She set her glass of water down as he ambled in. Today, the obnoxious man looked normal for a change. His attire wasn't any different from last time, just a different coloured silk shirt — cream. But his eyes looked less entitled. He set his reports down on the desk in front of her.
“Sit,” Ritu tipped her chin.
“You sit first.”
She scowled — “This is my OPD. I run it the way I want. If I ask you to sit, you sit. If I ask you to lie down, you do it without question.”
His eyebrow cocked up.
“Take that middle-school attitude and your reports away if that’s how you are going to behave. Sit, I said.”
His wry amusement turned to outrage. As if something terrible was keeping him here, he sat. Then leaned back in his chair, crossing one foot over his other knee.
“How is it that you are one of the best cardiologists on the East Coast and have no New York accent?”
Ritu took her seat and opened his reports, going through the charts and his GP’s covering letter. Things looked better than she had expected. His CRP sensitivity was down, as was his cardiovascular inflammation. Her eyes found his CT reports and she held up the scan, then checked and entered his passcode into the computer to access the video.
“Have you had any restlessness this week? Pain, numbness, pressure, discomfort?” She asked, like she had learnt to do in her years working under some of the best cardiologists in the states. While you read reports, watched CDs, checked scans, took BP — always keep your patient engaged. They should never gauge anything from your face as you reviewed their reports. A good doctor was first a good mind controller. You had to make them as calm and comfortable as possible, even if the news was bad. Especially if the news was bad.
Now, this holding-a-conversation-while-reviewing was second nature to her.
“Last night.”
Ritu glanced at him from her screen.
“This woman had the most cutting things to say to me. Other than that, no discomfort.”
“Ok,” she set down his reports. “You must have heard by now that Dr. Shravan is not returning until next month. I am here, taking over for the time being, and you do not want to talk straight to me. To be honest — neither do I. I will review your reports today, and after that, I will ask Anu Madam to refer you to another cardiologist.”
“I want to see you.”
She stared at him.Was he joking?
“What do the reports say?”
She scoffed — “What is wrong with you?”
“I haven’t slept well last night.”
“Not today. Generally. What is the problem with you? I am telling you that you do not have to come here again. And the cardiologist we refer you to will be good. Rest assured.”
“Am I high risk?”
Ritu blinked, seeing the confident, simmering outrage dull down to the scared patient she had glimpsed behind the thorny, cocky man on his last visit.
“Did you show these reports to your GP?” Ritu took her eyes back to the screen, marking the flow of blood in his heart.
“This one came today.”
She nodded, switching out of the window and turning to him — “These reports are better than what I expected.” She got to her feet and walked around the table, pushing the blood pressure pole close to him. Without even asking, he began to remove his fancy cufflink and roll his shirt sleeve. This close to him, she could hear the thump of his heart, going softer and softer. He was relaxing. His breaths were also less audible.
“So, no angioplasty or CABG?” He asked, suddenly vulnerable as his face tipped to her while she wrapped the cuff around his bicep.
“Six weeks,” she pumped the machine, the stethoscope buds in her ears. She heard the tick, noted the value. 130. Another tick, and the second value. 80. She pulled the earbuds off and slung the stethoscope around her neck, uncuffing him.
“130/80,” she pronounced. That was another thing she had learnt from her seniors. Announce if the values were under control.
“It came 120/80 this morning.”
