MORBIDITY & MORTALITY

Michael and Carolyn’s baby has died after child birth in the hands of the surgeon who was trying to perform a delicate operation to reverse the baby’s heart condition. Now Carolyn has developed an obsession with that surgeon, Dr. Anil Patel.

ANIL
It is three days, maybe four, after the Goldenhersch baby died. The mother, Carolyn Goldenhersch is at the deli where I get my morning coffee. She is buying coffee. She’s smiling at me. She says:

CAROLYN
Dr. Patel?

ANIL
Yes?

CAROLYN
How funny.

ANIL
Good morning.

CAROLYN
Is this where you buy your coffee?

ANIL
Yes. Every morning.

CAROLYN
How funny.

ANIL
She looks at me and for the first time I notice her eyes are wet. She follows me out of the deli.

CAROLYN
Dr. Patel?

ANIL
Yes?

CAROLYN
The coffee, the coffee here. It’s terrible.

ANIL (laughing)
Yes, it is. Everyday.

CAROLYN
You know there’s a Starbucks around the corner.

ANIL
Sure. Yes, I know. I can’t stand paying so much for coffee. I don’t much like it in the first place.

CAROLYN
Then why drink it?

ANIL
Caffeine. Habit.

CAROLYN
Dr. Patel?

ANIL
Hmmm?

CAROLYN
You don’t recognize me, do you?

ANIL
From the hospital.

CAROLYN
Yes. From the hospital.

ANIL
—

CAROLYN
Will you come around the corner with me. Have Starbucks?

ANIL
I really can’t.

CAROLYN
My treat.

ANIL
Carolyn Goldenhersch is pretty.

CAROLYN
You look like you could use a latté.

ANIL
Carolyn Goldenhersch has a lovely smile.

CAROLYN
Live a little.

ANIL
Yes, okay. Thank you.

CAROLYN
Good. Okay. Yes. Great.

ANIL
Starbucks is very crowded. I don’t let her pay. I spend eight dollars on two coffees. Eight dollars. My deli is bad, but coffee is seventy-five cents. We didn’t drink coffee in my house growing up. My mother had tea every now and then and my father drank diet sodas. Starting with Fresca, then Tab. He’d sidle up to breakfast with Tab in one hand and say, “Anil. Tab is for the beautiful people.” That was the campaign then. Tab: for beautiful people. Carolyn Goldenhersch should drink Tab. She is still when I sit down across from her.

CAROLYN
I wanted to see you.

ANIL
You did?

CAROLYN
Mmm-hmm. I did. Do you know why I wanted to see you?

ANIL
No. I have no idea.

CAROLYN
Exactly. Dr. Patel for four days I have wanted to see you, but I don’t know why. Why do you think it could be?

ANIL
Maybe you have some questions?

CAROLYN
No. I don’t think so. You look much taller in the hospital.

ANIL
I wear clogs.

CAROLYN
Oh.

ANIL
They have a little lift to them. Today I’m wearing loafers.

CAROLYN
You’ll change into your clogs at the hospital?

ANIL
Yes.

CAROLYN
You have a locker or something at the hospital?

ANIL
Yes.

CAROLYN
Like at the gym.

ANIL
Exactly.

CAROLYN
Are you friends with any of your patients?

ANIL
Most of my patients are infants.

CAROLYN
Right. The parents aren’t patients are they? The babies.

(silence)

But the parents. Are you friends with any of them?

ANIL
No.

CAROLYN
With other doctors, are you friends with the other doctors?

ANIL
Some.

CAROLYN
Many.

ANIL
I don’t know about many.

CAROLYN
More than five?

ANIL
What kind of friends?

CAROLYN
More than hello, go out for a drink, have dinner. Movies.

ANIL
No.

CAROLYN
Are you married?

ANIL
No.

CAROLYN
Girlfriend.

ANIL
Mrs. Goldenhersch...

CAROLYN
Carolyn.

ANIL
Carolyn.

CAROLYN
Yes?

ANIL
Where are you leading me?

CAROLYN
Do you feel like I’m leading you?

ANIL
Yes.

CAROLYN
Are you following?

MICHAEL
Old people die. This is the way I must have always thought, because when our baby died, I wasn’t just upset, or sad, or angry, I was honestly perplexed. Indignant even. Babies don’t die. This is what I thought. Babies don’t die. I am walking around a lot. Taking those pensive strolls that I’ve heard about but never needed before. Never needed to get air. I’ve been volunteering at Bide-a-Wee, it’s like a low rent ASPCA. I’ve been walking the dogs for an hour around lunch time. These adoptable dogs. They’re so excited to get outside. I always walk the oldest dog. I swear he’s fourteen. Old and huge and smells. No one will adopt this dog. I want to bring him home and care for him as he dies. Because he’s going to die. Sooner rather than later. Big dogs don’t live as long as little dogs. He’s sweet though, nice. I think Carolyn would kill me. But I want to bring home this big, old dog. When your baby dies in the hospital on the operating table. When that happens. When that happens. It’s unspeakable. When it happens you aren’t there. You don’t give the only thing you can give, you can’t comfort, you can’t lovingly pet her head and let her slip away knowing she’s loved. You can’t. Not in a hospital, when she’s in the other room. On the table. Knocked out. Drugged. You can’t do anything. You let go of something you’ve never really held on to. You’ve anticipated for months. In some ways for your whole life, this moment of a baby. Holding the baby. Being a father. But what has happened. I don’t know. I don’t know if I am or have been a father. I don’t know if what’s happened means I don’t get to have been a father. I don’t know. Honestly. I don’t know if I want to be a father of this tragedy. That’s what it is. The dog. That’s something. I understand it. I see it. I should care for this dog while it dies. It would be right. Maybe. I should bring him home. I don’t know. I love my wife. I do. I think that she knows that I’m not a father and it scares me. Worries me. Everything is shit.