{"id":35,"date":"2011-04-18T02:17:59","date_gmt":"2011-04-18T02:17:59","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.aarontucker.com\/wp\/?page_id=35"},"modified":"2021-11-29T16:32:03","modified_gmt":"2021-11-29T21:32:03","slug":"a-night-at-the-operation","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.aarontucker.com\/wp\/a-night-at-the-operation\/","title":{"rendered":"A Night at the Operation"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"A<\/strong>Chapter One<\/strong><\/p>\n

Man does not control his own fate. The women in his life do that for him.
\n\u2014Groucho Marx<\/em><\/p>\n

Friday<\/p>\n

Sullivan’s Travels<\/em> (1941) and Train Trippin\u2019<\/em> (this week)<\/p>\n

“Sharon is missing.”<\/p>\n

I looked up from what I’d been doing\u2014playing an addictive little computer game called MacBrickout\u2014and that resulted in a double punishment for me. First, I lost the ball that was knocking out a series of increasingly hard-to-hit bricks on my computer screen. Second, I was now looking at the face of Dr. Gregory Sandoval, my ex-wife’s soon-to-be-second-ex-husband, who was standing in the doorway of my office, uninvited.<\/p>\n

“What do you mean, ‘missing?'” I asked. I actually do know what “missing” means, but I was caught off-guard and hadn’t really been listening to Gregory. I try to not listen to Gregory whenever possible.<\/p>\n

The thing about Gregory is: I have tried, on numerous occasions, to pretend he doesn\u2019t exist, but there is scientific evidence that he does. The man is an irritant, like a tiny speck of dust in your eye that won\u2019t wash out no matter how much Visine you use.<\/p>\n

Of course, he was wrong. Sharon was not missing. I\u2019d seen my ex-wife only the day before.<\/p>\n

It hadn\u2019t been a pleasant experience, but I couldn\u2019t blame that on Sharon, nor, even more surprisingly, myself. The fact is that after the age of twenty-two or so, and maybe even before, it\u2019s just no fun to get a physical examination.<\/p>\n

I go to my ex-wife\u2019s medical practice for a number of reasons. First, I know that Sharon and Antoinette Westphal, who started the practice, invite only the best doctors they know to join them. Second, it is convenient to where I work and where I live. Third, I get to see Sharon, with whom I have a cordial divorce, whenever I go there.<\/p>\n

And last but not least, I still get the family discount. A man paying for his own health insurance worries about such things.<\/p>\n

But that doesn\u2019t carry much comfort with it when you\u2019re a man in his late thirties and another man is checking you for signs of testicular cancer. It\u2019s hard to think of much else at a time like that.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t see anything,\u201d said Dr. Lennon Dickinson, Sharon\u2019s rather disturbingly handsome partner. Lennon, who was not named after Paul McCartney, George Harrison, or Ringo Starr, had dark hair, blue eyes, and the kind of look that makes Dr. McDreamy look like Dr. McDumpy to the ladies. I\u2019m told. Now, he was simply reporting the facts. He hadn\u2019t been named after Jack Webb, either, but his sensibility was similar to Jack\u2019s.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s a little worrisome,\u201d I told him. \u201cMaybe you should get glasses.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lennon looked up, which under the circumstances was something of a relief. \u201cI meant, I\u2019m not finding any nodules or striations,\u201d he said. Lennon is as funny as an Ingmar Bergman festival.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know, Lennon. I was just kidding.\u201d<\/p>\n

He nodded. Yes, that was the price one pays for having a patient who owns a movie theatre that shows only comedies. You have to deal with the occasional joke.<\/p>\n

\u201cI think you\u2019re just fine. Get dressed,\u201d Lennon said.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf I had a dime for every time I\u2019ve heard that,\u201d I said under my breath. But I followed his instructions, and luckily, Lennon didn\u2019t try to banter back.<\/p>\n

Dressed and dismissed as healthy, I followed Lennon out of the examination room and into the hallway, where four other such rooms were located. One of the doors was closed, with the color-coded \u201cpatient inside\u201d flag showing, and that was where Toni Westphal was, I assumed. Sharon was right in front of me.<\/p>\n

She smiled her professional smile when she saw me, and spoke in Lennon\u2019s direction. \u201cI assume his heart is still beating,\u201d she said, gesturing at me.<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t find anything wrong,\u201d Lennon answered. The man\u2019s a carnival.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s only because you\u2019re not a psychiatrist,\u201d she told him, grinning at me a little too hard.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou married me,\u201d I reminded Sharon. \u201cWhat does that say about you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI divorced you, too. That speaks volumes.\u201d<\/p>\n

