My Visit With Bob

Bob (left) and a fat guy.

I finally got to see Bob! I had trekked up to Columbia Presbyterian once before, only to discover that he was off that day. And when I say trekked, I mean trekked! I really loathe driving in the city and I loathe trying to park there even more. And I'm waaaaaay to cheap to put the car in a lot. So I shlepped up to Columbia by subway. I think I could have gone up to the Catskills quicker. Remember, too, that climbing stairs is not my favorite thing in the world. My lungs don't much care for it, either. And the subway has lots and lots of stairs. So I made up my mind that if I ever decide to try and see Bob again, I'm gonna make darn sure that he'll be there! So on October 25th, I called Columbia and asked for Bob. Um...that's all I knew, Bob. No last name. The operator was very professional and very courteous, considering she had a moron on the line. "I can't page someone named Bob only, sir", she informed me. Like I didn't already know that. "He's a nurse" I replied, rather sheepishly. "Sir," the exasperated lady said, "I'm sorry, but I need Bob's last name in order to page him." Sheesh! How many nurses named Bob could they possibly have? Then I had a brainstorm. Actually in retrospect, it wasn't much of a storm; it was pretty obvious. Okay...I had a brainshower. I told her he worked in the ICU! Before you could say "Beth Israel Sucks", Bob was on the line! I gotta tell you; it was sooooooo good to hear his voice. If you recall, this man was literally a life-saver while I was in the ICU. He did things for me way above and beyond the call of duty. We decided I would come visit him the next day. I went by subway again (apparently frugality dies hard) but I didn't really mind because I knew he would be there. I had looked online for hours the week before I came to see him to try and find a gift that was appropriate. Nothing. 99% of all "nurse" presents were specifically for women. My last hope was the gift shop in the lobby, and lo and behold, there it was! A very pretty picture frame with "World's Best Nurse" or some such nonsense engraved on it. No women! I took my treasure into the elevator, the doors opened, and there he was. I cannot adequately describe to you how happy I was to see him, and I'm pretty sure the feeling was mutual. I know Bob has hundreds of patients under his care in the course of a year, but I felt that he and I had a special bond. He was great with the whole gang: my kids, my siblings, my mom. G-d only knows what he did for them while I was sedated. The man is a tzaddik*. We hugged and reminisced. About falling SATs**. About feeding tubes. Even about enemas. He even remembered my kids' names. He asked if Bonnie (Blimie) had had her baby yet. I tried to convince him that he had saved my life and he had a very sweet "aw, shucks, I was just doing my job" attitude. Then suddenly a bonus appeared: Dr. Natalie Yip was making rounds! The same Dr. Yip I had harassed every day I spent in the ICU, trying to get her to tell me when I could go home. I had done this even when I couldn't speak. Our reunion was more subdued than it was with Bob, and that was as it should be, especially in front of the gaggle of freshly scrubbed young interns she was leading on rounds. She had been pregnant the same time as Blimie, and she had had a little girl, too. Before I left, Bob asked if I would write a letter to his supervisor. When I got home I sent her a glowing report. He deserved it.

*Tzaddik = Literally, it means a righteous man. In this context, however, "saint" comes closer.
**SATs: Refers to the oxygen saturation in one's blood.