Nicholas Gallo, MD
UW Hospital, Internal Medicine
2024
Short story
“Nick, get out of the car.”
“No!”
“Nick, you have to get out of the car.”
“No. No. No. You can’t make me. I don’t want to go!”
My dad crossed his arms, stepped back, and watched as I entangled my body within the seatbelt of our purple Dodge Grand Caravan. Like an environmental activist chained to their favorite tree, I was not going to budge. I glared back at him and shot a frown in his direction as I tightened my grasp. New experiences have overwhelmed me for as long as I can remember. What if I’m not any good? I don’t know any of these kids. What if I don’t make any friends? The world is full of new and scary things, like tee-ball practice.
But this was not my dad’s first rodeo. He learned from experience that the use of force would just result in a big, messy scene. Grabbing me by the ankles, he would suspend me in the air while I lashed out violently. My Dennis the Menace blonde bowl cut would shake with each protesting scream until at last a five-year-old’s grip strength would fail. Drenched in sweat, snot, and tears no one would win. After many battles like this, my dad learned a different approach using a few magic words that gave me the courage to launch into the unknown. He reached out his hand and pleaded with me, “Come on Nick. I’ll be here the whole time. Let’s go together.”
Thirty years later I am no longer afraid of tee ball, but I still feel anxious about new experiences. A career in medicine has forced me to tackle this fear head on. Both medical school and residency are fraught with new experiences. Along my journey, I’ve relied on countless mentors, friends, and loved ones to both literally and figuratively hold my hand along the way. Now, just as others have done for me, it has become my role as a physician to walk with patients and their loved ones as they navigate new, frightening experiences with disease and the healthcare system.
This realization became evident to me working overnight as a cross-covering intern. I was paged to Mr. B’s room to evaluate a surgical site from a procedure done earlier that day. He was initially admitted for weakness and unremitting bloody urine caused by newly diagnosed bladder cancer. From the door Mr. B resembled a ghost. His skin ashen, eyes half closed with deep bags underneath. Hanging from the bedside was a urine bag filled with sanguine liquid and a foley catheter snaking under his covers.
“Hey Mr. B, I’m doctor Gallo. You can just call me Nick. Your surgical site looks fine. I’ll make sure your team takes a close look again in the morning. How are you doing?”
“Well, I’m here doc. I could be better.”
“I hear you. I’m sure it’s been a rough go. Is there anything I can do for you tonight?”
“Do you think you help me sleep? I’ve been in here for fifty days and I don’t think I’ve had a good night of sleep yet. I keep getting confused and I’m just so tired.” I found out while digging through his chart he had been in the hospital for fifty-five days. This was the third procedure performed by the interventional radiology team in an attempt to stop a bleeding blood vessel related to his cancer. The first two had failed and only time would tell how this third procedure would pan out.
“Let me take a look at your chart to pick something that is safe to try, but I’d like to help you sleep if I can. I’m working overnight for the next two weeks so I can check in tomorrow to see how things are going. Hopefully I just find you asleep.”
“Don’t count on it, Nick. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The following night, I strolled down barren hallways towards Mr. B’s room hoping to find him asleep. His door was ajar, and the lights were on. Eyes sunken in but open. He caught a glimpse of me as I approached. The corner of his mouth curled upward, and he gave me a smirk before addressing me. “Your sleeping pills are shit.”
I couldn’t help but return the smile. “There are some other things we could try.” I only managed part of my reply before he interjected.
He raised up his right hand to stop me short. “It’s alright doc I’m tired of taking pills. I really don’t want any more meds.” His initial teasing tone shifted. “This whole thing seems hopeless. I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
The truth was, I didn’t know what was going to happen either. Fifty-six days into his admission, after multiple attempts to fix his problem, I wondered myself if we were running out of options. I pulled up a chair and sat next to his catheter bag full of what looked like merlot. “I’m sorry Mr. B I don’t know what’s going to happen either.”
Years ago, when I was scared to go to practice, my dad didn’t promise my worries wouldn’t come true. But he reassured me I wouldn’t have to go through them alone. I thought about how lonely I would feel sitting in a hospital bed day and night for fifty-six days. Loneliness. That was what I saw when I looked at Mr. B.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” I repeated, offering him my hand, “but let’s go together.” I stopped by Mr. B’s room every evening for the duration of my two weeks working nights. I knew from his chart the procedure had not worked, but we never talked about it. Instead, we talked about a whole lot of nothing. We stopped talking about medicine all together. He described his meals, usually remarking how the hospital food was too cold, too hot, too salty, or not salty enough. He told me about the latest novel he was reading and showed me the exercises physical therapy was having him do using brightly colored bands while in bed. We even watched a portion of one of my favorite movies, Stand by Me.
On my last night shift, Mr. B and I chatted about nothing as usual. There was a pit in my stomach when I told him this would be the last of our late night hang out sessions. I was afraid it would reawake the look of loneliness, but instead he met me with a sincere smile. The bags under his eyes seemed less heavy. In a matter-of-fact way he congratulated me for finishing my nocturnal duties, shook my hand, and said “see ya later kid.” We both knew that wasn’t true.
I never found out what happened to Mr. B. I moved on to my next rotation and he remained in the hospital. In my heart, I dream of him walking out of the hospital on a bright summer day, absent a foley, on his way to find a meal that is just the right temperature with the proper amount of salt. I cherish the memories from the short but impactful friendship we shared. In the final line of the 1986 movie Stand by Me based on Stephen King’s novella The Body, the main character says, “I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?” Not all relationships or friendships last forever, but that does not diminish their importance. Life is hard and full of scary, new experiences. It is important to have someone by your side to tell you, “Let’s go together.”