INNER CHILD

By Jason P. Preu

 DOCTOR’S OFFICE - PRE-OP DIAGNOSIS

     “It is much worse than I thought,” said the wrinkled doctor in a hushed German accent.  He was facing away from the patient.  “I’ve never seen a case so…” The doctor paused and slowly revolved in his chair, gazing with intent at the patient.  “…advanced.”  The word escaped from the doctor’s parchment lips on the tail end of an unforced exhalation.

     “I must tell you what two options are available to you and ask how you wish to proceed from this point.  The first and simplest option available is to plainly ignore the growth.  There are millions upon millions of people who are living happy, healthy,” the doctor drew a breath for emphasis, “normal lives with this very condition.  I must repeat, however, that I have never before seen such an accelerated growth as yours and it is because of this very fact that I recommend the second option, which is the removal of the growth.”  The doctor licked his lips while the patient sat in a state of agitated contemplation.  The patient was having trouble keeping his attention on the doctor’s words.  His eyes drifted to the wall charts, to the doctor, to the jars of medical supplies on the desk and back to the doctor.  Increasingly, he had been having trouble focusing and the doctor’s pronouncement had confirmed the patient’s suspicion that the growth was to blame.

     “Removal of a thing such as this is no minor operation, yet you should have no cause to worry.  It is a procedure that is being performed routinely in this country and the margin of error is very slim.  Should you elect the removal of this growth you will only be required to stay in the hospital one night after the surgery and then make the necessary arrangements to attend two follow up visits with me.  This is a very standard procedure, I assure you, and in five years time you, in all likelihood, will be able to put the whole experience behind you.”

     The doctor stood up and switched off the box the he was using to illuminate the patient’s x-rays. He then walked over to the opposite wall and switched on the overhead light.  His eyes were squint shut as he said “You do not have to decide right at this moment what it is you wish to do.  I understand the importance behind a decision such as this and do not wish to pressure you in any way.”  The patient looked at him quite plainly and said, “I have to use the restroom.”  “Sure, sure,” breathed the doctor, “go out this door, and take a left.  Continue down the hallway until you come to the water fountain.  The men’s room is on the right, past the fountain.”  The patient hopped off the table, took a few steps across the cramped office and walked out the door. 

     The patient deliberately paced himself.  Once out the door, he stopped completely, and then turned his entire body to the left before continuing.  He had to concentrate at every step; the desire to bound down the hallway was that strong.  He was trying to let the doctor’s diagnosis and subsequent recommendation sink into his awareness.  It was hard, what with so many things to touch and pick up and play with along the way.  He hopped onto the standing scale and slid the counterweights to and fro.  He grabbed a stethoscope that was lying on a table.  He put the earpieces in his ears and took turns placing the amplifier on his forehead, fingertip, and kneecap.  Finally, after taking one forced step after another and several other distractions, he found the bathroom.  The patient walked to the last stall while clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.  The echo made him giddy so he whistled while shaking himself dry. 

     Having finished using the toilet to its fullest purpose the patient began to walk back towards the doctor’s office.  As he passed by the water fountain, he stooped to take a long drink.  He didn’t swallow right away, but held the water in his mouth, causing his cheeks to bulge profusely.  A nurse walking by looked at him rather quizzically and continued on her way.  He swallowed the water, giggled, and almost choked, as he continued on his way back to the doctor’s office. 

     The office was empty so he turned off the overhead lights and turned on the x-ray illuminating box.  He ran his fingers over the buttons of his shirt, clumsily undoing them.  Bathing in the light of the illuminating box, he took off his shirt and stared at the growth in the x-ray, then at the growth on the left side of his rib cage.  X-ray, flesh, x-ray, flesh.  Back and forth, back and forth until he heard a quick rapping on the door and the doctor poked his head in. “I want it removed,” he said with a forced, hardened voice that did not in any way match the placid smile with which he marked the doctor’s return.

OPERATING ROOM - SURGERY

     Lying on the cold steel of the operating table, the patient’s anesthetized thoughts drifted from vivid fantasies of talking, geometric entities to imagined conversations with a benevolent creator.  “Don’t worry,” the deity said in a hushed, German accent.  “Once you’re off of this table the real world will become sharper.  Your goals will be much more tangible.  You’ll be able to leave your past meanderings behind.”  The patient smiled at the creator and fell into an unconscious bliss, feeling completely reassured.

     The knife began its work and didn’t stop for two hours.  It was a very determined instrument.  The amount of gore was substantial and the doctor’s involved were having trouble deciding what to do with the removed growth.

