Doctors

  ‘I didn’t say I wasn’t scared, I was just trying to help us “calm out.” Anyway, why don’t we listen to the voice of experience?’

  He pointed to Skip Elsas, his one-time basketball team-mate, a fourth-year student and therefore someone who had actually been through this ordeal.

  ‘Come on, Elsas, give out,’ Bennett urged.

  ‘To be absolutely frank, guys,’ Skip began, ‘that first pelvic exam is one of the scariest things you’ll ever have to do. I don’t care how much experience you studs have had, you’ve never shone a lamp a few inches from the honeypot and examined it clinically. Besides, if you don’t know what you’re doing, you can cause the woman a lot of pain. The first thing to remember is to warm the damn speculum. I mean, how would you feel if somebody put a pair of cold metal tongs into one of your orifices?’

  A hand rose for a question. ‘Can’t we use lubricant?’ asked Hank Dwyer.

  ‘No, no. Your first job is to take clean cell samples – Pap smear, that kind of thing. Oh, yeah, and a culture for gonorrhea, too.’

  ‘You mean we’re going to be sticking our noses right into potential VD land?’ Lance complained with outrage.

  ‘Nobody said anything about using your nose,’ Skip responded with a tiny smile.

  There was scattered nervous laughter.

  ‘Okay,’ he continued, ‘when you get the speculum in, you open it, and – if you’ve positioned it right – you’ll be able to get a view of the cervix, which is down and posterior. You’ll know when you’ve found it ’cause it looks like a big pink eye. Then you do your smears and gently get the hell out.’

  Now a collective sigh of relief.

  ‘Wait,’ Skip protested, his arms raised like a policeman stopping traffic, ‘that’s only half the job. Now you can put some K–Y jelly on the second and third fingers of your examining hand (he demonstrated) and do your bimanual exam. That’s two fingers into the vagina – which may be a more familiar procedure to some of you.’

  He waited for appreciative chuckles, but they were not forthcoming.

  ‘Anyway, you put your other hand on the abdomen and try to assess the size and condition of the uterus – which normally feels sort of like a lemon. The secret is trying to look like you know what you’re doing. The whole damn thing should take less than five minutes. Oh – and one last thing, you’re going to have to keep a tight rein on your feelings because, believe it or not, the first few times it can be kinda … sexually stimulating.’

  He paused and then said, ‘Any questions?’

  Hank Dwyer’s hand shot up frantically.

  ‘Yeah?’ Skip inquired.

  ‘You did say that the cervix is pink, didn’t you?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Well,’ Hank continued self-consciously, ‘I’ve been, uh, doing a little practice. You know – with my wife—’

  ‘Yeah?’ Skip urged him on. ‘And what seems to be the problem?’

  ‘Well, I kinda flipped my lid at what you said. I mean, my wife’s cervix looks – well – blue. Could something be wrong?’

  ‘Well,’ their expert replied, ‘I can see you haven’t studied your textbook, old buddy. That’s called “Chadwick’s sign”.’

  Hank’s usual pallor turned white. ‘Is that serious?’

  ‘Well,’ Elsas said, ‘that depends on you and your wife. A blue cervix means she’s pregnant.’

  To which the erstwhile priest replied, ‘Holy shit!’

  The murderer struck again. A year after his first visit he (or she) entered the dog labs in the dead of night and randomly killed six specimens.

  The faculty was tempted to call in the police but Dean Holmes cautioned against it. The Humane Society had always been agitating against the use of animals for lab experiments and this unfortunate incident would only be a call to arms for them.

  ‘I think the best course is, as it were, to let sleeping dogs lie,’ he suggested in a secret strategy session with Professor Lloyd Cruikshank and the lab assistants. ‘We’ve got to solve this mystery in-house.’

  The dean pressed on. ‘Do we have any clues? We know he used overdoses of the usual painkiller, but is there any kind of pattern to this character’s behavior? I mean, did he always kill the same breed – bigger ones, smaller ones …’

  Mike, one of the assistants, raised his hand. ‘Well, the dogs were pretty well mutilated, sir.’

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘Well, as you know, some of those students are better with their scalpels than others. The lousy ones can really butcher the dogs’ insides.’

