Diagnosis: Gay

Diagnosis: Gay By David O. Sullivan Dr. Arthur Katsuyama, third generation Japanese-American, sat and listened with patience as Connie went on about her grandchildren. He needed to get her out of the office, having long ago settled her issues over a medication change. She was on too many she didn’t need. His mind shifted to calls he needed to return and pending patients. “I’m boring you.” She announced. “No, no.” She cackled. “Yes, I am. I saw your eyes gloss over. I talk too much.” She stood, slowly got her coat on, and grabbed her purse. The old ones always moved slow. “You’re so polite to listen, and you have a full waiting room. Don’t worry, you’re young and will find your balance in the business end of medicine.” “I’m sorry, Mrs. Garducci.” “Nothing to be sorry for. I’m grateful you’re fixing me, and are the first physician in years to go over my medications in depth. All the other doctors just kept adding more and more drugs. You’re an angel.” She patted his hand and headed out. She nodded and winked, exposing a youthful energy hiding behind her old eyes. For ninety, she’s doing fine. Robert shuffled up to him. “Doc, you have to cut the times shorter. We’re way behind and have already rescheduled two patients. Mr. Shemper is next up.” “Thanks, Robert. I’m sorry, it’s just—” “You’re not the first rookie doctor I’ve had. I’ll get you into the swing of things.” Dr. Katsuyama rushed into the treatment room. “Mr. Shemper, I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” Mr. Shemper scowled. “Don’t they teach you to be on time in medical school? My time is important, too.” “They don’t really teach that in school. I’m sorry, and I know patients’ time is valuable, too. I’m working on being better. May I see your leg?” Mr. Shemper struggled to stand with his extra one hundred pounds on his fifty-year-old frame. He lost his balance, and Dr. Katsuyama caught the falling man in a bear hug. “Damn it. I’d have to sue you if I’d fallen.” There was no humor in his voice. Dr. Katsuyama tried to invoke some. “I’m poor with too many loans to pay off. Let me help you onto the table.” The patient was slow and gasped at the effort to lower his pants. Dr. Katsuyama took deep breaths to stay calm. Upon seeing the sutured wound, he exclaimed, “Ah, this is healing very well. I can take the stitches out. Keep protecting it, and you’ll be fine in another week. Be careful with all saws.” As he did so, Mr. Shemper moaned, “I want a prescription to make me lose weight.” “We’ve talked about this before. With a weakened heart and your diabetes and kidney issues, it’s not safe to give you more drugs. A safe exercise program with a healthy diet is the way to go. I’m know that’s challenging, but it’s the best way. Acupuncture helps a lot of people with weight loss.” “I just want a prescription.” Dr. Katsuyama removed the sutures, bandaged the wound, and helped the man get dressed and off the table. “That is my prescription. I just won’t in good conscience give you more drugs.” “Bah. What good are you then?” He bit his tongue to avoid a harsh response. As though a savior from heaven came down, Robert knocked. “Doctor. You’re needed.” Dr. Katsuyama tried to ignore the building stress headache. “Mr. Shemper, if I give you a drug to lose weight, there’s a significant chance it will kill you.” He stared. “Damn it.” Mr. Shemper rose and waddled out. Robert waited and led the doc to the counter and whispered, “You have to keep your laptop with you and make notes as you see patients.” “I hate doing it that way.” “And you enjoy being so far behind with reports and phone calls?” “I hate the business end. All I want is to treat people.” He sighed. “I know you’re right, Robert, and I truly appreciate all the help you’re giving me.” He worked a smile up. “Thank you.” “You’re the best diagnostician in this office, and you’re still new and young. It’ll all come together.” Mr. Shemper rushed back in via the waiting room door. He glared at Dr. Katsuyama. “I just found out you’re a faggot, and to think I let you touch me with my pants down.” His shouts commanded the attention of everyone around. “There are two queers in the waiting room holding hands, and they were saying what a great guy you are and ‘gay boy does good.’ Damn you!” His jaw clenched. Doc Katsuyama’s guts wrenched with stress. “Mr. Shemper, I neither hide nor flaunt that I’m gay. I came from the factory this way just as you did with whatever your s****l orientation is.” “Damn it! You should have it on the forms. I never would have come here—” Robert spoke. “Mr. Shemper, you’re free to be treated by another doctor, but for now, I require that you lower your voice. You have no right to disrupt the office and keep the doctor from the next patient.” He looked at the doc. “You’re needed in room five.” Robert’s gentle hand turned the doc, and they strode down the hall. The rest of the afternoon went well, but he spent three hours afterward catching up on calls and reports. Robert is right. He picked up the phone, and when Robert answered, Doc said, “Robert, I’m sorry to bother you at home. I’m about to leave the office, but I need to thank you for your better than usual help today. I appreciate you.” Silence. “Are you there?” “Yes, Doc. No physician has ever called me like this. I was speechless. Thank you. I’ll help you however I can. I may be fifty-five, but I still love medicine. Let me know what you need.” “Marry me.” He made himself