The house of God

concept would be warmly applauded, as his cold pop never had applauded him. The Leggo was hell?bent on producing these electric moments in medicine. He thought that by being a kind of Van der Graaf generator in the House of God, he could get his boys to love him.

'You know, Roy, at the other hospital, the City, my boys loved me. They always?do you understand always?my boys always loved me before, we shared some terrific moments together, but here at the House . . '

'Yes, sir?'

'Do you know why they don't?'

'Perhaps it has something to do with your attitude toward medicine, especially toward the gomers:'

'The what?'

'The chronically ill, demented, geriatric?nursing home population, sir. Your idea seems to be that the more you do for them, the better they get.'

'Right. They have diseases, and by God we treat them: aggressively, objectively, completely, and we never give up.'

'Well, that's just it. I've been taught that the treatment for them is to do nothing. The more you do, the worse they get.'

'What? Who taught you that?'

'The Fat Man.'

The words plowed two furrows in the dry man's brow, and he said, 'Surely you don't believe the Fat Man, do you?'

'Well, at first I did think it was crazy, but then I tried it out for myself, and, surprisingly, it worked. When I tried it your way?Jo's way?they developed incredible complications. I'm not sure yet, but I think the Fat Man had a point. He's nobody's fool. Sir.'

'I don't understand. The Fat Man taught you that to deliver no medical care is the most important thing you can do?'

'The Fat Man said that that was the delivery of medical care.'

'What? To do nothing?'

'That's something.'

'Ward 6?South is the best ward in the House, and you mean to tell me it's from doing nothing?'

'That's doing something. We do as much nothing as we can without Jo finding out about it.'

'Even placement?'

'That's another story.'

'Yes, well, there are enough stories for today,' said the Leggo, perplexed and haunted by the Fat Man, whom he'd thought he'd farmed out to the Mt. St. E. 'So all this looseness that Jo talks about?IF YOU DON'T TAKE A TEMPERATURE YOU CAN'T FIND A FEVER?that's really trying your hardest to do something by doing nothing, right?'

'Right. Primum non nocere with modifications,' I said.

'Primum non . . . But then why do doctors do anything at all?'

'The Fat Man says to produce complications'

'Why do doctors want 'to produce complications?'

'To make money:'

The word 'money' hit the Leggo hard, and he was reminded of something else, and said, 'That reminds me: Dr. Otto Kreinberg said that you're abusing his patients: bruising them, hypnotizing them, raising their beds to dangerous heights. He's quite a little guy, Otto, was in line for the Nobel, years ago. What about that?'

'Oh, that wasn't me, sir, that was Bruce Levy:'

'But he's your BMS: '

'So?'

'So, damnit, you're responsible for him, just like Jo is responsible for you and Dr. Fishberg is responsible for her and I'm responsible for him. Levy is your responsibility; understand? Talk to him. Straighten him out.'

Thinking that I'd better not ask the Leggo to whom he was responsible, I said, 'Well, I tried to do that, sir, but I failed. Levy said that I couldn't take responsibility for his actions and that he had to take responsibility for them himself.'

'What? That goes against all I've just said.'

'I know, sir, but he's in psychoanalysis and that's what his analyst keeps telling him and he keeps telling me,' and I found myself wondering who?when both Agnew and Nixon got thrown into the stammer at the same time?who would take responsibility for the rich pageantry that was America.

'And you're telling me you believe what the Fat Man said?'

'I'm not sure, sir. I've only been an intern four months'

'Good. Because if everyone felt the way he does, there wouldn't be any internists at all.'

'Exactly, sir. There'd be no need. Fats says that that's why internists do so much, to keep medicine in demand. Otherwise we'd all be surgeons or podiatrists. Or lawyers.'

'Nonsense. If he were right, why in the world would sensible men like me and all the other Chiefs believe in medicine? Eh?'

'Well,' I said, seeing Dr. Sanders oozing his blood from his nostrils into my lap, 'what else can we do? We can't just walk away:'

'Right, my boy, right! We cure, do you hear, we cure!'

'Four months here, and I haven't cured anyone yet. And I don't know anyone who's cured anyone yet, either. Best so far is one remission.'

There was an ugly pause. The Leggo turned back to the window, took a few deep breaths to blow the Fat Man from his nose and oropharynx and lungs, and, satisfied that he'd proved something, turned to me again: 'Dr. Sanders died, and you didn't get the post, why not? Did he ask you not to have a post done on him? Sometimes people?even physicians?are squeamish.'

'No. He said I could do a post if I wanted'

'Why didn't you?'

'I didn't want to see his body ripped to shreds downstairs.'

'I don't understand'

'I loved him too much to have his body dissected.'

'Oh. Well, you don't think I did too? You know Walter and I were buddies? First Nigro in the House. We were interns together. Gosh did we have times. Those electric moments in medicine, you know? When a warm thrill goes right on through you. Fine man. And with all of that,' said the Leggo, turning to me with a papal humility, 'with all of that, let me ask you, do you think I'd be afraid to get the post?'

'No, sir, I don't think so. I think you would get the post.'

'Damn right I would, Basch, damn right I would.'

'Can I say something, sir?'

'Of course, my boy, shoot.'

'Are you sure you can take it?'

'I didn't get where I am by not taking it. Fire away.'

'That's why your boys don't love you.'

We loved them, and since I was leaving ward 6?South in a week to start my new assignment in the Emergency Ward, we decided that the only thing to do given the third toothbrush, was to show them our love and to do it in the bastards' House. And so Chuck I and that four?dimensional sex fiend the Runt who by that time was assaulting everything in skirts, including a pubescent Physical Therapist with the face of a chubby eight?year?old and the body of a chubby fifteen, whom he enticed by ordering PT six times a day on his gomers and whom he fondled amidst the parallel bars and artificial limbs while she was distracted by trying to teach his gomers to walk? ruminated on how in the world we could show three big women like Angel and Molly and Hazel and maybe even another big woman like Selma how much we loved them and how we appreciated their part in making us into dynamite terns on a dynamite ward of the House.

It was colorful and it was illicit. In an on?call room of the House where we were not supposed to be, the Runt and I awaited the others. Halfway snickered on bourbon and beer, dressed in a House nightie with a wig to