Making Rounds and Oscar (2010) Read Online Free PDF

doctor can tell you, the chart you need is invariably the one that is missing. Anyway, I must have made it look awfully inviting because suddenly Oscar left Mary's side and jumped up onto the counter next to me. Then he twirled around twice before sitting down in a clump of fur on my paperwork.
    "Will you look at that," I said in anguish.
    "It's a cat's world," said Mary. "We just work in it."
    I grabbed the chart out from under Oscar, who glared at me.
    "You're gonna make me sit somewhere else, aren't you?"
    Mary laughed.
    "David, you never win an argument with a cat. Don't you know that by now?"
    She got up from her seat and motioned for me to sit down.
    "Here. I've gotta go down and see Ruth Rubenstein anyway."
    "Anything going on with her that I need to know about?"
    "I don't know yet, but Mr. Rubenstein wants to see me."
    "Do you need reinforcements?" I inquired, drawing a smile.
    "No, I think I'll be all right...but you might want to keep your pager handy in case I need you later."
    As Mary disappeared down the hall, I thought back to the first time I had met the Rubensteins.

    I LOVE MY JOB , even though it's sometimes less than satisfying. Often I'm the bearer of bad news, the detective with the inconvenient truth. Too often the suspects work in pairs, covering for each other: mother and daughter a lot of the time, or, in the case of the Rubensteins, husband and wife. If they work together to keep me out of their lives--even when they come to me looking for help--it's because I'm the messenger, the one with the bad news. I'm the one who confirms what they often already know deep inside. There's simply no easy way to tell someone they have cancer, heart disease, emphysema, or any other horrible disease that takes so much before it results in death. But it's particularly hard to tell someone they have dementia, even when the person intuitively knows it already.
    That's what I had to do with the Rubensteins some three years before. I had to look into the eyes of the eighty-year-old woman I had just examined and ruin her life. I knew from experience that her husband would be sitting with her, a deer-in-the-headlights look on his face. I knew this look and it said that I am their judge, jury, and executioner. To a certain extent, he would be right. I thought of the end of the mouse's tale in Alice in Wonderland : "'I'll be judge, I'll be jury,' said cunning old Fury: 'I'll try the whole cause and condemn you to death.'"
    Earlier on the day that I first met the Rubensteins I'd been with Mr. Earl, a delightful eighty-five-year-old with few medical problems and a mind that ran at full throttle. During his physical exam he told me in great detail about the book he was reading. Then he regaled me with stories of his recent volunteer work with a local nonprofit and his plans to travel to Florida for the winter. When my exam was finished I sat down with him. Even though I was running a little behind, I wanted to let him go on for a few more minutes before I moved toward the door, the indication that our time was over. He took my gesture with good grace and apologized for taking up more of my time than he intended to.
    "Mr. Earl," I said, waving off his apology, "I hope I am as healthy as you are when I get to be your age." I knew I wouldn't be--I already had more health problems in my thirties than he had--but I said it anyway.
    He smiled. "I'm a lucky man, Dr. Dosa. The trick is eight hours of sleep, a healthy diet, and lots of lovin'!"
    Who can argue with that?
    Donna Richards, my office manager, confronted me as soon as I stepped into the hallway. She was looking at her watch and seemed a little frazzled.
    "Are you done yet?" she asked.
    I nodded.
    "You have a new patient in room 3 who is getting restless. Her husband has already been out to ask where the doctor is. I've played interference, but you've got to speed it up."
    I told her I was doing the best I could. Of all people, Donna should know how hard it is to appropriately