The Patient Was…

The patient was a man in his early sixties, and a true larger-than-life character: entrepreneur, business executive, world traveler, friend and colleague of other rich and powerful people.

He also had the common touch. People at all levels reacted well toward him, and he treated everybody with respect and goodwill. He didn’t stand on pretense, and he extended a hand to others. The executives in the company he led were extremely loyal and supportive, feelings he returned.

One typical example of his approach to things was to answer his own office phone in the executive suite if he happened to be free at the moment. Callers frequently stammered and stumbled, saying they had expected to hear his secretary answer the phone. He would say, “Did you want to speak with her or to me? If you wanted me, here I am.”

He had been my patient for some time, having quickly and easily earned my respect and affection. He had heart problems which required fairly frequent visits and medication adjustments, but there was almost always an element of non-medical fun when he was in my office. Members of his family, of whom I was also fond, consulted me as well.

At some point, he began to develop symptoms suggestive of a condition having nothing to do with cardiovascular disease. Suffice to say, it was a common condition, but one requiring specialized care. Although medications can sometimes relieve symptoms of this disease, frequently the only curative solution is surgery. Even today, although newer medications and technologies have been developed for managing this problem, surgery remains a mainstay of treatment.

His condition required surgery. I assured him that I would be in close touch with the surgeon and the surgical team while he was in the hospital. And, of course, I would manage any medical, non-surgical issues that arose. The patient agreed to be admitted to the hospital for surgery.

I told him that with the help of his surgeon I was arranging for his admission to a private room on one of the higher and nicer hospital floors. He disapproved of my plan.

“I want to be admitted to the floor where most of the patients with my condition are located,” he told me.

“But that is essentially a ward-type situation,” I said. “There are no private rooms, no private bathrooms.  Most of the patients don’t have private doctors. They are under the care of hospital-based staff, some still in their training in this specialty.”

“I don’t care about the privacy for the time I’m in the hospital,” he countered. “If something suddenly goes wrong and I’m up on some private hospital floor it would take some time for the appropriate care to reach me, right? But if I’m where there are always some doctors around, it’s safer in an emergency. Am I right?”

My first thought was: Damn! That’s why he’s a CEO. Strategic thinking.

“You are absolutely right,” I said. And when I told the surgeon, his reaction was the same as mine.

The patient was admitted to a ward where three other patients were already in beds. They had each been there for at least a few days, so were already familiar with one another and had established a sort of camaraderie. They apparently were all blue-collar workers, and there was genial banter among them.

The patient recognized his “status” was very different from that of the others in the room. He did not want to create any situation that could become uncomfortable based on their very different lifestyles and social positions. He didn’t try to engage in any conversation with his roommates; he lay in his bed, reading or trying to sleep.

Well, they weren’t having it. They tried to engage him in friendly conversation, asking him about himself, family, job, and so on. He was either noncommittal or didn’t respond at all, hoping they would become discouraged and ignore him. But they persisted, especially one of the patients whose bed was in the opposite corner of the ward. This individual wouldn’t let up. He finally said they were all workers who worked hard at their jobs, and accused the patient of probably not even working to make an honest living.

At this point, my patient more or less exploded. “Not only do I have a job,” he yelled, “I run a goddam company!”

“Bullshit,” was the response from the opposite corner of the room. “What’s the company?”

When my patient named the organization of which he was Chairman and CEO, the other man cackled. “I work for that company,” he said, “and you don’t run it.”

“Who is your supervisor?” my patient asked.

The man gave his supervisor’s name and asked, sarcastically, if my patient was going to call him.

“Not only that,” said my patient, “I’m going get him here to prove who I am.”

With that, he picked up the phone, called his office, and asked his secretary if she knew the person who was the supposed supervisor of the other man. She quickly identified him as a supervisor of a group of maintenance men.

“Get him in my hospital room. Now!” said my patient.

“What?” said his secretary. “Are you all right?”

“Just do it!”

He turned to the man in the bed across the room and said, “Hear that? Your supervisor will be here soon and prove to you who I am.”

“That call was bullshit,” the man said. “You didn’t really call anybody.”

Nothing more was said.

About an hour later, into the hospital room walked a nervous looking middle-aged man. He first saw the man in the far corner who had antagonized my patient. While he registered mild surprise seeing a guy who worked for him in the maintenance department, that patient registered astonishment to see his boss standing in the hospital room.  He couldn’t actually speak, but pointed at my patient in the other bed.

When the supervisor turned and saw the head of the company, he stared uncomprehendingly. Finally, he stammered, “Sir. What are you doing here? What am I doing here? What do you need?”

“Tell that sonovabitch who I am,” my patient said.

The supervisor turned to his maintenance-worker subordinate and said, “This is the head of our company. What have you done?”

The man, unable to speak, started to hyperventilate, shake, and sweat. The other two patients in the room, who had remained silent throughout the entire proceedings, began to ring their call-bells urgently. Nurses came in, curtains were pulled around the patient’s bed, and medical help was summoned.

After a while, that patient was wheeled out of the room, and my patient never saw him again.