Dr. Feelgood

Mom and I are upstairs in Grandma’s room at St. Luke’s Roosevelt Hospital waiting while she is fitted for her radiation mask. The doctors removed 90% of the mass which was restricting airflow to her lungs, inserted a stent and she will now undergo two weeks of radiation therapy on her lung to shrink the remaining portion of the mass. I am absolutely relieved when they tell us that surgery went well and her chances of surviving at least one year are great. We may continue to share adventures together and perhaps still take her away on the cruise that she always wished to plan!

I am on-line reading The Times, considering whether dating is truly dead and the hook up alive and well, when there is a knock at the door. It is the handsome, young, resident who wakes me each day at 6:00 a.m. with a chipper, “Good morning, Sunshine!”, before performing the daily check-up on Grandma with the other young doctors. He is now here alone; visiting to discuss Grandma’s pain management options, addiction, and various other issues which we may encounter during the course of her treatment. He tells us to contact him if we need anything at all, even the seemingly most insignificant issue; he will be happy to listen. Writing his contact details on a small piece of paper, I ask his name, as I can’t read the name listed on the identification badge. Bashful, for the first time, he mumbles, “Romeo Jackson”. Well, of course it is. How else would he be named, if not Romeo? Simply looking at him I thought how befitting a name for such a lovely, young man. We all stand and there is an awkward moment between he and I for a moment before he leaves; there really was an awkward moment–oh no, it was not my imagination.

“Frankie, you should totally go for him”, insists my mother, breaking my reverie.

“Huh? What?”, I reply, “He is cute, though also a doctor who is working in the hospital where Grandma is receiving treatment. Wouldn’t that qualify as some type of ethics violation?”

“You are crazy! You would look great together”, she insists. “Look at this sheet of paper! Doctors don’t offer their personal cell phone numbers–that is why they have pagers; so they are not disturbed on their personal telephone line. He wants you to call him!”

And so I asked myself, “Self, is that why doctors have pagers?”

“I saw how you looked at him…and…how he looked at you”, oh she knew what to say; damn selective maternal tendencies!!

At that moment, an orderly enters, pushing Grandma in a transport chair. Her smile and bright energy are all I need to continue moving with her along the quest toward recovery. “Oh Frankie! I just saw that young doctor in the elevator! What a hunk! If I were a younger woman…“ –Frankie