Jane
Copyright
© 2020 Michael S. Kochin
All
Rights Reserved
Jane and I sat down at a window table in
the doctors' cafeteria. We had been up
all night, gotten through rounds, but neither of us could sleep, so we went
down for an 11:00 brunch. The food, as
usual, was unspeakable, but the winter sunlight was a welcome change from the fluorescents
in the halls or at the nurses’ station.
Jane and I had been friends since our first year of college. Two young women first-years, both pre-med, though I majored in biochemistry and Jane majored in Russian Literature. We both won early admission to the University of Chicago medical school, and both of us had chosen to stay for our residencies. Jane had stayed because of her boyfriend, now her husband, a fifteenth-year graduate student in the Committee on Social Thought. I, because..., well, when you are a fourth generation Hyde Parker, it just never occurs to you to leave.
We talked about various things, rounds,
the attending physicians, most of whom had propositioned me, many more than
once. We also talked about Mr. Robardsun,
an old philosopher retired from the University, who was dying of cancer, or so
his doctors said. The trouble is, at ninety-two
everything takes a long time, including dying of cancer. Robardsun, who had nobody to take care of
him, had been admitted from the nursing home nine months ago. Every week or so he'd have a crisis, which
would keep him from being discharged, but was never quite enough to push him
over the top. What was most amazing was
that he was still working, even while groaning in mortal pain. Or at least, he would work when he wasn't
entubated. His magnum opus, demonstrating
finally that only mind was real, and that body and pain where only
illusions. He had been working on the
page proofs since 1947, since shortly after he'd received tenure. And he was still at it. As his pain had gotten worse he had taken to
adding new footnotes, trying to prove to himself ever more desperately that his
sufferings were only illusory. The
struggle was no doubt what was keeping him alive.
Then Jane said, "Ellen, I have the
best thing to tell you."
"What?"
"I haven't had severe menstrual
pains in four months."
Now you have got to realize that Jane
always had the worst periods. Heavy flow, terrible cramps before and
during. She had started taking birth
control pills in College, even when she wasn't in a relationship. The pills had kept her from turning green and
fainting during her periods, but had done nothing for the pain. And she was off the pill, because she and
Rick were trying to conceive.
Jane's pains were bad, well beyond the
reach of Motrin or Tylenol. "That's
great, Jane," I said, "what the trick? Chinese herbs? Or are you trying to tell that you are four months
pregnant?" I asked, straining to see her belly from across the table.
"No," Jane said, "I'm not
pregnant, unfortunately. But I have
finally found a drug that works for the pain.
And would you believe it, I heard about it from an ER patient, an
uneducated crack whore on welfare with three kids paid for by the state."
"You ain't smokin' crack, is you, girlfriend?"
I asked.
"No, I haven't tried that,"
Jane said. "But you see, this
patient, a thirty-two-year-old Black female with a history of drug abuse, as we
say, gets sent to me when I was covering the ER."
"'What's wrong?’ I asked her.
"'Doctor,' she said, 'I have got the
worst pains in my belly'.
"So I go through the diagnostic, and
get her to describe the pain. Then I ask
her, 'have you ever felt pains like this before?'
"'Yes Doctor, every time I get the
monthlies.'
"'Every time,' I said.
"'Every time,' she said, 'since my
last little girl was born.'
"'Do you take anything for them?’, I
asked.'
"'Well, Doctor, I used to take
smack, but the Judge said, last time I was in Court, that if I tested positive
for smack again when I was picked up, she would revoke my probation. And then who would take care of my babies? So I came in to see if you could give me
something.'
"I gave her some aspirin and got her
out of there. But it set me to
thinking. Heroin was out of the
question, but maybe some other opiate?
So I tried codeine, but that only helped a little. Then a while later I was walking by Mr. Robardsun's
room, when I heard him shout, "Damn fucking pills, damned if I ever take
any of them!" I went in. 'Is something wrong, Mr. Robardsun?' I asked."
"Robardsun's whole being was
shriveled with pain. He did his best to
collect himself, then he said, 'I dropped some pills on the floor. Could you pick them up?' Sure enough his morphine dose was on the
floor. I assumed that he had knocked
them off his tray, somehow, since the cup of water the nurse had given him had spilled
too. When I bent down to pick up the
pills, though, I noticed that his bureau drawer had a hundred of them."
"He noticed my surprise, and
understood what I had discovered. I
said, 'Mr. Robardsun, are you taking your morphine?'"
"'No,' he said. 'Mind your own business. But since you figured things out, you just
take them all out of the drawer and throw them away.'"
"'Mr. Robardsun,' I said, 'the pills
will relieve your pain.'
"'Pain is an illusion,' he snapped.
"'Mr. Robardsun,' I said, 'does your
doctor know that you aren't taking your pills?'
"'Hell no!' He shouted. When I told him I didn't want any of his quack
"Pain"-killers he kept sending those goddamned psychiatrists to
me. They kept asking me whether I wasn't
taking the pills because I was depressed.
And when I told them that I wasn't depressed, they told me I should be
depressed, since I was a ninety-two-year-old man without any family who was
dying of cancer. So I decided that I
would tell my doctor that I was willing to get the pills. But instead of taking them, I just throw them
in drawer. I just happened to drop right
before you came in. But why don't you
take them. Flush them down the toilet,
give them to the kids with hangnails, just get them out of here!
"So I did. And when I next got my period, I took one, as
needed. The pains went away immediately. And the stress too. You know, in the last year, every time I get
my period I get upset. Another chance of
getting pregnant blown. But the morphine
takes the blues and sends them on an all-expenses paid weekend in Maui."
"But Jane, you are going to get
caught, and lose your license."
"Nah, nobody knows how I get
them. Robardsun doesn't know my
name. And everybody thinks he's taking
his pills. There is one thing that
worries me, though."
"What's that?"
"If I get pregnant, I won't get my
period. And then I won't have any excuse
for taking morphine."
"You are completely insane," I said,
but I could hardly conceal the admiration in my voice. So U. of C., and so Jane.
