Page 19 of Brain Damage

“Who is that?” I ask.

“Who?” Dr. Williams asks.

“The man at the door.”

Dr. Williams straightens up and looks over his shoulder, but when he does, the man has mysteriously vanished. “I don’t see anyone.”

“He was there,” I insist.

The doctor smiles at me like he doesn’t believe me. “Sometimes the mind can play tricks on you. Happens to everyone.”

Except he’s wrong this time, and I’m right. There was a man standing in the doorway. I’m sure of it.

But what I don’t know is why he was watching me.

13

BEFORE

My first patient of the day is Regina Barry. Diagnosis: psoriasis.

Regina is a thirty-eight-year-old woman with one of the worst cases of psoriasis I’ve seen in my career. For anyone who doesn’t know, psoriasis is an auto immune skin disease associated with large patches of dry and scaly skin. Usually the patches are red with white scales on top.

Regina had psoriatic lesions all over her body. A lot of patients are spared involvement on their faces, but Regina had patches on both cheeks and her forehead. Psoriasis causes more depression than many more serious health conditions, because it targets your self-esteem. How can you feel good about yourself if you have big scaly patches on both your cheeks?

Not surprisingly, Regina Barry always seemed very depressed when she came to the clinic. She usually sat with her eyes downcast and mumbled answers to many of my questions. Once, she burst into tears. I gently asked her about anti-depressants once, and she said her husband would never allow her to take those drugs. I didn’t push it, figuring if he wouldn’t let her take an antidepressant, maybe he’d change his mind about skin care too.

But today, Regina looks like a completely different person. Eight months ago, after she failed every other treatment, I started her on methotrexate, an immunosuppressive drug. And lo and behold, it worked like magic! The woman sitting on my examining table has perfectly clear skin, and a big smile on her red lips.

“Hi, Dr. McKenna!” she chirps in a voice I didn’t even know was capable of coming out of her mouth.

“Well, look at you!” I give her an approving look, as if her hospital gown was designed by Chanel. She always had a very pretty face, and today she is inarguably beautiful. “Any problems with the methotrexate?”

“None at all.”

Of course, we’ll have to run labs. Methotrexate is no joke, but it’s worth it given that it’s the only thing that gave us results.

“I want to thank you, Dr. McKenna.” Her eyes suddenly fill with tears. “I was ready to give up on myself. I had… I had awful thoughts…”

I suck in a breath. “Oh…”

“But you were so confident I’d get better.” She smiles through the tears. “It made me confident. And you were right!”

I get that nice, warm feeling in my chest that I always get when I feel like I’ve genuinely helped someone in the course of my job. Sometimes I love being a doctor. “I’m really glad the treatment worked.”

She wipes her tears away with the back of her hand. “And it also gave me the confidence to finally leave my husband.”

“Oh wow!” Regina had spoken only briefly about her husband, usually about how he wouldn’t let her do this or that. He sounded like a controlling asshole. (There are definitely worse things than being single.) “Well, I’m happy for you then.”

“It feels like I have a new lease on life!” She rewards me with another glowing smile. “And it’s all because of you!”

Regina Barry won’t stop thanking me, and even though I’m trying desperately to stick to the ten-minute window, it’s hard not to bask in it a little bit. Let Roger dock my pay if he wants to. I’m going to spend as long with my patients as I damn well please.

I’m already running five minutes behind when I get to Patient Number Two. I find his name on my computer schedule, and as I wait for my last note to load, I try to remember why his name sounds familiar. Leroy… Leroy…

The note opens, and it suddenly all rushes back to me. Of course—Stanley Leroy. Groin Fungus Guy. I look at the reason for the visit and it simply says “follow-up.” I guess groin fungus has reared its ugly head once again, as it is apt to do.

I knock once then open the door to the small examining room. The dark-haired man sitting on the examining table in the blue gown we provided looks vaguely familiar, but I honestly don’t recall Groin Fungus Guy being quite so attractive. He’s thinner than I remember, but he still has the same sorrowful brown eyes. I can’t help but notice the way his face lights up when he sees me. I guess it’s not surprising though, considering I am the keeper of groin fungus medication.