Dr. Hubris

A Story by Ozurite

You are a doctor, working your way through a couple patients ... when you learn a lesson you will never forget.

You walk into your office ... for the day. You don't work here every day. In this office, I mean. You work in this building every day. Well, not every day ... you need days off too, just like everybody. Obviously. A successful doctor like you doesn't simply work every day and never spend all that glorious money he makes! Not that you make a lot of money ... Ugh. I'm really doing very badly with this, aren't I? Let's try again.

You walk into your office du jour. It doesn't have your name on it because it's not technically yours, but you treat it as such anyway. Such care and such (com)passion goes into this office when you're there. The hospital isn't just your work place or your second home, it's the very heart of your life - your LEGACY is here! Every life you save, every child you give a sucker, and every friend you've ever made ... it all starts here.

Ah, look. Your first patient of the day! A grizzly looking man, wearing overalls over a basic flannel shirt. Work boots, dirt, filth, and scars galore. Clearly a farmer - but a farmer with a unique twist. His face is absurdly clean, his body is aged well into the 30's but the skin of his face is more that of a 28 year old. His hair is a little long for a farmer, you notice as he takes off his baseball cap. Even with it all slicked back under a coat of sweat you can see the definition of each intended cut in his hair. He has a basic ring on his second-to-last finger on his left hand - clearly married.

He walks into your office but doesn't sit down after you indicate such. He's nervous, but trying to hide it as best he can.

"Good morning, Mr. Loggins." You say as you read his name off his chart.

"Mornin' Doc Heckerman." you hear in a weak voice that's trying just a little too hard to show confidence and strength. "I didn't tell the nice lady outside what I need beca---" You cut him off, already knowing exactly what Joseph Loggins is here for.

"I'm gonna need you to bend over so I can see if we can Band it, or if we're gonna need to get you into surgery." You say, half distractedly as you gaze over his chart some more.

"But I ain't even told you what---" he's angered as he's cut off yet again.

"Yes you did. The fact that you won't sit down tells me where it is, you're wearing a wedding ring so you're clearly married, yet according to your fill you've been to the STI clinic three times this year. Clearly you're cheating on your wife. The care you put into your face and the cut of your hair tells me you're likely gay, which ties in very well with the location of the issue. You've got hemorrhoid's and the fact that you're here indicates you've already tried and failed with the creams you already knew I was going to recommend. The fact that you aren't sitting, while trying to compose yourself as carefully as you are means they're causing you enough pain that you wouldn't be able to hide it, which again means we'll either need to Band them or go in to surgery. So please, spare us both the trouble, take your pants off and bend over."

"You think y'er smart don't ya? Fancy doctor in a fancy coat gets to play god with people's lives. I knew I shouldn't'a come to you but I did. Callin' me a f*g and actin' like you know me. Ain't nobody know me and ain't a damn thing you got right about me. Sounds to me like y'er projecting or some psychological bullshit and puttin' y'erself onto me, so why don't you go ride a dick m**********r 'n' change y'er name 'cause name's ain't supposed ta be PC. The name's Hellerman, Doc. Get it right."

The enraged patient storms out, and you're as confused as ever at his response. This is nothing new, however ... You know that sometimes people don't like you knowing things about them, but you just can't help yourself. You're a bit of a showoff but that's why people like you. Right?

The day goes on and patients come and go, as always. You make them laugh, you make them cry, but most importantly, you make them feel better. Most people come to the free clinic your hospital hosts for minor things. Mostly the poorer people in your area of the state, and it's sad to say, but they also tend to be the less educated.

-------------3 WEEKS LATER------------------

Another day, another office ... and another five thousand patients. Not literally, but it sure feels like it. You're starting another 7 - 3 shift, and you haven't even had your morning coffee yet. Your choice. You just feel fantastic today. You fear that might change as you watch 23 year old Katelynne Abernathy walk into your office, practically at gun point with her mother.

The mother, Jane, is a little shorter than her daughter. Laugh lines on a scowling face, bags under her eyes, and hair going this way, that way, tangled like headphones fresh from a stuffed pocket. The daughter sniffles on her way in. You motion for the two of them to sit down.

