The rain had stopped but everywhere it was wet. The water gleamed off the black asphalt and the bright street lights of the City and all the other cars as they streamed past. It was strange in this City in this part of the world how you could not know what time of year it was at times like these. It could be early spring or late fall. The temperature hovered in the low forties and without a setting sun it could just be any time of the year where it was not too warm or too cold. He was waiting in one of those parts of the street left open to cars like his a car service vehicle. But his was a rather high class one and he and his cousin had paid the extra money so they could get the better clientele. It had worked. This was a great country and a man could make his own fortune so long as he kept his wits about him.
A voice came over the radio. It was his cousin. It was a scratchy voice from all the static inherent in the system. “Pick up at Beth Israel, 1st and 20th. Destination West 82nd and West End Avenue.”
It was amazing how he could discern the words now. The first few days in the car he had no idea what was being said.
He was less than five blocks away. He put the care in gear.
“And my cousin be nice this guy is a big shot at the hospital. Some world famous eye surgeon. Some kind of specialist of a specialist.”
His mind went blank for a second. He saw his sixteen month old daughter. His wife’s worried eyes and her pleading with the doctors, with him. But they all said it was nothing. It was her first child. Young mothers worried.
He covered the five blocks without having to stop. He pulled in at the curb. He wondered how long he would have to wait. He called back on the radio.
“Cousin I’m here.”
“Good good. Be patient. His name is Dr. Abrams. Big shot. Remember.”
He worried a bit because Doctors could leave you waiting for a half an hour or more and time was money.
It was not longer than five minutes when a thin, man glided into the back of the car. As the man turned in the seat he could see in the rear view mirror that the man had a short cropped head of gray hair but his face held a youthful and strong countenance. He had thin rimmed glasses and his eyes looked down as he opened a leather brief case. He mumbled the address and did not look up. Sahib put the car in motion. Through the rear view mirror he could see the man’s id badge in his upper left hand jacket pocket. Abrams, Robert H. MD Optho/Surgery.
His cousin wasn’t kidding. He thought again. But then these kinds of doctors got asked all manner of things all the time. Maybe he shouldn’t bother the man. As they stopped at their first light he did not look back but he could feel the man’s eyes looking at his license. Sahib Nahar.
When they took off again the doctor asked. “Pakistan?”
“No.” He answered. “Bangladesh.”
The Doctor let out with a sigh. “Long way from home.”
Sahib nodded his head thinking briefly of his home city. How different?
“This is home now.” Sahib answered.
The doctor nodded. “My family came from Russia sometime after 1919. Long time ago. A different world.”
“Same dreams.” Sahib added.
The doctor smiled.
“Have a family?”
“Yes a wife and a sixteen month old daughter.”
“They grow up fast.” He said with a sigh.
Sahib nodded now almost afraid not to ask since they were talking like two regular people with children.
Their eyes met through the rear view mirror.
Sahib blurted out quickly, so quickly he could not get it back. “My wife says she stumbles as she walks.”
He saw Dr. Abrams nod his eyes smiling and shrugged. “Don’t they all?”
Sahib went on. “But she says it is only to one side.”
Dr. Abrams eyes studied him through the rear view mirror as the car stopped at a light
Sahib went on. “My wife says she can see something like a white cloud in our daughter’s left eye.” And he looked down afraid to bother the man, to bother this man his wife’s laments sounding silly as they had been dismissed by the doctors at the clinic. He felt foolish. But when he looked up he could see Dr. Abrams eyes riveted on his in the rear view mirror.
Dr. Abrams did not say a word. Sahib put the car motion.
Dr. Abrams did not speak for a few minutes as the car headed for his apartment cross town. Then he pulled a pad from his pocket.
“Do you remember where you picked me up?”
Sahib nodded nervously now.
“Bring your daughter there at eight AM. What’s her name?”
“Tasfia.”
He kept scribbling on the paper. “If anyone stops you hand them this.” He pushed the paper forward through the space where the payment went.
