The Patient Read Free Page B

asked, dying to solve the mystery.
    I pulled down the blankets and lifted up his white hospital gown. There was a pool of blood between his legs. The end of his penis had the dramatic appearance of a frill-necked lizard. Hanging from a loose bit of torn skin was a large metallic ring, a Prince Albert. It had been inserted through the end of the man’s urethra and then out through the middle of the penis. To thiswas attached a chain, which ascended to another body-piercing extravaganza around his nipple.
    â€˜How did it tear?’ I asked.
    â€˜Well, I was watching a movie with a friend of mine and I got up and had to bend down to change the video. As I stood up, I think I stepped on the chain, and wumph … the ring got torn out.’
    â€˜It must have been very painful.’ I could not help but wince.
    â€˜It was, doc, it was,’ he said sadly.
    â€˜I’m just curious to know, why did you have it inserted in the first place?’ I really was curious.
    â€˜It makes sex so much more pleasurable, doc. You should consider it.’
    There was no way on earth that I was going to adorn my penis with a Prince Albert.
    â€˜Can you fix it?’ he asked.
    â€˜Yes, we can. We need to get you to theatres as soon as possible and sew your penis back up.’
    â€˜And how soon do you think it will be before I can have another one?’
    For a moment, I hoped he was joking, but no, he was serious. ‘I suspect never. You have a complete tear through the penis, the urethra and the skin. It will take a while for all of that to heal. Even then, I suspect the skin will be too thin to be able to bear the weight of another Prince Albert.’ I resisted the temptation to tell him he needed psychiatric care a lot more than he needed another ring.
    â€˜Hey, is there any chance of something for the pain, doc? I think it needs to be morphine or pethidine.’
    I guessed he must also be a narcotic addict. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ I said – and wrote him up a script for some anti-inflammatory medications for the pain. He was not happy.
    I went back up to theatres to see if I could book this man’s operation. After hours, theatre access was very limited. One had to battle with all the other surgeons trying to do their emergency cases.
    â€˜Marlene, what’s on the table now?’ I asked the night theatre supervisor, who had been in the position as long as anyone could remember.
    â€˜Why do you want to know? What delights have you got for us now?’ She guarded theatre time fiercely.
    â€˜I have a fellow who has a nasty laceration on the end of his penis. It will take a couple of hours to get it all back together again. What time do you think we could get a guernsey?’ I asked, looking as cute as I could.
    â€˜Why can’t he wait till later in the morning? Cancel your elective list and do him instead.’
    â€˜The boss will be very cross. He’s lined up a drug rep to bring in the new laser-prostatectomy machine to try it out. It’s going to be a circus.’
    Jim, the head of Urology, was an expert at extracting money from the hospital administration for new technologies. Several of his previous acquisitions were in the store room, collecting dust. He was always falling victim to the intensive marketing techniques the medical-technology companies used on doctors to make them feel that without the latest technology they were offering their patients a lousy standard of care. Public patients were waiting for years to get their hips replaced, but millions of dollars were spent on new technology that was redundant before the hospital had even recouped the cost.
    The old equipment would have been useful to hospitals in the developing world, but red tape made donating it impossible. One bureaucrat had prevented a disused heart–lung bypassmachine from being donated to Kenya lest it malfunction in the future and the Kenyans decided to sue the hospital.