  ‘And cause them pain,’ the dean suggested.

  ‘Well, they’re anesthetized but, yes, some of the dogs probably suffer during the last few procedures.’

  ‘I take your point, Courtney,’ said Professor Cruikshank, speaking directly to the dean. ‘Do you think we’re dealing with a self-style mercy killer?’

  Holmes nodded. ‘I think all the evidence points in that direction.’

  Professor Cruikshank continued, ‘This started last year so wouldn’t it be safe to say it would be someone now in the sophomore class?’

  ‘Do any of you know any crackpots or nutty overaltruistic types from last year? Usually they make themselves known by delivering a sermon on cruelty to animals.’

  Cruikshank and his assistants were again deep in thought. Finally, Mike remembered. ‘The day after last year’s incident, that black guy kind of objected to Professor Cruikshank bringing in new dogs just for the final experiment.’

  ‘That would be Bennett Landsmann,’ the dean offered.

  ‘Yes, sir, I believe that’s his name.’

  ‘If he’s the perpetrator, I’m afraid we’ll have to hush this up,’ the dean commented.

  ‘Come now, Courtney,’ Cruikshank retorted. ‘Just because the chap’s a Negro—’

  ‘I didn’t hear that,’ Holmes replied sternly. ‘Now, Dr Cruikshank, may I speak to you privately?’

  The professor motioned to his junior men, who quickly made themselves scarce.

  Then he demanded, ‘What the hell is the big secret?’

  ‘I take it the name Landsmann doesn’t mean anything to you, Lloyd. Don’t you read The Wall Street Journal?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then you may have read that Federated Clothing has just bought out Royal Leathercraft – wholly owned by Mr Herschel Landsmann – for twenty-eight million dollars …’

  ‘And?’

  ‘To mark the occasion, and to express his gratitude to the university for educating his son, Mr Landsmann has given us a donation – which he insisted be anonymous – of one million dollars.’

  Cruikshank whistled. ‘My God. Do you know the young man?’

  ‘Yes, a bit – and he’s a solid citizen and he doesn’t seem the type. It’s very possible he isn’t the culprit.’

  ‘I guess that means we’re still stuck with a lunatic stalking the halls.’

  ‘Let’s not get carried away, Lloyd, he’s only killed a few dogs.’

  ‘So far, Courtney,’ Cruikshank cautioned.

  A group of them stood outside the gynecology examination room, uneasy in their ill-fitting white coats. They felt slightly fraudulent, pretending to be experts when they were little more than tourists in a land to which they had no visa.

  Grete Andersen emerged, a look of smug satisfaction on her face.

  ‘How did it go?’ asked a nervous classmate.

  ‘No problem. The patient was really happy to see a woman examiner who knows what it feels like.’ And she undulated off, while one or two of them fantasized about what examining her might be like.

  Barney’s name was called. He entered the room tentatively and was taken aback by what he saw. For his patient was already lying in the ‘lithotomy position,’ her heels in stirrups with a paper sheet draped across her from the waist down – so she would be unable to examine him examining her. A small blue-white spotlight was illuminating the precise area he would scrutinize.


  Following correct medical procedure, a female attendant was present, as chaperone and assistant. She helped him don his surgical gloves, then moved away so he could perform the examination.

  Barney looked at the patient. She was a peroxide blond in her middle forties, perhaps a little heavily made up.

  ‘Hi,’ he said in what he hoped would be a reassuring tone. ‘I’m Dr Livingston and I’ll be doing a cervical checkup just to see if everything’s okay. Please be relaxed and be sure to tell me if it hurts. I mean – it shouldn’t hurt. I’ve done this thousands of times.’ (This was an addition that Skip had suggested privately.)

  To which his patient replied with a single word: ‘Bullshit.’

  Refusing to believe what he had heard, Barney proceeded to examine the external genitalia to see if they were inflamed, atrophied, or otherwise. Gingerly he separated the labia and dictated to the nurse, ‘No vaginal discharge, no abnormalities of the clitoris.’

  A further perusal assured him that the thighs, mons veneris, and perianal region were all normal.

  Now it was time to use the speculum. He picked it up from the tray – it was the Pedersen model that looked roughly like a duck’s beak. It felt cold and he asked the nurse to run the hot water tap so he could warm it.

