Coma

Susan concentrated on the submerged needle point. At first it tended to push the vein in front of itself. She tried the countertraction trick: same problem. She tried the countertraction combined with a decisive lunge with the needle. She could feel the pop as the needle burst into the vein. Blood flowed back through the needle, filling the attached plastic tubing. Quickly she hooked up the I.V. line, opened the stopcock, and removed the tourniquet The I.V. flowed smoothly.

Both parties felt definite relief.

Having actually accomplished something, something medical for a patient, Susan felt a tinge of euphoria. It was a small affair, a mere I.V., but nonetheless a definite service. Maybe there was a future for her overall. The euphoria brought a feeling of expansiveness to Susan which included a heightened sense of warmth with a shade of condescension toward Berman in spite of the hospital environment.

“You said before that I don’t look like a doctor,” said Susan, getting the tape out to secure the I.V. line to the back of Berman’s hand. “What does it mean, to look like a doctor?” There was a slight tease to her voice as if she were more interested in hearing Berman speak than in actually listening to what he had to say.

“Maybe it was a silly comment,” said Berman, watching every move Susan made while taping the I.V. line. “But I do know a few girls who went into medicine from my graduating class in college. Several of them were OK; all of them were bright; there was no doubt about that, but they were hardly feminine.”

“They probably weren’t feminine to you because they went into medicine rather than vice versa,” said Susan, slowing the I.V. to a steady drip.

“Possible ... possible ...,” said Berman thoughtfully. He recognized that Susan’s interpretation represented a new perspective. “But I don’t think so. Two of them I happen to know quite well. In fact I knew them all the way through college. They really didn’t decide on medicine until the last year. They were just as nonfeminine before as after their decision.

Whereas you, Dr. Wheeler-to-be, have a distinct aura of femininity that envelops you like a cloud.”

Susan, eager to take exception to Berman’s comment regarding his friends’ femininity, was caught off guard by Berman’s reference to her own femininity. On the one hand she was tempted to respond, “Are you for real, buddy?” while on the other hand she thought that Berman might be serious and actually paying her a compliment. Berman himself decided which way Susan’s mind would turn.

“If I had to pick what your vocation was,” continued Berman, “I’d have to say you were a dancer.”

Having stumbled on to Susan’s own fantasy concerning her alter ego, Berman opened the door on Susan’s personality. To her, appearing like a dancer was definitely a compliment, and therefore she was more than willing to accept Berman’s comment about her femininity as a compliment as well.

“Thank you, Mr. Berman,” said Susan with sincerity.

“Please call me Sean,” said Berman.

“Thank you, Sean,” repeated Susan. She stopped her activity of gathering up the debris from the I.V. paraphernalia and looked out the dirty window. She didn’t notice the dirt, the brick, the dark clouds, nor the lifeless trees. She looked back at Berman. “You know, I wouldn’t be able to tell you how much I appreciate your compliment. It might sound rather strange to you, but to be quite honest I haven’t felt feminine over the last year or so. To hear someone like yourself say so is enormously reassuring. It’s not that I have dwelt on it, but just the same I have begun to think of myself as ...” Susan paused, thinking of the right word.

“Neutral, or neuter. Yes that’s the right word, neuter. It has happened slowly, in degrees, and I guess I’m really only aware of it by comparison when I get together with some of my former college classmates, especially my former roommate.”

Susan suddenly stopped in the middle of her thought and straightened up. She was slightly embarrassed and surprised at her own unexpected candor. “What am I talking about? Sometimes I can’t believe myself.”

She smiled and then laughed at herself. “I can’t even act like a doctor, much less look like one. I’m sure that the last thing you want to hear about is my professional adjustment difficulties!”

Berman looked up at Susan with a broad smile. He was obviously enjoying the interlude.

“The patient is the one who is supposed to do the talking,” continued Susan, “not the doctor. Why don’t you tell me what you do so that I have to shut up?”