You begin the same as always, "Good morning, Mrs. and Ms. Abernathy."

"Goodmorning, Doctor Hardick." Katelynne pipes up, with a grin.

"That's not my name, you know." You motion to your uniform nametag, but Katelynne clearly doesn't care - nor do you. You're fresh out of university, 28 years old. You regularly experience older patients harmlessly flirting with you, Katelynne may be younger but she's hardly something you can't handle.

"Not yet, but it could be. I could make you hard dicked." She overannunciates the last two words.

You force a fake cough, and trudge through the obvious attempts to make you uncomfortable. You look to the mother for an explanation as to why the two are sitting in front of you. The daughter fiddles with something in her hand, not breaking her gaze into your directions.

The mother starts up, "She's been irritable lately. She hasn't cared about anybody or anything, she sleeps all day - refuses to go to school. She's started making herself puke every morning just to get me to lay off." Katelynne scoffs. I'm at my wits end, she's wasting the thousands of dollars I've spent on her education! I'm scared, Doctor. She's clearly depressed and needs to see a therapist. I was hoping you could point me in the right direction."

"Katelynne, have you been experiencing any strange food cravings, dizziness, or consipation?" You ask, in a mellow uninterested tone.

"Yes, I'm experiencing a strange craving right now, Doctor. Care to help me?" Katelynne bats her eyes dramatically.

"My apologies but there's no cure for a craving except the food you---" She cuts you off again. This time, you raise your head a little and look her in the eyes as you listen to her explain that it's c**k she's craving, but not the type that's cooked in the oven.

"I'm going to need you two to leave." You gracefully place your clipboard on the desk next to you, and stand up. The mother tries to apologize to you, but the daughter is already half way out the door when the mother finishes. "When you get home, look for bloody tissues in the garbage. If you see any, get her into rehab immediately. She's pregnant and about to come down hard off of a cocaine habit. If she doesn't kill herself this way, she may just kill that little baby she's got inside her." You rub your nose, indicating to Katelynne's mother that she should look at her daughter a little more closely. "Redness." You explain in a single word, as you push the mother out and close the door.

You sit think to yourself about the life said baby may lead. Bleak. Very bleak, that childs future is.

--------------3 WEEKS LATER--------------------

Doctor's don't like to think they can get sick. They're above it - they are the cure carriers. The shaman's of the modern day, blessed by God to fix any and all ailments that may come their way. As much as doctors rely on their intellect, they must also rely on their bodies to be healthy. This is abundantly clear on days like today, for your colleague and friend Dr. Sloan, whose shift you are covering today. Might I note, on your day off. The day goes smoothly. Bumps, bruises, and grandmothers bringing in their third-generation babies so their mothers can still go to work. It makes the grandmother feel useful, and important. Frankly, it's a highlight of your day to let these little old ladies know that little Sally or Billy has nothing a few antibiotics can't fix.

Your day is about to come to an end, with just one last patient to come in - you recognize him immediately as he enters your office. It's abundantly clear he doesn't recognize you. "Welcome back, Mr. Loggins." He's still not sitting, this time he's more anxious and not trying in the slightest to hide it.

"It hurts when I sit. It hurts when I walk. When I wipe ... I can feel it coming outside of me." He begins spews out the words unabashedly. He looks desperate for help, this time. 'For such a sturdy and reserved man to be so outward with these symptoms, it must be serious,' you think to yourself.

"Are we going to bend over, this time, or am I to see you again in another month and a half?" He slowly removes his pants and undergarments, and leans over the bed, exposing his anus to the wall behind him. You stand up, put on a pair of latex gloves. "Spread them for me, please."

Your heart sinks - your initial diagnosis was wrong. Prostate cancer.