laugh. “Not until all of your loans are paid off and you get my wife’s permission in writing. Don’t worry, Mr. Right will come along for you.” “Thanks again, Robert.” They ended the call. He rose slowly, feeling older than his thirty years, and visualized heading to the fitness center for a long workout, and then he slapped his forehead and checked the time. Gotta get to the meeting at the coffee shop. He reached to turn the desk light off and found an envelope addressed to him with his name on the return address. He wondered and slipped it in his pocket, but read it on the way to the coffee shop near his apartment. Dear Doctor Katsuyama. You’re a good boy. I heard that buffoon’s tirade about your being gay. Don’t pay him any mind. I like you. My grandson is gay, also. He’s not as handsome as you are, but he’s a night nurse at County Hospital. He’s not dating, and if you’re not dating, you may call him. Good luck. Mrs. Garducci. She gave a name and number. Dr. Katsuyama rushed toward the coffee shop and spied a man leaving who wore a Seattle Mariners baseball cap. “Xander? I’m Arthur Katsuyama. I’m sorry I’m late.” The man flashed a gentle smile that relaxed Arthur. “I thought you forgot.” “I lost track of time; had a busy day. Are you still interested in the room at my apartment?” Damn, he was sexy, and so was his name. “Yeah. We can meet another time if you’re busy.” “No, no. When I give my word, I keep it, even if I might be late sometimes.” He grimaced. “I’ll bet you’ve had coffee waiting for me.” He nodded and winked. They went inside. Arthur got some coffee, and they sat. “So, tell me more about the place?” Arthur sipped the too-hot coffee. “I forgot what I wrote in the text message, but it’s a two-bedroom, older apartment in a decent and older neighborhood. And the down side is there’s only one bathroom. It’s second floor, on the end, with an elderly couple right next door. They’re quiet.” “I assume no smoking and no drugs.” Arthur smiled as he caught a glimpse of Xander ‘s alluring green eyes. “Well, I’m a physician, so I might have drugs sometimes, but legal. I say drugs are drugs. There are more people hooked on prescribed pills than street stuff.” He shook his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to lecture.” Xander propped his elbows on the table and leaned close. “It was interesting. Is that true?” “Oh, yeah, for a long time. Oh, did I tell you in the text I’m gay and out? So if I ever have a boyfriend again, he might be over.” “Yeah, I’m cool with that. I’m very straight, as long as you’re not doing it right there in the living room when I’m home.” They shared a laugh. “It’s only two blocks away. Do you want to see it now?” “Sure, the sooner I get in a place, the better. I’ve been couch-hopping the last few months, saving up to rent. Divorce kicked my financial butt.” Xander followed Arthur to the apartment. They went upstairs and inside. Xander cawed, “Oh, my gosh, what’s that smell?” It took Arthur aback. “No, I’m very clean. There shouldn’t be any odors.” “Sorry, not a smell, a fragrance.” He sniffed. “Like a bakery?” “Ooooh, I baked bread this morning before I left.” Xander winked. “You bake?” “I cook, too, when I have time. I got up extra early to do the bread. One loaf is in the freezer and one on the counter. Do you want some?” “Yeah, sure.” They sat in the small kitchen, chomping bread with butter. Arthur added, “Oh, I’ll need to see your credit report for obvious reasons. After we’re finished here, I can show you the rest of the place. You’ll have your own carport slot.” “This is great stuff, but too many carbs if I eat any more.” Xander grabbed another slice, letting out an innocent smile. Later, as Xander left, he said, “I’d like to rent the room. Is it okay if I email my credit report? I’m current on payments and have a good credit rating, divorce aside.” Arthur wished the guy could be gay, but he’d said he was very straight. Aw, bad to mix business with pleasure anyway. “What kind of work are you in?” “Construction. Can I ask why a doctor lives in an older apartment?” “I’m being frugal until I pay off the final $200,000 in student debt.” “Ouch! I thought I was in deep with $20,000 in bills. I inherited it all from my marriage.” Xander left, and Arthur ogled his attractive figure, toned with tight jeans, clean shaved, and wavy dark hair to his collar. Arthur shoved his hands in his back pockets and found the note from Mrs. Garducci. He reread it and smiled. What have I got to lose? Not too late to call. He dialed and got a recording. “Hi, this is Gary Garducci. Leave a message, and I’ll call sometime. Remember, I work night shift.” “Hi, this is Arthur Katsuyama, I’m a doctor, and your grandmother is a patient of mine. She gave me your number and said you’re not dating. Call when you can.” He gave his number. He sighed and rested in front of his desktop to play some games. He pulled up a new email from Xander with his credit report attached. Wow, that guy is quick. He scanned it, found no problems, but discovered Xander was only twenty-five years old. He seemed more mature than that. He read the email. Arthur, thanks for meeting with me and showing the apartment. As I drove home, I knew I liked it. You seem nice and reasonable. I tend to be gone from time to time, and I always respect those I live with. I hope you’ll accept me to share your home. I’ll pay the rent on time or early. I hate debt or being behind. Sincerely, Xander Clarke.