Chapter 7 #3
“We need more space,” Raymond exclaimed. “That is, your patient needs it. Ask the two male flight attendants to go take care of the other passengers, so there’s more room. Keep only the woman here with you. Ask her what happened before he passed out,” he ordered.
“It would be better if there were fewer people around,” Thomas suggested shyly. “But could you stay and explain what happened?” he asked the woman.
The two male flight attendants left. The woman clearly felt flattered to have been chosen to help the young doctor.
“He asked me for something to drink. When I brought him a glass of water, he seemed agitated and was sweating heavily. At first, I thought he was having a panic attack because of the turbulence. He wasn’t making sense and started acting aggressively.
He kept asking for his bag and was wheezing as if he couldn’t breathe.
Then his face went white and he fainted. Do you think it’s a heart attack?”
“Maybe, but I suspect something else,” Thomas heard himself say, as if his father had possessed him. Then he watched as he took the man’s pulse and declared that it was slow but steady.
“Take his hand and tell me if it’s cold,” said his father. “I can’t do that part.”
Thomas grabbed the man’s hand awkwardly, as if he were shaking it, surprising the flight attendant.
“Cold,” he mumbled.
“All right, now lean in toward his mouth and tell me if it smells like apples.”
“Are you kidding me? This isn’t House,” groaned Thomas, citing the medical TV show. The flight attendant raised her eyebrow.
“Do as I tell you!”
“His breath doesn’t smell like apples,” Thomas said, straightening up as the flight attendant stared.
“So, he’s not in ketoacidosis,” Raymond concluded. “Push hard on one of his cheeks, at the place where the jawbones meet. Don’t ask me why.”
Thomas did as he was told, and the man moaned.
“Now we know he’s just unconscious, not in a coma,” explained the surgeon. Raymond ordered his son to roll up the man’s sleeves and look for needle marks.
“There’s a big one,” Thomas said in a confident tone. And once again he found himself speaking without intending to: “Didn’t you say he’d asked for his bag?”
“Yes,” the flight attendant replied cautiously.
“Bring it here.”
She hesitated, then complied.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” she asked, handing over the man’s luggage.
“I sure hope so.” Thomas sighed.
His father scowled. “Keep your snide remarks to yourself and go through his bag. You’ll most likely find a long, rectangular, orange plastic case containing glucagon. We’ll need that.”
Thomas found the kit just as his father had predicted. He opened it and discovered a syringe filled with a solution and a bottle containing a powder.
“Now, do exactly as I say. It’s easy, you’ll see.
First, take the seal off the bottle, then plunge the needle through the plastic lid and push down on the plunger to empty the solution into the powder.
Just like that, perfect. Now mix it all up.
And now suck the mixture back up into the syringe.
I’m impressed, you’ve done really well.”
“And now?” Thomas asked worriedly.
“Lift up the front of his shirt. Use your left hand to pinch some flesh between your thumb and your forefinger, to create a fold. Hold the syringe like a dart, making sure not to touch the plunger.”
“There’s no way I can give this guy a shot,” Thomas said under his breath.
“Of course you can, you’re perfectly capable.”
“No,” he said, his hands shaking.
“Are you all right?” asked the flight attendant.
Thomas was holding the syringe just a few inches from the man’s stomach when his seatmate burst in behind them.
“This man is not a doctor! He told me so himself!” she protested vehemently.
Her expression filling with doubt, the flight attendant appeared about to intervene when Thomas stuck the needle into the man’s skin and emptied the syringe.
Everyone was silent for a moment. The flight attendant stared at Thomas, who kept his eyes glued on the passenger.
Thomas’s angry neighbor held her breath, and Raymond made sounds of rejoicing.
The man came to and asked where he was. Thomas’s seatmate threw up her hands and left, swearing that she wasn’t crazy—unlike some people on this plane.
Thomas helped the flight attendant take the passenger back to his seat, reciting his father’s instructions word for word. “Give him something sweet to drink. And you, sir, check your blood sugar regularly until we land.”
“Thank you, doctor,” the flight attendant and the passenger replied practically in unison, to Raymond’s delight.
The flight attendant said she wished she could invite Thomas to finish the trip in first class, but the cabin was full.
“Don’t worry, it was no trouble,” he assured her.
He went back to his seat and leaned over toward his neighbor, who was still all worked up. “There’s no rule that says I can’t be a doctor and a pianist,” he said.
“Looks like your dear old dad still has what it takes,” Raymond said. “You did good, kid.”
“I guess so, but what if he hadn’t woken up? I would have ended up in handcuffs for risking a man’s life!”
“Is he dead, or is he feeling better? You should be proud of yourself for taking such a big risk to help save someone. Are you going to hold this against me now?” Raymond asked with a hint of irony in his voice.
Thomas thought for a moment, then turned to his father and asked, “What exactly happened while I was helping that man?”
“While we were helping him! I seem to remember giving you some assistance.”
“That’s exactly what I mean. Was it just a feeling I got, or were you actually talking through me?”
“A feeling, I guess. I wouldn’t have dared.”
“That’s strange. I said things that don’t make sense to me and used words I don’t know. It was as if I was possessed.”
“So what? The important thing is what you did, not what you said.”
“Don’t ever do that again. It was a terrible feeling. It was like you existed within me.”
“Every parent’s dream! Living on in their children’s hearts,” Raymond replied in a joking tone. “Don’t make a big thing out of it. Your mother used to speak for you all the time when you were young. I’d ask you a question and she would answer.”
“Were you always this jealous of her?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now, get some rest. We have a lot of work ahead of us.”
The plane flew over San Francisco Bay. As it turned left, Thomas could see the bright-red outline of the Golden Gate Bridge hovering over the water.
Thomas felt better as he left the plane. The man in first class had gotten off first. The flight attendant thanked Thomas warmly at the door.
Thomas returned her smile and made his way up the gangway.
“Why don’t you ask for her number? She must be here for at least two days before she returns to Paris. You could invite her to dinner tomorrow night.”
“And do what? Lie to her by continuing to pretend that I’m a doctor? You act as if I had nothing else planned for this trip.”
“I have your best interests at heart. It seems I left you much too soon. I still had so much to teach you.”
“Mom said something along the same lines recently.”
“Really? When exactly did she say that?”
“Maybe you should keep quiet while I go through immigration,” said Thomas as he got in the line that seemed to have no end.
“Why don’t you come right out and ask me to shut up, then.”
“I just did.”
Thomas watched nervously as the immigration officer inspected his passport.
If this man asked him to open his bag, Thomas felt sure he would do more than sniff the contents of the urn.
When the officer asked why he was in the United States, Thomas said it was for a funeral.
The man didn’t have any more questions after that, and just an hour after landing, Thomas found himself sitting in a taxi on his way to the city.
As the Transamerica Pyramid came into view in the distance, Raymond seemed troubled. “She’s here,” he whispered, “I can feel it. I haven’t been this close to her in more than twenty years. It’s quite moving, isn’t it?”
Thomas looked at his father. Seeing him so shaken made him feel something too.
“Yes. I guess we aren’t far now. I’ll do everything I can, I promise.”
“I know, son,” his father said, and he patted Thomas’s leg in the same way he had so many times before.