Night and Day

The morning report room smelled like chicken tikka masala, pizza, and sweat. I cleared off several cardboard cartons from the table, sat down next to the chief resident, and gave her my team census.

“I see you've been eating well,” she said. “How was your night?”

How was my night?

The usual stuff, really. After the other residents had gone I became the senior most physician in charge of the headaches, heartaches, dyspneas, decubiti, fevers, and falls of the day. Not bad for a second-year resident in December. At 8:00 p.m. my pager sounded; 4 South wanted me.

“Are you on call for medicine?” asked the nurse.

“That's me.”

“Your patient has arrived.”

“What patient?”

“Your patient from the outlying hospital.”

“I don't have a patient from an outlying hospital.”

“Yes you do.”

“Look, no one told me about any patient from another hospital,” I said angrily. “You're making a mistake.”

“No I'm not. Your patient's here, and you need to come see him right now.” She hung up.

I stormed down the stairs to 4 South. The clerk, who had just heard half of the preceding conversation (and likely a few additional words from the nurse), handed me a thin manila envelope and pointed to Room 473. “His name is Baker.”

I briskly entered the dark room. “Mr. Baker, I'm Dr. Warm. Why are you here?”

Silence.

“Mr. Baker,” I repeated quickly, “why are you here?”

More silence.

My eyes adjusted to the dim light. Looking up at me with a vacant stare was …