I gave her my \u201cdroll\u201d face, and moved on. \u201cC\u2019est Moi! on Monday?\u201d I asked. Sharon and I meet about once a week for lunch at a badly named restaurant in Midland Heights, near my theatre and her practice. It\u2019s part of our ongoing effort not to have an acrimonious divorce. Sometimes it\u2019s harder than others, like when she orders a steak sandwich for lunch and I try to mooch the French fries. The woman is vicious in defending her fries.<\/p>\n

Sharon considered my lunch proposal. \u201cMonday. I\u2019m not sure. Yeah, I guess Monday will be okay.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t be too enthusiastic, or I\u2019ll think you\u2019re harboring feelings for me,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cKeep dreaming,\u201d Sharon said. She knocked on the exam room door next to her and walked inside before I could think of a witty response, but then, she could as well have stood there waiting for an hour. I had nothing.<\/p>\n

Sharon and I had divorced when she\u2019d decided she\u2019d rather be married to Gregory, a choice I\u2019ve never fully understood, but came grudgingly to accept. She had since come to her senses on that one, as well, and was now in the process of divorcing Gregory. But Sharon and I had remained friendly. One night a couple of months before, we\u2019d gotten very friendly, but that had only reminded us of some of the reasons we\u2019d divorced to begin with, and it hadn\u2019t happened again.<\/p>\n

Not yet, anyway. A man can dream.<\/p>\n

The following Friday, eight days hence, would be the ninth anniversary of our wedding, and even though we were no longer married, we\u2019d decided to get together that evening. It makes more sense to us than celebrating the day we were divorced. We\u2019d had a better party when we got married, after all, and that was worth remembering.<\/p>\n

Lennon led me to the reception area, where I could pay my bill and kibitz with Betty, the unbearably attractive receptionist. Betty is the kind of woman whom many men would find attractive, assuming they were heterosexual and breathing. But Sharon has always been an equal-opportunity employer, and talked her partners into hiring Betty despite her being almost unbearably hot. I recall it taking less persuasion with Lennon Dickinson than Toni Westphal. Lennon, in fact, had offered to pay Betty’s salary entirely from his own pocket.<\/p>\n

Alas, Betty wasn\u2019t in her traditional seat. \u201cShe must be in the ladies room,\u201d Lennon said, displaying a habit for conveying too much information whenever it isn\u2019t requested. \u201cI\u2019ll take care of it. Let me see your insurance card and a credit card.\u201d<\/p>\n

I reached into my back pocket for my wallet, and fished out the insurance card. I never use a credit card, and only carry one for identification purposes, so it took longer to find, but I managed. While Lennon was doing whatever it is one does with such items, someone to my left said, \u201cMy god, they\u2019ll let anybody in here these days, won\u2019t they?\u201d<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t have to look. \u201cHi, Grace,\u201d I said. \u201cStill carrying a torch for me, eh?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOnly to burn down your house.\u201d Grace, the head nurse for the practice\u2014about fifty, attractive and somewhere between thin and heavy\u2014gave me a quick kiss on the cheek by way of greeting. An older gent in the waiting area gave me a dirty look, like I was beating his time. \u201cHow are you, Elliot?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what I\u2019m here to find out,\u201d I told her. \u201cAsk Lennon.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s fine,\u201d Lennon said, rapier wit at the ready. He handed me back the ID and the credit card.<\/p>\n

I saw Betty come out of the restroom and knock on an exam room door. Betty is studying to become an RN, and sometimes observes or helps out on simple exams. Sharon let her into the exam room. My luck, I\u2019d have to keep looking at Lennon.<\/p>\n

I turned to Grace, but she had an odd look on her face, and I didn\u2019t say anything. I wondered whether I\u2019d forgotten to zip up after the exam, but couldn\u2019t think of a discreet way to check.
\nGrace looked around me at Lennon. Her voice dropped a number of decibels. \u201cHave you asked him yet?\u201d she hissed at the doctor through the glass partition.<\/p>\n

\u201cI was just about to,\u201d Lennon hissed back, and then set his gaze on me. It didn\u2019t have the effect on met that it would have had on, say, women.<\/p>\n

\u201cAsk me what?\u201d I wondered aloud.<\/p>\n

Too loud, apparently. \u201cShh!\u201d Grace said, drawing more attention from the waiting room crowd than my innocuous outburst had. \u201cKeep your voice down!\u201d<\/p>\n

Okay, I could play that game. \u201cAsk me what?\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n

