The Human Touch 2013 - University of Colorado Denver

My dysfunctional family
Lynne Yancey, MD
“Hey there, honey. Sister! Hey! I’m hungry. Get me some food, girl. I need
somethin’ ta EAT! You hear me?”
I am the senior attending physician in this academic emergency department. I
am hardly your girl. My face hardens as I step out of range of the fi lthy hands
reaching for my starched white coat. The gurney makes the entire hallway
reek of alcohol, urine, and sour tennis shoes. He leers at my midsection with a
toothless grin.
“Hey, bitch! I’m talkin’ to YOU!”
I look past his matted hair with disgust and continue on course for the end of the
hallway. His voice fades away as the door to room 33 slides shut behind me.
I take a breath and try to focus on the man lying on the bed in front of me. He is
about my age, so tall that his feet hang off the end of the gurney, still sporting a
pair of worn leather work boots. He smiles congenially as I move into the room.
“Mr. Grayson? I’m Dr. Yancey.” His handshake is fi rm and steadying. “How are
you feeling, sir?”
“Much better, thank you, Doctor. The squeezing is fi nally gone after that last pill.”
“I’m glad. I looked at your EKG out at the nurse’s desk, and it looks very normal.
That’s a good sign.” I pull up the small rolling stool to sit down next to his bed.
“Tell me what happened.”
He tells his story. He works construction. It was hot out there, yes, but not as
hot as yesterday. He was helping to carry some drywall when he felt a strange
squeezing sensation in his chest. No, not pain, it wasn’t really painful. It just
felt…tight, like he couldn’t breathe. He felt a little lightheaded. Yes, he was
sweaty, but he’d been sweaty all afternoon. He had to sit down until one of his
coworkers brought him some water. Embarrassing. He was always the last one
to stop for a break.
It is an easy, comfortable rapport. History of present illness, past medical history,
family history, social history—his eyes light up. He is married with two children.
Pride swells in his voice. His daughter just got a job as an elementary school
teacher. She’s getting married this fall. His son is a sophomore in college
studying engineering. He has a full ride scholarship.
Physical examination. Well-developed, well nourished male, appears younger
than stated age. I listen to his heart and lungs, palpate his abdomen, check
pulses in his feet.
We discuss the options. He has a strong family history of heart disease. The
symptoms are worrisome, although his EKG looks fi ne. We will keep him in the
hospital overnight, long enough to make sure he hasn’t had a heart attack. He’s
not happy about my suggestion, but his wife will be relieved when she gets here.
Would I mind coming back in to explain all this to her when she arrives? Of
course not, I’d be happy to come back. Just have the nurse call me when she
gets here.
I fi nd myself lingering at his bedside, chatting about gardening, the Broncos’
playoff chances, and where to fi nd the best tamales in Denver. This man smiles
at me. He says “thank you.” He calls me “Doctor.” The only smell I can identify
is a faint whiff of spearmint gum.
“Doctor, did you say your last name is Yancey?”
It’s an uncommon name, so I usually show people my ID badge when they ask.
He nods as I point to it.
“Is that your married name or your maiden name?”
“It’s my maiden name.”
“It was my mother’s maiden name too, spelled the same way. I’ve never met
anyone else who spelled it that way.”
I am suddenly uneasy. Words tumble out to fi ll the potential pause.
“Really? You know, my grandmother researched our name once, and it seems
everyone who spells it this way can be traced back to two brothers in North
Carolina. They arrived from Wales in the late 1700s.”
The words hang like a confession in the air.
He smiles again. “My mother’s people were from North Carolina too.” He
chuckles softly. “Well, I imagine our families.…knew each other, didn’t they?”
PG 114
PG 115