Sahib became worried now but then grateful that this man would even bother with him. As they pulled into the driveway that was the apartment building where the doctor lived, Dr. Abrams said. “It may be nothing. But let me have a look.”
Sahib nodded.
“What is your insurance? The Doctor asked.
“NYALL” Sahib answered.
Dr. Abrams frowned. “They don’t take that at the hospital. Don’t bother to show them your card. Don’t let anyone stop you. If they try just show them the paper I wrote.”
He was out of the car and gone.
Sahib finished his shift with great trepidation. When he got home at four AM his wife was waiting up for him as she always did. He told her what had happened. Her eyes opened wide like saucers.
“I told you. I told you.” She said.
“He said it might be nothing.”
“Hmmmphhh! Who is this man?”
“He is...” And he’d had a long talk with his cousin so he knew now. “Robert H. Abrams and he is a very special and very rare eye surgeon. There are only a handful of surgeons who can do what he does and he specializes in children.”
“And this man he would waste his time for nothing?” His wife added.
A few hours later with his sixteen month old daughter bundled in his arms he entered the hospital. The security guard stopped him but he showed him the note from Dr. Abrams. The guard then pointed out the elevator he needed and he took getting off at the fifth floor. Sahib then strode quickly into the office of Dr. Robert H. Abrams. Someone called out to him but he just ignored them and opened the door.
Dr. Abrams was sitting at his desk and he looked up as they entered. His phone had not wrung telling him someone was coming. Dr. Abrams knew the man had not let anyone stop him.
“Good.” He said. Then he took little Tasfia from his arms and proceed into the examination room.
Sahib noticed that he had all kinds of headsets and stations with various lights to look into people’s eyes. Dr. Abrams turned off the room lights for some and left them on for others. Some of the machines could also take three dimensional pictures of her eye her little eye looking like some planet in outer space. The exam seemed to take forever. Dr. Abrams even took her blood. Something he’d never seen one of the doctors at the clinic do. He took it expertly before his daughter could even mount a protest. He wrote out papers. He typed on the computer.
He went back and looked in her eye for the nth time it seemed. Sahib wasn’t sure if it was an hour or six. But Dr. Abrams was sitting at his desk looking at all the results and images of her eye from all his exams on the various computer screens on his desk. He did not look happy. His youthful face with the strong countenance looked concerned and in pain. He shook his head.
If Sahib lived for a hundred years the next sentence would burn in his mind for all that time.
“She has cancer. In her left eye. They call it retinoblastoma. She can’t see out of it very well. That’s why she stumbles always to one side. As long as I’ve been at this and it’s over twenty five years I’ve learned to trust a mother’s observations. They spend all their rime with their babies. Your wife should have been a doctor. Better than…”. He stopped himself.
Sahib felt crushed. He could hardly breathe. He was sure his sixteen month old baby who had not really begun to live her life was going to die. He could not bring his head up. He could not mouth a word.
Dr. Abrams went on. “We have to act fast. There is not much time.”
Time Sahib’s mind reeled. There was not much time but there was time? If there was time then there was life.
Dr. Abrams went on. I need these tests. He began to scribble furiously on his prescription pad. He tore off the pages as he wrote. “Take them to the clinic today. There is no time to waste. These must be done right away. Sahib could see all the different sheets had STAT written on them.
“Go today. I’ll call ahead. I’m going to schedule surgery for the day after tomorrow. You’ll be the first one in at six AM. Right here on the third floor. If we can get this out and it hasn’t spread any farther… well. But this can’t wait.”
Sahib shook his head. “But your hospital doesn’t take my insurance.”
Dr. Abrams held up his hand. “We do these from time to time. Like lawyers who have to see a few clients a year pro bono.”
Dr. Abrams was lying but Sahib had no way of knowing.
“Get these done and get back here Thursday morning.
He drove right to the clinic and called his wife on the way. She met him there. When they came in he signed in as he always did. He saw the hallway filled with other patients where they’d wait for three hours usually. But this time the lady behind the desk grabbed all the prescription forms from his hand and they were led directly to an examination room. His wife and daughter were whisked away and they were done in less than two hours.