  Once again he told his patient to relax. Then, taking a deep breath, he separated the labia with the gloved fingers of his left hand and inserted the speculum into the vagina in a downward direction (to avoid the urethra).

  He reached the cervix with, he thought, minimal discomfort to his patient. At least all he heard was one murmured ‘Oh shit.’ Okay, he was there. Now it was time to fix the blades in an open position by tightening the screw lock at his end. He then took a cervical spatula and gently scraped the interior of the vagina for mucus, which he put onto a specially prepared slide. Then he handed the Pap smear to the nurse who would – at least theoretically – send it to the lab to be analyzed.

  He had to spray the slide with some kind of cytologic fixative to keep it pristine. Trying to lower his voice half an octave – to sound older and wiser – he ordered, ‘Spray please, nurse.’

  Without another word she handed him a bottle of – no, it couldn’t be – Revlon hair lacquer. He stared at her in disbelief. She smiled and replied ingenuously, ‘That’s what all the doctors use, sir.’

  ‘Oh,’ Barney replied. ‘Yes, of course. Many thanks.’

  He was halfway through. Now the manual. As he held his hand out and the nurse squeezed lubricant on his fingers, he thought it might be good bedside manner once again to reassure his patient. But, paradoxically, having probed her private parts he was now embarrassed to look her in the face.

  ‘Okay,’ he said confidently, but with his eyes averted, ‘if we just stay relaxed this next part won’t hurt a bit.’

  To which his patient replied, ‘I’m relaxed.’ Which did wonders for Barney’s confidence.

  Putting his left palm on her abdomen he began to insert his lubricated fingers into the vagina, at which point he heard the disconcerting sound of the patient breathing in low rapid breaths.

  ‘Are you all right, ma’am?’ he asked anxiously.

  ‘You forgot to tell me to do this, Doc. Short breaths keep the abdominal wall from tensing.’

  ‘Oh. Yes. Of course. Many thanks.’

  With his patient gently guiding his left hand, he was able to locate the uterus and determine its position, size, consistency, contour, and mobility. Then he swiftly checked the ovaries, and, in the words of the great not-quite-doctor Elsas, ‘got the hell out.’

  He concluded the visit with a gallant ‘Thank you, ma’am, you’ve been a good sport.’

  ‘Thanks, kid, you weren’t too bad yourself.’

  At the best of times meals in the cafeteria were strictly stag affairs, though Laura was frequently an exception to this. But tonight even she conjoined with others of her gender.

  It was a natural reaction. For the female students alone had truly empathized with the creatures whose heels were fixed in the stirrups as they opened their private parts to the maladroit manipulation of the opposite (tonight it was more like opposing) sex.

  But the men were not insensitive to the fact that several of them had caused their patients anxiety, discomfort, and pain.

  Bennett was one of the most penitent. ‘I know I hurt this woman,’ he kept repeating. ‘She sort of stifled her moans. But I just couldn’t find the cervix. Anyway, it felt like hours till I did.’

  ‘I’m glad I didn’t get yours, Landsmann,’ Barney remarked frankly. ‘I mean, my patient had more fun than I did. When she wasn’t putting me down she was just sort of laughing under her breath. Who the hell would want to be a gynecologist?’

  ‘Oh, come on, Livingston,’ Lance protested. ‘These weren’t garden-variety Mary Poppins types. These were pros.’

  ‘What do you mean, pros?’

  ‘You’re a jock, Livingston, let me put it in sporting terms. What Bill Russell is to basketball, these gals are to sex.’

  Barney’s jaw dropped. ‘No way – you’re just putting us on.’

  ‘Really,’ Lance replied. ‘Scout’s honor. The next time you want to do a pelvic on one of them it’ll cost you twenty-five bucks at the Hotel Berkeley.’

  ‘Cheryl, why the hell didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?’

  ‘Hank, I wasn’t sure. I mean, how did you know?’

  ‘Well, as it happens, I could see by the color of your cervix.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Are you angry because I’m pregnant, or just because I didn’t tell you?’

  He took a moment before answering. ‘A little of both, I guess. I mean, haven’t we got our hands full with the twins? How are we going to pay for all this?’