------------1 WEEK LATER-----------------

RING RING, RING RING, RING RING

You've always hated the idea of something so pure and full of life as music being used as indicators on phones. Music should be enjoyed, and you've always looked to phones as essentially alarms that have built in communication systems. Ringing is supposed to be an unpleasant sound to get your attention, and let's face it - as a doctor, when your phone rings, most of the time it's a friend or family member asking about those lumps on their arm or why their stool is green. Phones are annoying.

It's 3AM, but you're a good man. Not just a good man, you are a GREAT doctor. With no family to speak of, you fill the void of human connection with work and the few friends you've kept in contact with from university. So when you answered your alarm, and Dr. Sloan, your oncologist friend responded, you knew it couldn't be good. Metastisis. Mr. Loggins bones were so full of cancer, he didn't last a full week after the last time you saw him in the clinic.

"Thank you for calling, Sloaner." You say half-heartedly as you hang up your mobile.

You sit up. You think. Still barely awake, you process the brief call you just finished. "How?" You ask yourself. "How did you miss it?"

You stand up, you sit on the toilet, and you urinate. You feel better, that way. It's more comfortable ... more relaxing. You've been doing it since you were a child. There's no splatter and you can sit there as long as you like, texting, reading, or simply thinking.

"There's no way you should have missed that. Such an advanced stage ... you should have known it wasn't hemorrhoids. Why did you assume hemorrhoids?" mumble to yourself as you open your dresser, pulling out the home-made placebo's you make for your friends. Empty pill capsuls you fill with crushed up Tums. Harmless, entirely useless, yet miraculously cures headaches, stomache aches, anxiety, anything really.

"You thought he was gay. He stormed out of the office when you suggested it ... he wouldn't let you check him." You say, almost trying to rationalize, but not believing a word you say. "You didn't have to say that. You -never- have to say what you do. In medical school they told, you they f*****g told you! Let the patient lead you to the problem, not the other way around." You empty seven of the pre-made capsuls. You walk to your garage, and open on a can of white paint your grandparents had back when they owned this same house back in the 50's.

"You save lives. You save a lot of lives in your job - you make people feel good. Children who just want to feel better so they can go play ... People who can't take care of themselves ... Innocents. You take care of them all, you are a good man, Heckerman. You've always known you're a good man - wise, educated, helpful, you donate to various charities. Yet you fail when someone is relying on you, and you don't even realize it. Why? Because of your hubris, Heckerman." You take the 3 empty capsuls to the kitchen, after bringing the filled 4 to your bedroom. You fill the last of them with milk.

"'All the world's a stage,' right? You should never treat it as such. Stepping into the spotlight is fun, and keeps you moving forward. Ambition fuels you best in the spotlight. Playing the same role all the time though ... Playing the -star- is seldom a good thing. Playing it with everything you've got? Even worse - it drains you. Do not invest your tears ... Do not invest your laughter. They are yours and yours alone. Everything beautiful and everything ugly in our lives comes from within, and to pretend you are the star at all times ... it ruins that. People only have enough strength for themselves, you can not save the world." You walk back to your bedroom, and combine all the pills.

"John Lennon was right. Everybody does want to change the world ... and that we don't isn't a tragedy. That we can't? That there is the tragedy. What good is it to know what you know, when one bad gamble that seems so certain, can ruin a life? You didn't just ruin one life, you ruined a whole family. Friends. Everybody in his circle. You did your show, and you were the star. You lived with humanity as everybody should, because when you do, you change people's lives forever. But when you live your life with humanity, you become sure of yourself ... What was once new feels old, what once seemed questionable becomes a quick do or do not. Is this what it is to age? To gain experience? You just stop ... thinking? Do you stop feeling too?" You mix up the seven pills, with no way to destinguish between the paint and milk.

"You've got one more gamble in you, Dr. Heckman. Primum Non Nocere."

You pop a capsul in your mouth, along with a mouthful of water ... and you never wake up again.

-------------IN FRONT OF THE PEARLY GATES------------

You look away from the mirror Saint Peter put in front of you, and back to his eyes.

"How does it feel, to tell yourself your story, Mr. Heckerman?"

"Just as awful as ever..."

"Tell me, Mr. Heckerman, do you deserve to pass through these gates?