With the chart resting on my crossed legs, I asked, "What problem are you having, Mr. Hugo?"

The woman on the other side of the bed replied, "He has a bleeding ulcer, but his left knee and foot are what really hurt". Her voice was staccato, yet strangely monotonal. She faced the head of the bed, her profile partly covered by tarry hair. After answering my question, her head drifted backward like a turtle withdrawing into its shell, causing the pale skin beneath her chin to bulge. The crumbled words on her snug black T-shirt advised: "Experience is what you get when you don't get what you want".

I turned to Mr. Hugo. "How long has your leg hurt?"

The woman replied, "Since he came to the hospital, beginning of the week".

Mr. Hugo was staring at the opposite wall. Strings of hair, the color of used dishwater, fell over his ears, just touching the beard that grew from his face and neck. His beard parted widely in the shape of a smile, showing a dark space bordered by chipped teeth. The blueness of his eyes seemed muted, like a midmorning ocean sky.

"Do you see anything at all?" I asked.

He laughed, his large abdomen shaking the bedsheets. "Not a thing," he bellowed.

Again I focused on his leg pain, and the woman answered each question. Her gaze wandered over my head and slightly to the right; my eyes swept the floor. Frustration yielded to curiosity and I asked, "What relation are you to Mr. Hugo?"

"We've been engaged for years. We can't get married. We'd lose half our money," she said.

I asked Mr. Hugo to show me where he hurt. His fiancee nimbly slid her hand between the bars of the siderail and, with a lover's touch, slowly skimmed her fingers along his thigh until she found the swollen warm knee. When I gently touched his knee, he sharply rolled his leg away in pain.

Mr. Hugo's sudden movement startled the other visitor, a barrel of a man with curly hair who had been sitting silently at the foot of the bed. My eyes and mouth gaped. He had at least 20 earrings hanging from his head!

I tried to resume the examination but kept turning toward the earring man. Finally I said, "Excuse me, sir, but I have to take a closer look".

Mr. Hugo and his fiancee grinned. The earring man seemed bewildered by my attention. I inspected the turquoise and emerald-like stones dangling from his ears, the silver crosses and stars hanging from his lips and cheeks. He sighed, and the diamonds anchored to his nose twinkled in the room's white light.

Amazed I asked, "Do these get infected—do you have earrings on the other parts of your body?" He studied my lips and had the bemused expression of a portly geology professor returning from an unusually successful rock collecting trip.

Mr. Hugo called, "It's not like a rash, Doc!"

His fiancee giggled. "Must be a sight".

"Does this jewelry have any religious significance?" I asked.

"If he were that religious, he wouldn't be our friend," Mr. Hugo roared. "He adds one piece of jewelry every year".

"Where do you people come from?" I asked, imagining the answer might be The Land of Oz, or even Los Angeles.

"South Colorado Springs," the woman answered matter-of-factly.

"Where did you meet?"

"Years ago, we were students together at the Colorado School for the Deaf and the Blind. We kind of take care of each other," she said; then she and Mr. Hugo began to laugh deeply. Seeing his friends laugh, the earring man chortled, setting his jewelry in chaotic motion.

Yes, I thought, together they make one—a magnificent whole—she with her keen ear, maternal concern, and sensitive touch; Mr. Hugo battling suffering with unbridled laughter; and the earring man with his sight and artistic sense. Three people-bonded by trust, need, and experience.

Looking at them I explained, "A part of you has gout. I can treat that. I think you'll all feel more comfortable".