  ‘Your Harvard insurance will cover the maternity part. What other sacrifice is involved?’

  ‘Well, you may not think so, but I regard sexual deprivation as a sacrifice.’

  ‘Not all the time, Hank. I mean, modern obstetricians say—’

  ‘Don’t tell me what doctors say, dammit – it’s my place to tell you. And don’t say you were enthusiastic after the twins were born. I practically had to rape you.’

  ‘Are you trying to say we should have used some sort of birth control?’

  ‘Well, there are pills – Enovid, Ovral – on the market now.’

  ‘We’re Catholic, remember?’

  ‘Oh, come on, honey, join the twentieth century. I bet you even John F. Kennedy’s wife is on the Pill.’

  ‘She happens to be pregnant right this minute, Hank.’

  ‘Jesus, you’ve got an answer for everything, haven’t you?’

  Suddenly tears were coursing down Cheryl’s cheeks. ‘I don’t know you anymore, Hank. You’re blaspheming all the time. You keep shouting at me. I thought I was marrying a saint, and you’re turning into a monster.’

  He could not bear the sight of her crying. He took her in his arms and whispered, ‘I’m sorry. I must be overworked or something. Actually I think it’s great. Maybe this time we’ll have a boy.’

  Barney was immersed in study when there was yet another series of knocks on his door.

  ‘Hey, come on,’ he grouched, ‘can’t you see that DO NOT DISTURB sign?’

  ‘Hey, loosen up, Barn,’ came a voice from the other side. ‘This is your distinguished colleague, Doctor Landsmann.’

  Well, Barney thought to himself, at least Ben isn’t here to ask my spiritual advice. (Come to think of it, why not? He’s the only one who never has.)

  He opened his door. ‘Quick, Landsmann, I’m studying to be a doctor. What’s happening?’

  ‘I bring earthshaking news from Olympus!’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘The Malpractice Cup—’

  ‘No way,’ said Barney, waving his arm as if to hold off a missile. ‘There’s no force on earth that’s going to get me back on that court.’

  ‘Calm out, Livingston,’ Bennett said jovially. ‘Listen to the ti
dings I bring.’ He reached in his jacket pocket, withdrew a piece of paper, and handed it to his agitated friend. ‘I suppose there’s one of these waiting in your mailbox as well – this year’s competition is canceled.’

  ‘What?’ Now Barney’s face betrayed disappointment. ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, the official word from Dean Holmes is something to the effect that medical studies involve too much dedication to allow for such frivolities …’

  ‘Like hell. What’s the real story?’

  ‘Well, my humble guess is that since the Shysters have now got – in addition to Mack the Truck, who’s still only in his second year – two new freshmen who’ve played in the NBA, Dean Holmes is going the Falstaff route.’

  Barney nodded. ‘“Discretion is the better part of valor.” And, no doubt, the series will resume as soon as the Truck and his Trucklets graduate.’

  Bennett smiled. ‘I think we ought to have a drink to celebrate. I’ve hidden two bottles of suds outside your door.’

  Good man, Bennett. I wish I had more guests like you.

  Barney kept the celebration brief, since he was expecting Suzie. Scarcely a half hour after Bennett’s departure, there was another knock on Barney’s door. And it was not followed by Suzie’s dulcet voice.

  ‘Livingston’s not here,’ he called out.

  ‘Please, Barney. I’ve got to see you.’

  It was Laura. Her expression reflected her tone. She looked on the verge of tears.

  ‘I’m sorry, Barn, I know I’m being a real pain in the ass. But it’s something that can’t wait.’ She entered, carrying her green book bag behind her.

  ‘Sit down,’ Barney offered hospitably, pointing to his twelve-dollar, fourteenth-hand easy chair.

  She shook her head. ‘I’d rather stand, if it’s okay. I was doing some extra work in the lab so I didn’t get my mail till just now. That noble Father Francisco Xavier was helping my mother clear out the house when he found what he calls a treasure trove of my father’s writings. There’s one in particular that shook me to my boots.’

  ‘Can I see it?’

  ‘It’s in Spanish.’ She fumbled in her book bag for the tan envelope. ‘Read the first one. I’ll translate if you have any trouble.’