckon Ill always be Crackhead Kenny, he added ruefully
True, he nodded. But I reckon Ill always be Crackhead Kenny, he added ruefully
I wanted to ask Kenny why he was in prison, but it was none of my business really, so instead I stuck with the more conventional question of why he was in hospital.
Well, I fell over and these clowns are covering their arses, so they wanted me in here for a check over.
I looked over to the prison officer for some sort of response but his face remained expressionless. I wondered exactly what it would take to prise any sort of emotion out of him.
I started scanning Kennys medical record and noticed with some surprise his date of birth.
Weve got exactly the same birthday.
Kenny looked at me oddly.
We were both born on 6 March 1977.
Were time twins! Kenny shouted enthusiastically.
Yes, we are, I replied smiling, unable not to be caught up in Kennys infectious drug-induced gusto.
I tell you another thing weve got in common, Dr Ben. As a boy I always dreamed of being a doctor. I wanted to do something good with my life. I really wanted to help people and make them better. I also liked the idea of driving a nice car and flirting with lots of sexy nurses. He gave me a wink. Although I think I might have left it a little late now, he added ruefully.
Its never too late to flirt with the nurses, Kenny, but Id give our charge nurse Barry a wide birth. Hes a grumpy old bugger.
Yeah, I spotted him on my way in. Perhaps a career in medicine isnt for me after all.
Maybe it was just too much emotion caused by lack of sleep, but I couldnt help but feel a connection with Kenny. Sharing a date of birth is fairly insignificant really, in the big scheme of things, but at four in the morning during our peculiar substance-enhanced encounter, it seemed to hold some meaning.
I imagined us both as small babies, beginning our lives on that same day. We would have started off similarly enough as two equally innocent infant boys, new and full of potential. Our first steps and first words would have coincided and at some point during our childhoods we both decided that we wanted to be doctors. What had ebbed away at Kennys potential while mine was being steadfastly encouraged?
After giving Kenny a quick check over, I wandered out to the nurses station where Barry the charge nurse was slumped in his chair looking unshakably miserable. I told him about the connection Id made with my time twin and reflected on why and how our lives had taken such different paths.
Hes just a smack head who happens to share your birthday. Stop being a sentimental twat and get some work done. Most importantly, get him discharged before he comes down off whatever hes taken and starts kicking off.
As I finished writing up his notes, the prison officer walked Kenny out of the department to his waiting van. My carriage awaits! he exclaimed giving me a regal wave with his non-cuffed hand. See ya later, Big Nose Benny.
Nice meeting you, Crackhead Kenny.
Maggie I
Its my leg, Doctor. It doesnt really do what I want it to do. Its as if its not really part of me any more. Maggie tried to crack a smile but I could see she was really scared.
Right, lets have a look then.
Maggie was quite right. Her left leg wasnt doing what it was supposed to be doing. She could sort of move it, but her coordination was shot and she had resorted to walking with a stick.
Im walking like an old lady, but Im only 56. It just came on over the weekend and its getting worse.
Maggie was clearly looking for some reassurance, but the truth was that I was worried too.
We need to get this looked into, I said, stating the obvious.
Id met Maggie a few times, but usually only when she was accompanying her husband for his blood pressure appointments.
Any medical problems in the past? I asked as I scanned through her notes.
No, Im fit as a flea. Well, I had breast cancer in 2003, but thats long gone. It cant be anything to do with that.
I looked up from my computer screen and she held my gaze. I was trying to find words that might be both reassuring and honest, but before I could even open my mouth, Maggie was crying.
The breast cancers all gone, she blubbed, trying to convince herself more than convince me. They discharged me from the clinic five years ago.
It may well be nothing to do with the breast cancer, but lets just get some tests done.
Maggie clearly needed to see a specialist and have a scan. She didnt really need to be admitted to hospital that morning, but then it wasnt appropriate to make her wait two weeks for an outpatient appointment either. When stuck with this sort of quandary, I generally default to the What would I want if it was me? option. This turned the decision into a bit of a no-brainer and I phoned the medical consultant on call who agreed that she should go straight up to the hospital.
Sometimes its really satisfying to get a diagnosis right, but I took no pleasure in having my suspicions confirmed this time. Maggies leg symptoms were due to her breast cancer returning. It had already spread extensively and it was lesions in the brain that were causing her leg symptoms. After being told the result of the scan she was discharged with some steroids.
Maggie had still been in a state of shock when theyd given her the diagnosis in hospital, so she made an appointment with me to go over a few things. First of all she wanted to know how the cancer had lain dormant for all those years before coming back. I would like to have been able to answer that question, but the truth was I just didnt know. It wasnt something shed done wrong; it was just one of those awful facts about cancer. Sometimes we think we have beaten it, yet somehow this horrible disease has a dirty habit of reappearing. Maggie hadnt even noticed a breast lump, but by the time she had her scan there were cancerous lesions in her liver, bones and brain. The cancer specialist offered her some chemotherapy that might temporarily shrink the tumours, but he made it very clear that he could offer her no cure.