     “We can’t just throw it in with the bio-waste,” announced one doctor as he was stitching the patient’s side back together.

     “What do you suggest?  A call to the maternity ward?” asked another sarcastically.

     “I want to study it,” came the hushed, German reply of one of the surgeons. 

     “What?” several doctors cried at once.

     “You can’t do that.”

     “You’ve no right.”

     “You don’t have the patient’s permission.”

     “The patient has terminated his relationship with this organism and forfeited any and all claims to its future status.”

     “Did you tell him what it was?”

     “I explained the nature of his condition to him fully and gave him both options of treatment.  He himself opted for removal.  Gentlemen, you are all aware that this is not an isolated case.”

     “Not an isolated case?  Doctor, we have never before seen an inner child so far along in development as the one we have just removed.  All prior instances of this type of anomaly report growths that are under a year or two at the most.  The only required treatment is medications as a way to diminish the organism’s effect upon the body as well deter continued growth.  A full removal is completely unheard of.  I’m telling you nothing new am I, Doctor?” 

     “Did you make the patient aware of this fact, Doctor?”

     “Not in so many words,” the good doctor answered.  “He was having some difficultly concentrating at the time, you see.”

HOSPITAL ROOM - POST OP

     The patient’s eyes opened slowly and winced at the bright light they encountered.  They scanned the room through half-opened lids, helping the patient get his bearings.  “Why is it so bright?” he slurred and slobbered.  His eyes let the question hang in the air in front of him.  He brought his right hand over to his left side and patted himself down from his underarm to his hip.  “Funny…I don’t feel any different.”

DOCTOR’S OFFICE - FOLLOW UP I – SIX MONTHS POST-OP

     The patient unbuttoned his shirt for the nurse.  “I can tell you honestly, I have not felt this fulfilled in years.”  The nurse smiled mechanically and placed the stethoscope on his back.  “Breathe in,” she ordered, “and out.”  She moved the cold, metal amplifier over various other parts of his body, repeating the only line given to her character in this part of the scene.  “But seriously, you can’t imagine how it feels to have a clear notion of what lies ahead for you, knowing that your goals are attainable, after so many years of mindless wandering, searching and being frustrated at every turn.”  He paused, trapped between two mirrors in a moment of self- reflection.  “All because of that thing,” his reflection spoke unto his infinite selves.  “I do have one complaint, however.”  The nurse looked up at him, made a motion that he should hop up on the table, the left the room without another word.  “Yep, only one complaint.  I’m still having trouble sleeping.  But, that ain’t so bad really.  Leaves more time for the work to get done.”

     The patient sat on the table’s edge, waiting for the doctor.  In general, he was pleased and picked up a magazine from a rack on the shelf.  He thumbed through it slowly, noticing the people portrayed within its pages all looked so perfect, so happy, so self-assured.  People that know what they want, he said to himself.  How many of you were once like me.  He seemed to remember reading once a statistic about how many millions of people per year underwent a procedure similar to the one he had. The statistic had given him some sense of justification at what he had done to remedy his own situation.  It may have been drastic, but by God, it got results.

     The doctor eased into the room some minutes later, interrupting the patient’s daydreams of reaching the summit of Mt. Maslow.  “Hello, hello,” came the words, filtered through that German accent.  “I must say you are looking remarkable.  Why don’t you take your shirt off and lie down on the table so that I may get a proper look at you.”  The patient complied with all of the doctor’s requests then he was asked to sit up again.  The doctor began to look at the patient’s throat, ears, nose and eyes.  He frowned as his penlight searched the patient’s pupils.  “What is it, doctor?” the patient queried.  “I’m not sure.  Have you been sleeping well?”  The patient felt no need to lie.  “Not particularly.  Every night I lie down to try to sleep but I can’t seem to focus my thoughts on sleep.”  The doctor clicked his tongue.  The patient continued, “I usually wind up lying in bed for a few hours just to rest my body but invariably I end up in my study working, writing.  I was planning on coming to you earlier, but figured it could wait until this follow-up.” 

The doctor pulled out his prescription pad and scratched down some words in the sacred, indecipherable language that exists between medical professionals.  “Well, I don’t see any cause for worry at this point.  The medicine that I have prescribed for you here should take care of most of your sleeping troubles.  And as long as you are remaining productive in your waking hours I will allow you to judge whether to come see me again should your lack of sleep become unaffected by this medicine.” 

