Just Like Someone Without Mental Illness Only More So_ A Memoir - Mark Vonnegut [32]
Malvesti had a spooky left eye that would break into herky-jerky circles while the right stared fixedly ahead. Then the left would be drawn back into line as if by gravitational force. I tried to map out what pathways must be broken to make his eye act like that but couldn’t help finding it just plainly unsettling. He also had ceremonial scars on his face.
“Every patient has to have vital signs taken before being seen by the doctor,” explained Helen, who stood a good four inches taller than Malvesti.
“I will see the doctor now. I do not want you touching my child.”
“What’s going on here?” I interrupted cheerfully. I had been watching and listening through the two-inch round hole in the door. “I’m Dr. Vonnegut, the doctor in charge tonight.” Any senior resident in his right mind would have sat back and let the intern handle the case. The truth is that I got bored when I wasn’t taking care of patients, and this case seemed way more interesting than most.
“He doesn’t want to undress the baby or have us take his signs,” said Helen, rolling her eyes behind and over Malvesti.
“It can’t hurt to talk a little before taking vital signs.” Sometimes I make myself gag.
Helen rolled her eyes again and left.
I reached out my hand to Malvesti, who ignored it. I did my best to ignore that he ignored it. If I was armed with a stun gun and a baseball bat and Malvesti was blindfolded with both hands tied behind his back, he could have destroyed me in a minute or less. I knew from his patient-registration data that he was thirty-four years old, almost exactly my age.
“I am expecting that you will tell me what is necessary to make sure my son does not go blind from the infection in his eyes.”
“I promise you that we will not let this infection harm your son’s eyes,” I said, standing slightly stiffly and speaking with a clipped, vaguely British-colonial accent that made it sound like English was maybe not my first language.
The baby was resting quietly in his mother’s arms. His eyes were not even a little bit red or swollen. There was a very small amount of crust where the upper and lower lids came together at the nasal bridge.
“I understand from the last place we took our son that the germ that might blind him is one that is passed by sexual activity. I do not have any symptoms of disease, and my wife has never been with another man. How is it possible for our baby to have this germ?”
At Children’s Hospital Malvesti and his wife had balked at allowing the doctors to swab their son’s eyes or apply antibiotic ointment, insisting they be allowed to treat him at home.
There were now nine sidekicks in battle fatigues left in the waiting room. And more and more of our beefy security guys milling around.
“The doctor there filled a care and protection order,” I said. “If a doctor thinks that parents are not acting in the best interest of their child and that their child might be at risk of serious harm, he can ask a judge to temporarily give custody of the child to the hospital,” I explained.
“We will do the ointment and go home now,” said Malvesti.
I later learned that there were twenty-four state troopers backing up hospital security out front.
“We believe in preparedness and self-defense but not hurting people. It’s very good for the morale and discipline of my men to be taken so seriously,” said Malvesti.
Everyone else was blending into the woodwork. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to make some calls,” I said.
The judge was not in a good mood. No compromises, no deals: Prince of the River Nile Smith would be admitted for observation and treatment of conjunctivitis that wasn’t really there.
“There will be no blood tests or injections, right?” Malvesti asked, realizing that the trap was swinging shut.
“I’m just the doctor in charge down here.” My heart was in my throat, and racing. My goal right then was to not throw up. “You will