COLUMN: To Run and Not Grow Weary

From Tim Zeigler's Turn Your Head and Cough," Fall '95 John had cystic fibrosis, a genetic disease that begins to cause problems for its victims shortly after their birth. It primarily affects the lungs and intestinal tracts, causing varying degrees of respiratory and nutritional problems, depending on the severity of the disease in each individual. Although his disease was fairly mild, he was a frequent visitor to the hospital for routine "tune-ups", a few days of intensive therapy to keep his lungs clear of any major problems. We became good friends. He would usually give a call the day he was admitted, wondering when I would "come by and play cards for money?" Fortunately, I could routinely abuse my position as a medical student in order to hang around well beyond the usual visiting hours. So when my schedule permitted, we would stay up late playing cards, shooting some wicked games of bumper pool, or just talking. People used to ask us if we were brothers, which was usually pretty amusing to both of us. Most likely it was due to a mutual affinity for wire-rim glasses and an ever-present baseball cap. I was fairly comfortable with the comparison, but I think John could have been paid a higher compliment. There are many good stories to tell about John. Pulling pranks and making crank phone calls were routine parts of trying to counter the tedium of being in a hospital. The time he faked a seizure in front of some student nurses stands out as one particular high-point. Unfortunately, I lack most the details about that particular episode. Given the limited space I have, I will confine myself to two other stories I know fairly well. In July of 1993, I was in a nasty little car accident while driving back from a particularly excellent Yankee game. All parties involved were actually fairly lucky, no serious injuries sustained. But I did manage to get a bit of a scrape on my forearm (down to the muscle) that became infected within a few days of the crash. So while I should have been playing doctor in the HUP emergency room, I was instead playing patient for a few days while getting intravenous antibiotics. It was disruptive, but not particularly dramatic. As it happened, John was admitted for a few days at the Children's Hospital for one the routine "tune-ups". Shortly after learning I was now a patient in the hospital next door, he executed a typically bold plan in his usual daring fashion. Snagging a wheel-chair for effect, he rolled himself off his floor and down to the lobby of Children's. Unable to leave CHOP or enter HUP without an escort, he quickly befriended an extremely kind-hearted woman who agreed to assist him. Escort in tow, he wheeled into HUP's lobby, got my room number from the information desk, and rolled into my room. The crucial part of the mission now completed, he liberated his escort from further duties (after a brief introduction and effusive thanks). Then, using my playing cards and his Copenhagen, we quickly got down to the usual business of playing a few hands of poker and having a chew -- yes, I realize that partaking of tobacco with him may be viewed as positively reinforcing a practice known to be destructive and habit-forming. But to make him chew by himself seemed -- after all his trouble -- downright ungrateful if not plain rude. The kid was positively giddy over the notion of us hanging out in the hospital while I was the patient. "Y'see, Tim? See what a good friend I am? I heard you were in the hospital and here I am. I came right over. See what a good friend I am?" John, I never had a finer friend. On another occasion, I had arrived home after a tiresome day of feigning medical brilliance when John called to tell me he was admitted for a few days and asked how soon I'd be over. After some futile whining about how beat I was, I shortly agreed to do him the immense favor a visit. After all, he was probably desperately bored already. I arrived at his room a while later, just as a respiratory therapist was finishing one of his treatments. She stuck around a few minutes to talk with him. Then another therapist stopped just to say "hello". Then his nurse came in to check on him. Then two other off-duty nurses stopped just to visit. In the space of two minutes, I watched as no less than eight people gathered round his bed to chat for a few minutes. The notion of me doing him a "favor" by my visit quickly became pleasantly ironic, even comical. I thought it was great that so many people would take some time to do something for John. And then, as I looked at all the smiling faces that surrounded his bed, I realized there was a great deal that John was doing for all of us. Truly a thing of beauty. John was laid to rest a few weeks ago. He died after a difficult course in the hospital. In the weeks before his death, he was surrounded by people who cared for him and cared about him. His parents were by his side at the end. He was lucky in that respect. So until such time as we can once again play cards for money (or whatever the afterlife equivalent is), I will smile at the many excellent memories of my friend. Carry water, chop wood. Do you think they have Skoal or Copenhagen in eternity? I hope it's Skoal... Tim Zeigler is a fourth-year medical student from Williamsport, Pennsylvania. Turn Your Head and Cough appeared alternate Wednesdays this semester.

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