They didn\u2019t have time to answer, because Toni Westphal had walked over, apparently having completed the exam she was doing on a patient. Toni, who\u2019s around forty and exudes a maternal warmth despite having no children, threw her hands over my shoulder and Grace\u2019s, as if we were in a football huddle.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s going on?\u201d she whispered. \u201cAre we planning a surprise party?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe were just about to ask Elliot,\u201d Grace said.<\/p>\n

Toni looked confused. \u201cAsk Elliot if we\u2019re planning a surprise party?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

Lennon gave her his most serious look, which is just a little more serious than that of a funeral director on a busy day. I\u2019m only his patient because Sharon won\u2019t treat me and she thinks I should have a male doctor, but Lennon\u2019s bedside manner would be enough to get most patients to burst into tears. I guess the women he treats just look at him and don\u2019t worry about medicine too much. \u201cWe were going to ask Elliot,\u201d he echoed.<\/p>\n

Toni\u2019s eyes narrowed. \u201cOh. Yeah.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked from face to face, and found no answers. \u201cOkay,\u201d I said, \u201cLet\u2019s pretend that I just got out of an ESL class, and speak slowly and clearly. What are you people talking about?\u201d<\/p>\n

Lennon gestured me closer to the glass, which had a window in it for communication and commerce. \u201cWhat\u2019s been bothering Sharon?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

I knit my brow. It\u2019s not hard to do, but the needles sting like crazy. \u201cBothering Sharon?\u201d<\/p>\n

Grace, leaning over to hear us, pouted out her lips. \u201cDamn,\u201d she said. \u201cWe thought it was you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA lot of people think it\u2019s me,\u201d I agreed. \u201cWhat\u2019s me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe thing that\u2019s bothering Sharon,\u201d Lennon answered, with a tone that indicated I was a fool for asking. Of course.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you speaking in code?\u201d I asked. It was worth a shot.<\/p>\n

Toni shook her head. \u201cSharon\u2019s been on edge for a few days, maybe a week,\u201d she began.<\/p>\n

\u201cFive days,\u201d Lennon corrected. I think he has OCD.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, five days,\u201d Toni went on. \u201cShe\u2019s not exactly snapping at people, but she\u2019s distracted. And she won\u2019t talk about what the problem is.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDistracted? Doesn\u2019t answer you quickly? Seems to be thinking about something else?\u201d I asked, exhausting my synonyms for \u201cdistracted.\u201d<\/p>\n

They all nodded.<\/p>\n

I smiled. \u201cIt\u2019s something to do with a patient,\u201d I said. \u201cWhen she\u2019s deep into thought about a problem that\u2019s puzzling her, she goes to another planet mentally. I\u2019m surprised you guys didn\u2019t know that already. Is there a patient whose case has been bothering her?\u201d<\/p>\n

They exchanged a knowing glance, but Grace said, \u201cYou know we can\u2019t tell you that, Elliot.\u201d And of course, she was right. Doctor\/patient confidentiality, you know.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I\u2019m guessing\u2026”<\/p>\n

I was stunned into silence by a sound from down the hall. Far down the hall. And I could hear it clearly.<\/p>\n

Sharon shouting in anger.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood lord, Betty, do it right or get out of the room! NOW!\u201d<\/p>\n

The door to the examination room opened, and Betty walked out, an absolutely astonished expression on her face. Toni looked at Betty and said, \u201cWhat was that all about?\u201d<\/p>\n

Betty, her lovely face streaked with tears, just shook her head. She pushed the door to the restroom open, and walked in. I heard the lock click behind her.<\/p>\n

There was a long silence at the desk where I was standing.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, so something\u2019s bothering Sharon,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

<\/style=”text-align:><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Chapter One Man does not control his own fate. The women in his life do that for him. \u2014Groucho Marx Friday Sullivan’s Travels (1941) and Train Trippin\u2019 (this week) “Sharon is missing.” I looked up from what I’d been doing\u2014playing an addictive little computer game called MacBrickout\u2014and that resulted in a double punishment for me. … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"yoast_head":"\nA Night at the Operation - Jeffrey Cohen<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.aarontucker.com\/wp\/a-night-at-the-operation\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"A Night at the Operation - Jeffrey Cohen\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Chapter One Man does not control his own fate. The women in his life do that for him. \u2014Groucho Marx Friday Sullivan’s Travels (1941) and Train Trippin\u2019 (this week) “Sharon is missing.” I looked up from what I’d been doing\u2014playing an addictive little computer game called MacBrickout\u2014and that resulted in a double punishment for me. ... 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