The patient smiled and began to button his shirt together.  The doctor handed him the prescription and said, “I will still need to see you in six months for your last follow-up.  At that time we will negotiate a schedule of future check-ups.”  The doctor turned to go.  When his hand touched the doorknob he called back to the patient, “I hope you don’t mind me asking but, are you happy with your decision?”  “Happier than I’ve ever been, doctor,” the patient replied genuinely.  The doctor clicked his tongue and left the room.  Happiness becomes me, doctor.  It’s really all that I am focused on. 

PHONE CALL – NINE MONTHS POST-OP

     “Good morning, medical office.  How may I direct your call?”

     “Nuhd to…schpeak…with…” the voice spoke as if through clinched teeth, forcing the words.

     “Hello, sir?  May I help you?”

     “Doc…teeh.”

     “Sir, do you need a doctor?  Sir, you’ll have to speak up,” the phone operator pleasantly directed.

     “Need…muh…laugh…muh laugh.”

     “Sir, I am so sorry.  If this is an emergency, please hang up and call 911.  This medical office is not equipped to handle those in need of immediate assistance.  Sir, do you understand?  Please hang up and dial 9-1-1.”

     The click of the line going dead echoed in the patient’s ear.  The echo chased its tail within his mind until the loud, blaring siren of the disconnected phone arrived to take its place.  The patient did not seem to notice either noise and made no effort to hang up the phone.

DOCTOR’S JOURNAL – TEN AND A HALF MONTHS POST-OP

     4/28

The day has been a complete and utter disappointment.  After numerous, failed attempts at establishing phone contact with our illustrious patient I took it upon myself to track him down. Curious as to his well being, I arrived at his apartment sometime around nine this morning.  Immediately I knew that something was wrong.  The smell was atrocious as I stood at the door, amazed that his neighbors could allow such an odor to diffuse unchecked throughout their building. 

I was not deterred from my goal, however, and knocked heavily upon his door.  I received no answer (and at that point would have been quite surprised had one been forthcoming).  I took it upon myself to enter his apartment by forcing the door open.  I was overtaken immediately by the combined foulness of rotting flesh, food, and feces, which caused me to retch right in the patient’s doorway.  Quite an embarrassing reaction for a man in my line of work. 

As I became accustomed to the thick stench, my other senses were given leave to take note of their surroundings.  My eyes, brimming with tears from just having vomited, took note of all the pages of loose-leaf notebook paper strewn about throughout the foyer and the hall beyond.  There were no lights on so my hands reached to the wall to find a light switch.  To my surprise, I found that the lights were on, or so I judged by the position of the switch, so either the power was shut off or the bulbs burned out.  My hands prodded along the wall, leading me further into this disheveled flat

I made my way into the living room, walking over papers and God knows what else along the way.  There was some light sneaking into this room from behind the blinds that covered a sliding glass door.  I walked to the blinds and opened them wide. 

The sunlight shone on papers strewn about, books lying open, bowls and plates filled with unfinished meals.  The entire floor was covered with these things.  My heart quickened as I surveyed the detritus.  Looking down at the papers I noticed that they seemed to be blank.  I thought that to be very odd indeed when suddenly a clicking sound the came from the back rooms of the flat interrupted my ponderings. 

I went to investigate; plodding all the while through the debris that I could see covered the entire floor of the flat.  I came upon a door, partly open, and pushed my way through.  The trash on the other side offered some resistance.  A heavy sigh of relief broke from my lips when I entered the room and saw the patient, sitting upright at a desk with his hands on the keys of a typewriter.

“Hello,” I called to him. 

No response.

“Hello,” I tried again.  “It’s your doctor, sir.”

No response.  No movement.  No acknowledgement of my presence whatsoever.

I moved further into the room, coming to rest behind the patient’s shoulder.

“Sir, we at the clinic have been trying to get in touch with you to schedule your final follow-up.  I also wanted to see if the sleeping medication I prescribed to you has been working.  Sir?”

CLACK.  The patient had struck a key.

I leaned over his shoulder to see what he was typing but the page appeared blank.  Leaning in further I saw that this was a mistaken observation.  There were five letters typed on the center of the page. 

F O C U

I quickly stood straight, took a deep breath.  Upon exhalation, I dropped to my knees and grabbed a handful of papers from the floor.  One after another I flipped through them.

F O C U S
F O C U S

F O C U S

F O C U S

The same word, in the center of every page I laid my eyes upon.  Thousands of pages.  One, single word.  I looked up at the patient, a fistful of papers still clutched in my fist. 

I stayed there, on my knees, looking at him for a long time before I stood up.  Then I clicked my tongue, straightened my suit coat and began to walk away.

CLACK. 

I closed the bedroom door behind me and walked to the front door, hanging up the phone as I passed by.

THE END.