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  • Forgive Me
  • Whitney Lee (bio)

Forgive me, body before me, for this. Forgive me for my bumbling hands, unschooled in how to touch: I meant to understand what fever was, not love. Forgive me for my stare, but when I look at you, I see myself laid bare.

Morbidity and Mortality Rounds

–Rafael Campo

Rhonda was the first patient I'd cared for in the Intensive Care Unit. She lived as four hundred pounds of fat and flesh piled onto a bed the size of an automobile. The day I met her, the height of her girth forced me to remove my white coat, climb a step, then lay my tall yet lean body across hers to listen to her heart and lungs. As I heard the whooshes, thuds, and clicks of her tricuspid, mitral, aortic, and pulmonary valves, thick layers of adipose tissue shook and quivered beneath me. Nurses had struggled to clean the deep creases between her folds leaving spaces for sweat to fester and emit the sour stench of neglect.

When I took inventory of the lines that monitored and controlled Rhoda's physiology, I noted medical tape secured an endotracheal tube to her face––her skin the color of boiled chicken. Patches of adhesive residue flanked a wiry crop of hair that had grown across her upper lip––the same sort of hair that covered her chin, arms, and lower abdomen in patterns distinctly male. Amber-colored urine streamed from her bladder, through a catheter, into a bag that hung from the edge of the bed. A rectal tube––a plastic device doctors had inserted into her anus––collected muddy stool that stuck to its sides in clumps. The most taboo parts of her––excrement, excretions, and waste––displayed for me to witness.

Like a diligent intern, once I completed Rhonda's exam, I claimed a space outside her room to interrogate her chart. She was a morbidly obese fifty-four-year-old who suffered from alcohol-induced pancreatitis. One month earlier, she had deteriorated to respiratory failure requiring intubation and an Intensive Care Unit admission.

Various specialties––infectious diseases, gastroenterology, hematology, and surgery––documented their interpretation of Rhonda's condition but failed to diagnose the reason she languished. I sifted through complete blood counts, comprehensive metabolic panels, blood gases, coagulation tests, cultures, pancreatic enzymes, cardiac enzymes, lactic acid levels, glucose levels, chest x-rays, abdominal films, EKGs, and echocardiograms all of which identified Rhonda as critically ill yet none explained how to make her well.

But there were conspicuous gaps in Rhonda's care. Why weren't there MRIs or CT scans? Why hadn't the surgical team taken her to the operating room to explore her abdomen, look for masses, [End Page 234] abscesses, or necrosis? As I observed her through the glass wall that separated her from the hallway and witnessed her massive body ripple each time the ventilator blew air into her lungs, I realized the reason these tests and procedures had not been completed. She was too big. Surgery would pose more risk than benefit. Her body spread too wide to fit into normal imaging machines.

_______

Ten years before I met Rhonda, in high school, my father was the local TV anchor. Each night, at 6 and 10 pm, he delivered the news to the city of Indianapolis.

In addition to the fame my father garnered from TV, he also possessed a physical presence that attracted attention. Six feet four inches of long limbs, striated muscles, and tanned skin—along with an angled jaw line, dense wheat-colored hair, and manicured hands—made my father handsome and evocatively vain.

The readers of Indianapolis Monthly voted him the most-attractive and best-dressed man in Indiana. Then, to my teenaged horror, our newspaper named him the sexiest man in the state. But his appeal ballooned beyond mere aesthetics––he exuded an intoxicating personality, often serving as the master of ceremonies for high visibility events. And when he stepped off the stage, men and woman jockeyed for his attention.

My mother was equally as attractive but lacked my father's confidence and social stamina. Her physique matched his––slender and tall. She...

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