I look at the man on my exam table. I shouldn’t be attracted to him. I mean he’s good looking, so he would catch any woman’s eye. He’s tall and has arm porn that would make any woman weak in the knees. He’s got an aura of danger about him and a bad boy vibe that goes on for miles. That’s not why I shouldn’t be interested in him though. No, that reason is pretty much summed up in one sentence.
“You have gonorrhea, Mr. Kane.”
“That’s not fucking possible.”
“I’m afraid it is, the good news, is that despite your lapse in judgment, it is curable. However, I would suggest we test you for other sexually transmitted diseases including HIV.”
“I don’t fucking have AIDS lady.”
I frown at his reply. It’s not the first time I’ve dealt with a belligerent patient, but after working for thirty-six hours straight, I’m just not in the mood.
“Mr. Kane, have you or have you not been having sex?”
“Yes doctor, but I always wrap my shit up. So I’m telling you, your goddamn diagnosis is wrong. Now how about you get your ass out there and find me someone who knows what the fuck they are doing around here.”
I hold my head down and let out a big breath. I rub the tension headache starting at my temple. I really should have tried to do my residency in New York. I stupidly thought the small town atmosphere of London, Kentucky was what I wanted.
I’d like to say my next actions are because I am tired, or the fact that I’m on my period. I’d also like to think it is because of this patient’s crappy attitude. Still, I know the truth. The truth is Mr. Kane hit a sore spot. I’m vain enough to admit it. His words are startling similar relate to the chewing out the chief resident gave me this morning. The reason I was hauled onto the carpet wasn’t my fault, but a mistake made by a nurse. Yet, since the resident in question is busy banging said nurse, I took the hit. So, with Mr. Kane’s words, I can’t hold back. I don’t even try. I snap.
“I do know what I’m doing. I absolutely know, Mr. Kane. The fact that you’ve had sex with someone who has gonorrhea, upped your chances of getting the disease. Now if you did in fact wrap it up, then possibly you didn’t when you gave or received oral sex. Perhaps you had one night of drunken sex and forgot to wrap your shit up, as you so colorfully stated. I do not know how or with whom you transmitted the disease. What I do know is that you have, in fact, contracted gonorrhea, or more commonly referred to as the clap, if that helps. So what’s going to happen, Mr. Kane, is simple. You can keep a civil tongue in that pretty boy head of yours when speaking to me and be thankful that you do just have gonorrhea, or you can leave. Now, I will warn you, should you choose to leave, that foul discharge that you’ve kept hidden that keeps leaking out of your penis, will only get worse. That burning sensation you have when you urinate, will only increase. Those swollen glands along your neck, will only get worse. What I suggest you do instead, Mr. Kane, is man up.”
He looks at me strangely. I can’t say as I blame him. In fact, had my chief resident walked in during my speech, I would be in major hot water. However, he didn’t and I’m tired, plus Mr. Kane is the last patient that stands before me and a much needed three days off. So instead of practicing caution, I forge ahead.
“Pretty boy?” He asks. “Did you just call me a pretty boy?”
“I told you to step up. Take your medicine like a grown man, without belittling those of us who are trying to ensure that you receive quality medical care. Take tests to confirm you don’t have something worse and, finally, make a list of your sexual partners to determine where you contracted the disease and make sure they get treated so that the cycle ends.”
“You just called me pretty boy,” he repeats and I try not to blush.
That was probably going a step too far. Well, in actuality, the entire speech was going too far. If he files a complaint, I am most likely through here. I’m not sure I care at this point.
“Mr. Kane, honestly, it’s late. I’ll have the nurse come in to give you a shot, and I’ll need you to follow up with your family physician…”
“Your eyes sparkle, when you’re mad.”
“I really…what did you say?”
“I said, your eyes sparkle, when you’re mad,” he repeats.
“Are you seriously…you’re hitting on me?”
“Is that so hard to believe?” He asks as he leans back in the chair and I think that perhaps I’ve lost it. It’s definitely past time for me to go home.