(Snippets from the frontline)
One question too many
It was 1980, and as I entered the ER in a West Los Angeles hospital for my medical student shift, the waiting room was hectic and beds were packed. Immediately, I was told to dress the shin abrasions of bed 7.
While visiting her son, she misstepped and slid down wooden stairs causing leg injuries.
Quickly dressing the wounds, I asked questions to assure she did not pass out or have a cardiac event, then rolled her into the busy waiting room in a wheelchair. From the corner up my eye, I saw someone sitting alone arise and head toward us.
I heard “Is my mother okay?”, looking up into the deep blue eyes of Paul Newman.
For a split second I gasped, but kept my professional composure explaining to him her problem, treatment, and follow-up. As we headed toward the exit, most of the staff peered out windows and doorways.
Retrieving his car and just before arriving, I asked “What do you think about your son racing cars?” Wrong question, as she got in and began a motherly admonishment. I quickly closed the door and got back to work.
Gene Uzawa Dorio, M.D.
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