chair behind the desk.
“You’re seeing my father today. Obviously, I wouldn’t let him see any other urologist but you,” Connie bubbled. “So today, I guess, I’m wearing two hats, the caring daughter accompanying her father into the eerie Steven King world of the doctors’ office, and my usual role as a Merck representative.”
Moe looked puzzled. It took a minute for him to make the connection. “Oh, Swensen—Mr. Swensen is your father! If—if I would have known that, I wouldn’t have been quite so nice to him. You don’t look anything like him,” Moe laughed, stumbling through his embarrassment, then blushing as he recalled the view of her bending to retrieve the pen.
“I take more after my mother’s side, at least as far as physical appearance, but in personality, I’m more like my father,” Connie said warmly. “How’s Pop doing?”
“Well, he has a mildly elevated PSA, probably nothing, but to make sure, we’re going to ultrasound his prostate. It will only take a few minutes.”
Connie’s smile was dazzling. “Dr. Holman wanted to send him to Dr. Rasmussen, but I insisted on you.”
“I wondered about that,” Moe said.
“You’re my only doctor to see today, so take your time. Anyway, I know he is in good hands. The best.”
“Thank you,” Moe said weakly, annoyed that he felt tongue-tied around Connie, just as he did years ago in high school when he tired to talk to pretty girls.
“Sally tells me you have a trip planned for Cozumel. When are you leaving?” Connie said, abruptly changing the subject.
“In about three weeks—” Moe said, as his mind started to wander. He was mesmerized by Connie, and involuntarily he glanced to see how high her skirt had hiked up on her crossed, slender thighs which were tantalizingly packaged in sheer nylons. As expected, it was a pleasant sight. Moe had to forcibly remind himself that he just didn’t have time for small talk today.
“I’ve always wanted to go to Cozumel, but I’ve never been able to find anyone to go with. And I certainly don’t want to go by myself.” Connie gave Moe a ‘know-what-I-mean’ look. “Did you know I’m a certified diver?”
Moe wondered if this was a come-on. Someday, he really ought to ask Connie out. However, instead of pursuing that inclination, he said. “No, I didn’t. Maybe someday we’ll have to go diving. What do you have for me today?”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Mathis, I know you have a waiting room full of patients. I’ll be brief. Those recent studies down-playing the effectiveness of Proscar are somewhat skewed,” Connie stated. “There is a sub-population of patients for which Proscar works very well, those being the patients with the kind of prostatic enlargement that contains a lot of glandular tissue and not so much stroma. A majority of these patients had a substantial reduction in their prostate size and obstructive symptoms with a trial of Proscar. I hope you will continue to use Proscar, particularly on this sub-group of patients.”
Moe, though he had his doubts about the drug, assured her he would continue to use Proscar, and that he would also keep her updated on the results of her father’s tests. After looking at his watch, he stood and excused himself.
“Are you okay, Dr. Mathis? You look tired.”
Again Moe wondered if the girls had collaborated on their comments about his looks, or
if he really did look that bad. Right now, however, he did not want to get into another lengthy conversation about his father dying.
“Nah, I’m fine. Just my week on call,” Moe said lamely, then headed toward the third exam room with Mr. Robinson, and another lengthy monologue on the PSA blood test. Someday, he would be more efficient and video tape his discussion.
After Moe finished talking with Mr. Robinson, Diane was ready for the ultrasound on Mr. Swensen.
“Diane, as soon as we’re done here, we’ll have to do another ultrasound on Mr. Robinson.”
“Damn it!” Diane exploded. “Will Sally ever learn to schedule? We should never have two procedures back-to-back. Give me about fifteen minutes to get the room and patient ready,” She grabbed a patient gown for Mr. Swensen, then added derisively, “I suppose you’re going to use more Proscar now.”
“I just might,” Moe snapped as he followed Diane into the procedure room. He was getting a little tired of Diane’s attitude.
Moe told Mr. Swensen to relax, then he inserted the rectal probe. Mr. Swensen, only half-joking, noted that this was somewhat akin to a rapist asking his victim to relax. Rotating the probe ninety degrees, Moe obtained a sagittal view of the prostate, then he rotated it back again for a cross-sectional image. There was a small hypoechoic area, mid-gland, left side, in the transitional zone. After taking a biopsy of the suspicious area, Moe handed the needle to Diane, who dislodged the tissue from the needle and placed it into a small specimen container half-full of formalin. She then set the container on the blue, laminated counter-top next to the ultrasound machine, and swivelled her stool back to help Moe.
Finishing with Mr. Swensen, Diane cleaned the procedure room, then brought Mr. Robinson back to a room that was now saturated with the aroma of PineSol. After having Mr. Robinson strip from the waist down, she had him put on a white, disposable paper gown. As with Mr. Swensen, Moe found a suspicious lesion in Mr. Robinson’s prostate, also requiring a sonograph-guided biopsy. Again, the tissue was submerged in formalin by Diane, who then placed the specimen container on the same counter-top adjacent to Mr. Swensen’s container.
Moe and Diane then left the procedure room, giving Mr. Robinson some privacy to clean up and dress. There were still more patients to see. Starting the cycle over again, Moe ducked into room one to see an eighty-two-year-old man with hematuria, while Diane marched with grim face back to the lab to process his urine specimen.
THREE
Fortunately, there were no more procedures scheduled for the morning (damn that Sally for scheduling two back-to-back), but that did not mean they weren’t busy. With managing patient flow, doing laboratory tests like urinalyses and urine cultures, drawing blood, removing sutures, changing bandages and cleaning the exam rooms, Diane had been hustling. But that was a typical day in the office of Dr. Moses A. Mathis.
Sometimes she wondered if it was all worth it. Why was she still here, working for Moe? Certainly, it was not for the money, even though Moe was more than fair with wages and benefits. Was it for some noble ideal, like she was doing something worthwhile with her life and at the same time helping people? Somehow, her ideals had vanished a long time ago, disappearing into the hoard of bad tempered, unappreciative, demanding and complaining patients. She hated to admit it, but Diane knew perfectly well why she was still at Urology Associates. She was in love with Moses A. Mathis.
Moe was so different from the man she had married. In twenty years of marriage, Diane could not recall one single abstract or intelligent conversation she had ever engaged in with Dan, unless you considered discussing religion, abstract. And that wasn’t really discussing, but rather it was listening to Dan pontificate. In fact, lately their conversations seemed to be just a series of monosyllabic grunts. A high-toned soprano noise was taken as a “yes” and the deeper bass ones, a “no.”
Dan was a handy man. He could fix anything from hair dryers to automobiles. At first