“The reports have to be faxed to .” He said.
The usually too busy to talk to them woman behind the front desk cut him off in mid sentence. “We already did. You can go.” It was a dismissal as if they need not be reminded that they had made a terrible mistake.
It was after five when they left and they were both stunned. Neither had had enough time to really ask nor did they wish to speak to the people at the clinic. What were her chances? Would she? Could she?
When they got home his wife grilled him over and over. They talked of nothing else all night. They slept little if at all. But what could he say? Just what Dr. Abrams had told him. There was cancer. It was in her eye. If they could cut everything out then... Of course if they could not… Neither had to have any medical education to realize that the eye led to the brain. She was only sixteen months old. He would call Dr. Abrams office in the morning.
When he did call Dr. Abrams office the next morning he did not know how to begin to ask. But it would not matter.
He started by making sure they got all the reports faxed to them. They did but then he did not get a chance to ask a single question as the receptionist in a trembling voice told him.
“Something terrible has happened. Dr. Abrams seventeen year old son was killed in a car accident yesterday morning. The funeral is this afternoon.”
There was a long pause. Sahib did not know what to ask or say. For a moment he thought he should go to the funeral. But then it hit hard like a brick. Dr. Abrams wasn’t going to do any operations any time soon and time was something they did not have. There was not another world renowned surgeon who would do this in his place. He did not know what to say.
“Mr. Nahar are you still there?”
“Yes.” He answered. He could find no words. The tables had turned so fast, the day before he was the one with a terminally ill child and the Doctor with a perfectly healthy seventeen year old son. “I am terribly sorry to hear this. Please tell Dr. Adams if there is anything I can do… Oh my God.”
“Yes Mr. Nahar. I will tell him. Right now I’m calling all the patients to cancel. The doctor himself has to call the Operating Room. He’s cancelled. What time was your daughters operation?”
“Six AM.”
“Oh yes he only books that time when there is a real emergency. He must have forgotten the time was booked I still see it there but I’ll be speaking to him later. As soon as he is able to come back we’ll call you.”
“Yes, yes.” He answered. “Please tell the doctor how sorry I am.”
“I will.” She said.
The phone went dead in his hand. When he could come back? There was no time.
When he went home and told his wife. She had the strangest reaction. As was her way she had him repeat the conversation word for word. Then she had him repeat it again. Then she said.
“He’ll do the operation.”
Sahib felt his eyes literally roll in his head. His wife was an extremely stubborn woman. Sometimes it was a good thing. Many times it was just unreasonable. How to even articulate this?
“The man’s son was killed. Do you understand? The boy was only seventeen.”
The next thought just hung in the air. How unfair. These two men would meet in such a casual manner. One that happened thousands of times a day, a few dozen times a day for him every day. At that moment they both thought they had two healthy children and both had all kinds of dreams for them. Within twenty four hours one of those children was dead and the other… Had how much time left?
There was no reasoning with his wife. She was just hoping against hope he knew. He went out of the house. He wandered the streets. It was late afternoon. The sun was setting it was damp and cold. It had rained that day again. The sky was a hazy, lonely gray. Was it March or November? He could not remember.
He passed a Church. It was a Catholic Church he could tell. There was nowhere to go. He went up the steps. The door was open. It was mostly empty. A few people silently knelt in the front rows. He did not know what to do. He knelt in the last row. He found there was a board for his knees. He knelt down. Try as he might he could not make his mind form any words. All he could feel in his heart and soul was; please.
His wife woke him at four AM but he hadn’t really been sleeping. She bundled up their daughter and made him drive to the Hospital. He had put his phone on vibrating as he did not want to be bothered by anyone. He never felt it. He never got the message.
