One of the last patients I saw was a woman with a cross of ashes etched onto her forehead. She wore a blue mask over her mouth and nose; her primary care provider had alarmed her into thinking that her headache might be due to bacterial meningitis – which means that patients get a lumbar puncture and are admitted to the hospital for IV antibiotics.
This patient was very somber and afraid, in contrast to her husband, whose forehead was crossless. He was quite upbeat and quite drawn to the glass doorway of her room, where he could appreciate with morbid fascination all of the psychotic patients acting out, screaming, having fake seizures, and yanking and beating on their restraints on their stretchers.
I have become thoroughly desensitized to these noises, which comprise the background rhythm of the Emergency Department.
This husband, on the other hand, was like a baby discovering a mirror, reveling in this completely novel and human experience. He couldn't control his laughter. His wife immediately scolded him and told him not to watch and to sit back down. It brought a smile to my face, which was hidden behind my own blue mask.
The woman's headache turned out to be a tension headache, and she was relieved that she got to go home.
At the end of the night, I joked with them that they had spent their Valentine's Day in the most romantic of places. And that brought a smile to both of their faces.
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