The Patient Was…

The patient was a 50-ish year-old male from somewhere in the Arab world, and his name appeared on my appointment list with the designation Sheik.

Although that honorific was a first for a patient of mine, the fact of his referral from a cardiologist in London was not so unique. A few years earlier, at a global conference in Monaco in which I had a small organizational role, I had met and befriended a well-regarded cardiologist from London. Coincidentally, his wife and mine had met independently at an off-site event for spouses of the conference attendees, so the four of us spent some time together.

From then on, if the English doctor had patients coming to the New York area, he would give them my name in case they needed medical attention. And I did the same for patients of mine who were traveling to the London area. Over the years, a few patients from the U.S. or the UK took advantage of the opportunity, and the arrangement seemed satisfactory.

When the patient arrived in my office, he was nattily attired in what looked like an elegant Saville Row suit. He was accompanied by an enormous man dressed in a long-sleeved, ankle length, traditional Arab robe.

“My bodyguard,” the patient said, indicating his companion. When they sat down in the waiting room, which was fortunately empty, the bodyguard’s robe parted slightly, revealing a long-barreled gun beneath the outer garment. I must have looked startled because the patient added, casually, “I have diplomatic status that allows him to carry a weapon.”

When the patient came into my consultation room, his bodyguard remained in the waiting area, so it was just the sheik and me. After a few introductory pleasantries, we started to discuss the reason for his referral and visit with me. It was not uncommon at the time for wealthy and well-connected individuals from Arab countries to seek medical consultation and care in London, and recently more and more had also sought the same in the United States.

I was finding it somewhat difficult, however, to concentrate on the medical story I was hearing from this very pleasant and well-spoken gentleman before me. It was, you see, a time in recent history when tensions between Israelis and Arabs were once again especially high. And while I had no personal ties to Israel, the societal antagonism between Jews  and Muslims was not confined just to the Mideast.

Finally, I put up my hand to stop the recital of his medical history. “Look,” I said, “you know that I’m Jewish. With all the cardiologists in New York City, and all that is going on in the world between Arabs and Israelis, and with evidence of antisemitism abundant, isn’t it just a little odd that you would choose a Jewish doctor?”

“What do you mean?” he replied. “I was told you were the best doctor for me to see. All that other stuff is meaningless.”

“But people are being killed,” I said.

“Oh, that’s not important,” he countered, waving his hand in dismissal. “That’s just public posturing, for political reasons.”

“People dying is public posturing? Killing people is just political?” I asked.

“Yes. All that really means nothing. What is important,” he emphasized, “is two men sitting together, peacefully, discussing something of personal importance. All the rest is outside and unrelated.”

We sat looking at one another for a long moment, and then I asked him to continue with his medical history. He was, after all, my patient and, no matter my personal feelings at the time, he deserved and got my full attention. After examination and appropriate testing, I found him not to have any cardiovascular problems or to be at risk. And I was oddly pleased to be able to tell him so, as if it were my tiny contribution to peace

The details of our meeting have stayed with me all this time. Patients’ personal health is overwhelmingly important, and should be the primary focus of their physicians, yet I still grapple with the idea that national armed conflicts, societal hatreds, and personal enmities could be considered unimportant or irrelevant in any context.