They arrived at the hospital at five forty-five AM. Security he was surprised just let him through. He took the same elevator but got off at the third floor. He knew this was a waste of time. There were two young women in operating scrubs waiting. They reached out and took little Tasfia. He was about to ask what they were doing when the door opened and there dressed in his operating scrubs, the day after he had buried his seventeen year old son, was Doctor Robert H. Abrams.
Sahib’s mouth dropped open. Dr. Abrams face was ashen. His countenance set in a painful frown. He seemed to have lost all that virile youth and strength and aged ten years.
Sahib said. “But… how?”
Dr. Abrams put his hand on Sahib’s shoulder. Then he said. “There is nothing anyone can do for my son. But maybe.. Maybe God wants me to try and save your daughter.”
Sahib just nodded. “I’m so sorry.”
Dr. Abrams just nodded then he turned and headed for the operating room.
How many hours they waited he had no idea. They went to a Chapel in the hospital. They prayed. They waited. Then they prayed. Then they waited. Finally after what seemed like forever Dr. Abrams was back. He had a slight smile on his saddened face.
“We got it all out. It did not go past the retina. She’ll have prosthesis, a false eye of course. She’ll need to have her blood tested every six months.”
Sahib felt his chest collapse. She would live? He could not believe it but for how long? That question hung in the air between them. He could not ask it. How could he ask this man who’d lost his seventeen year old son?
His wife had no such problem. “How long does she have?” She blurted out.
Dr. Abrams gave a rueful smile. “How long does anyone have?”
There was a long silence. Then Dr. Abrams went on. “The cancer could come back. Like I said we have to test every six months. But twenty years ago I did my first one of these. The girl was ten.” He sighed and then went on. “She’s a lawyer now. She handled the closing on a house I bought last year in Connecticut.”
His wife fell to her knees in front of them and then she reached out and grasped each of their hands in one of hers.
It was three months later. It was definitely summertime. The heat and humidity were oppressive. He was trying to eat a sandwich as he sat in one of those waiting stations for his car, when a man climbed in the back, a man in his thirties, a man in a nice suit. A professional he could tell.
Sahib started to explain. “I can’t pick up off the street like a yellow cab. You have to call the service.” He put his sandwich down on the other seat in the front and was about to hand him one of their cards when the man said. “And if I don’t want to go anywhere?”
Sahib frowned. It was a lawyer. They’d been calling for the last three months day and night. He knew it was a waste of time to try and say he was someone else.
“I’ve called you.” The young man said as he handed his card through the little window.
Sahib took the card and nodded. How to get rid of this guy? Time was money.
“Listen.” The young man said. “I know this type of case. If you’re worried about a long drawn out deal, don’t. We file. They’ll settle. The clinic blew the initial diagnosis. They know it. It’s a million dollar case. A few million if you just threaten to actually go to court.”
“I’m not interested.” Sahib said.
“What? What!”
No one had actually gotten into his car before. He usually just hung up the phone without even this much of an explanation. But this one was ambitious so Sahib went on.
“Years ago when I started this business some of my young cohorts would find it hard to meet all the payments and the insurance. They had families. They owed a lot of money. They would arrange to have someone steal their car and burn it. They would get a big check from the insurance company. But then all of a sudden all of us found out insurance costs going up. Then these guys who had their cars stolen found they couldn’t get back in the business even with the big check they’d gotten.”
Sahib stopped. He wasn’t sure the man was listening.
“As you say in America to make a long story short wouldn’t I be suing all doctors?”
The lawyer snapped to.
“You can’t think of it like that.”
“How can I not? Dr. Abrams saved my young daughter’s life. How can I sue him?”
“You’re not suing him. You sue the clinic that blew the initial diagnosis.”
“No as even you admitted I’m suing all doctors.”
The lawyer looked at him their eyes meeting through the rear view mirror. Sahib knew the man thought he was stupid. What to say?
“Dr. Abrams saved my young daughter’s life and did it the day after he lost his own son. Every day I thank God for him. I know the miracle of this. If I took your money that would all be gone. Don’t waste your time neither you nor anyone else has that much money.”
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