I Smell the Golf Course

When Ben uttered those words, internal klaxons wailed. With him lying in a hospital bed, it could only mean a seizure emanating from the temporal lobe of his brain. Moments later, his left hand began to twitch as the seizure spread. We loaded him on a gurney and ran for the ICU. After intravenous anticonvulsants and a close brush with a ventilator, the seizures stopped. Turned out they’d been caused by a medication injected not long before. 

A few months later, I was surprised to see Ben’s name on my faculty practice outpatient appointment list, though I’d been following his case for several years.

Ben and his wife walked in. Nice people. We’d become close.

“Ben, what’re you doing here? I got a notice you’re suing me.”

“I know, Doc,” Ben said. “I’m sorry about that. We got a big ICU bill. We asked the hospital to cancel it. They refused. We just want to get out from under this bill.”

“It wasn’t our fault,” Ben’s wife said.

“And it wasn’t your fault,” Ben said. “It was the drug company’s fault. We’re suing them too. I still want you to be my doctor.”

“I’ll ask,” I said.

I asked.

“Are you out of your mind?” “Under no circumstances.” “Discharge that patient immediately.”

Ben and his wife returned. They sat in the comfortable, leather chairs facing my desk, looked at me expectantly.

I smiled.