Going Bananas

I have not seen any patients since Sunday, August 25^th. Combination of neurological dysfunction, pharmacological alteration, and psychological fear…there have been some days that I have felt like I probably could go to the clinic, but the fact remains that my colleagues have my shifts covered and I have not seen any patients in almost a month. I don’t think I’ve ever gone that long without seeing a patient since graduating medical school. I miss it.

Since I had just started the transition to a more “8 to 5” administrative position as residency program director, I have been trying to at least go into my spiffy new office. While nervous about my ability to see patients, I figured any bonehead could sit at a desk answering emails, rubber stamping stuff, attending meetings, and moving the stapler from one side of the desk to the other. However I soon found that my malfunctioning acoustic processor and auditory filter could not handle the imaginary “Carol of the Bells”-ish clatter playing along with the constant chatter, questions, phones ringing, AC fan getting louder and LOUDER and LOUDER like an 18 WHEELER ENGINE IN MY HEAD.

I found myself becoming exhausted, disoriented, and frustrated earlier and earlier each day. I’m doing a little work from home but have not gone to the office at all for the past 2 days. Sublime silence in my Laz-E-Boy has indeed settled my mind as I contemplate surgery next week. But the clattering noises, metal mouth, and heavy tongue are readily summoned, especially when the kids arrive home from school each afternoon with their buckets full of chaos.

Early every Thursday morning Amy runs a charity food distribution give-away at a church just a few blocks from our house. I have never gone with her before, but decided I wanted to go help pass out the food today…you know, do something useful, helpful. When we pulled in, there were already hundreds of people waiting all around the parking lot perimeter. I overheard conversation that some had been there since 5:00am to stake out an early ticket number for the line. Many pushed rickety rusted shopping carts, but most clutched makeshift carriers such as those ubiquitous canvas Wal-Mart bags, milk crates, laundry baskets, or even trash cans.

I recognized some of the clientele as parents of kids I’d seen in the clinic. Most others were an assortment of people I was not at all surprised to see out there: Old guy with oxygen tank and walker, scrunch faced man in stocking cap muttering to himself and yelling at birds, toothless lady joyfully repeating “I got #2, I got #2, I got #2” to anybody that would listen (many were impressed or envious), young unshaven guy with homeless smell and strips of torn paper towels inexplicably wrapped around his shins and feet, old lady with thick glasses in her kelly green Sunday best including pillbox hat and corsage wandering around finger in the air non-stop praising-be. There were a few young families and a few fancier folks who were clearly providing their less fortunate neighbors with transportation to this weekly gathering. I was glad to be there and was very proud of Amy.

As the usual truck arrival time drew nearer, there was a growing excitement, anticipation, and rumbling. Wonder if they’ll have chicken today? Hope they have carrots! I got #2, I got #2, I got #2. Those potatoes last week were so good. Once the big rig arrived and the inventory assessed and unloaded, Amy put me in charge of passing out bananas on the shady side of the truck. Because there were tons of bananas this week, people would be able to have as many bananas as they wanted and wouldn’t fuss at me. I’ve got hundreds of bananas in front of me with dozens of boxes still on the truck, and I’m ready to pass them out. Bring it.

Clatter clatter clatter Carol of the Bells clatter chatter chatter why is there an 18 WHEELER ENGINE IN MY HEAD I got #2 I got #2 I got #2 BE QUIET BIRDS Bananas oooooh look at all those bananas how many bananas can we have AM Radio AM Radio AM Radio 1 banana #2 banana 3 banana 4 Do they have carrots today clatter clatter chatter chatter Carol of the Bells 18 WHEELER there really is an 18 WHEELER RIGHT NEXT TO ME DOESN”T ANYONE ELSE HEAR THAT those potatoes last week were so good IT'S SO LOUD BE QUIET BIRDS AM Radio I got #2 I got #2 I got #2 I GOT #2 I GOT #2

“Are you OK?” It’s Amy.

“No I can’t do this. I need to sit down.” Welling up with tears. Not helpful.

Back in the van, doors closed, AC running quietly, radio off, no bananas, no 18 wheeler, sublime silence settles my mind. I rested my head on the window and watched the reflection of the food line procession in the passenger side mirror, all the people with their shopping carts, grocery bags, milk crates, laundry baskets, trash cans. Amy is directing everybody: the volunteers, parents of my patients, old guy with oxygen tank and walker, scrunch faced man in stocking cap muttering to himself still yelling at the birds, homeless-smelling paper towel shin foot guy, kelly green Sunday best lady still praising-be, young families and fancier folks. It's all silent and very distant.

The lady who got #2 walked happily in my direction from the line, pulling her trash can now full of food, bunches of bananas balanced on top. Her reflection grew larger as she got nearer and I could see her joyful toothless smile. I noted the banal Toyota disclaimer with an unusually disconcerting neurological dysfunction, pharmacological alteration, and psychological fear:

Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.

-kpb 9/19/13