La Cocachina
Seidel Memorial Hospital, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, 9 am
Tony Crane's ragged gray sneakers squeaked on the shiny marble floor of the North Wing of Seidel Memorial Hospital. Had there been any patients in the corridor, they would have turned their heads and winced at the annoying sound. This was, however, a wing that had the luxury of being devoid of crowds. Uncovered medical care was not for everyone's pocket.
Tony's mother, Mrs. Elise Crane, walked silently beside Tony. She was petite, with shoulder-length black hair and fine features that gave her the appearance of a French noblewoman. She wore an elegant light green suit that outlined her proportional body. Despite her quiet, inconspicuous demeanor, she emanated an air demanding respect.
Next to her, Tony looked like a giant, his thin, athletic figure towering at least a foot over her. His teenage face, still lacking facial hair, clearly showed the family resemblance. His black hair was also shoulder-length. He looked like a taller, muscular, male version of his mother.
The two stood in front of a heavy wooden door with an engraved plaque.
Dr. Henry Walsh, M.D., Ph.D.
Psychiatrist
Mrs. Crane looked up at Tony and gently held his forearm.
"Ready?"
Tony did not feel ready. He did not want to be there at all. But the rational part of him understood that this visit was necessary. He could not move on with his life otherwise. There was a problem that he could no longer ignore. He was doing the reasonable, rational thing. He was choosing to face his problem in the presence of a skilled medical professional. He swallowed and nodded silently.
Dr. Walsh turned out to be a distinguished-looking gentleman with short, graying hair and tanned, clean shaven face. He sat in his soft leather armchair, hands crossed on his lap, as the duo seated themselves across from him on a matching leather couch. The solid, oak coffee table between them matched the heavy bookcase and desk next to the window. The wide wooden blinds were half-drawn, but the semi-darkness was partially dispersed by the orange light of a salt-lamp sitting on an oak nightstand. The thick Persian rug completed the cozy comfort of the room, which emanated the air of professionalism and wealth.
Dr. Walsh' voice was soft and reassuring.
"Let me explain some things first, Tony," he said. "You have what is commonly referred to as phobia, or fear. To you, this fear feels very real. We will start by accepting that fact. While the reasons why you feel this way are important, they are not our goal just yet. Our goal is to acknowledge that this fear exists, and to work toward confronting it. The good news is, you are not alone. I am here to help you."
Tony watched him silently.
"Phobias are not unusual," Dr. Walsh continued. "In fact, most people experience phobias of varying degrees at some point in their lives. Sometimes, phobias can be traced to past experiences. Other times, they appear to be random."
He leaned confidentially toward Tony.
"I had a phobia when I was a child too," he said. "I was afraid of dripping water. It terrified me. I had nightmares about it. As an adult now - and a doctor - I could speculate that maybe this fear had something to do with my toilet training. But this is not what mattered in the end. What mattered was that I was able to confront my fear, and to eradicate it."
Dr. Walsh' grey eyes rested unblinkingly on Tony's soft brown ones.
"You, too, can eradicate your fear," he said. 'I am here to make that happen. As your doctor, can assure you that you are absolutely safe."
Tony closed his eyes as the needle pricked his upper arm. Instantly, his body relaxed and he slumped to his side. Dr. Walsh caught him gently and laid him down on the couch as Tony drifted into sleep. Mrs. Crane watched, her striking face creased by deep lines of concern.
"Did you bring a new pair as we discussed?" asked Dr. Walsh. Mrs. Crane nodded. She took out a cardboard box out of the black plastic bag she was carrying. From the box, she retrieved a pair of new gray Nike sneakers.
"These are the closest ones I could find that looked like his," she said. "They are his size."
Dr. Walsh walked over to his desk. "The patient is ready," he said into the phone.
Four staff members dressed in blue scrubs walked in, wheeling in a stretcher. They placed Tony on the stretcher and rolled him out of the office, Dr. Walsh and Mrs. Crane following at their heels.
"I've administered anesthesia," explained Dr. Walsh as they walked along the marble corridor. "He'll be asleep when we replace his 'lucky' sneakers with the new ones. Then, it's just a matter of breaking the news to him."
"And when he wakes up and finds out his lucky sneakers are gone?"
"His feet will be covered," said Dr. Walsh. "He will wake up relaxed and light headed. He won't know we've made a switch."
"How will we tell him?"
"Carefully," said Dr. Walsh. "But - leave that part to me."
The new room looked much more like a typical hospital room. Monitors lined the walls. Cables with electrodes hung from a metal arm hanging above a hospital bed.
The staff members lifted Tony off the stretcher and transferred him to the bed. Mrs. Crane watched them tensely as they pulled Tony's arms and legs to the side and secured them with straps to the edge of the bed.
"Precaution," explained Dr. Walsh as Mrs. Crane eyed a silent question to him.
An IV was inserted into Tony's left arm. Electrodes were placed on his body to monitor his vitals. Mrs. Crane stood by, arms holding her elbows tightly.
Dr. Walsh assumed his position by Tony's feet, which were shod in a pair of torn, worn-out gray sneakers that looked as if they'd fall apart any moment.
"Here goes nothing," he said.
He started to untie a shoelace. The moment he touched Tony's sneaker, Tony shook, opened his eyes and screamed in horror. He looked at his strapped arms, struggled to free himself, strained his muscles, and the strap tying his right arm snapped. Dr. Walsh' staff jumped on him and fought to keep his arm down.
Tony was screaming.
"What is happening?!" shrieked Mrs. Crane over the loud screams.
"A few more milligrams!" shouted Dr. Walsh. Someone inserted a syringe in the IV bottle hanging above Tony. Tony slumped again, and again drifted into sleep. But this time, his sleep was disturbed. He breathed heavily as if in a delirium.
"What happened!? Why did he wake up!?" Mrs. Crane was crying now.
Dr. Walsh seemed shaken by the unexpected outburst. "I don't know," he muttered, shaking his head. "I've never seen this happen before. Not after the amount of anesthesia I'd given him. He should have been asleep."
Again he reached for the boy's sneaker. This time, he managed to untie Tony's shoelace and pull Tony's left sneaker off. Out came a foot wrapped in a blood-soaked sock. Again, Tony's body convulsed and he woke up. He screamed again and struggled to get himself free.
Mrs. Crane rushed towards him, but a staff member held her away. Three other staff members held Tony down. Containing him was becoming difficult. He seemed to have gained enormous strength. More anesthetic was added to the IV, but it seemed to have no effect on Tony.
Tony was screaming out of control. Mrs. Crane collapsed in the corner of the room, crying. The fourth staff member rushed to help the rest. Dr. Walsh did not wait longer. While his staff held Tony down, he untied Tony's second sneaker and pulled it off. Another bloody foot came out.
Tony no longer showed any signs of being sedated despite the additional drugs. He thrashed and struggled against the four staff members holding him down. The monitors above his head displayed violent curves.
"Shall we give him more?" someone shouted.
"We can't!" Dr. Walsh was helping the four hold Tony down as well. "Anything more will kill him!"
"Why isn't he asleep?"
"I don't know… I don't know!"
Tony was struggling to break free with incredible strength.
And suddenly - it was over. Tony's body tensed up and stopped moving. The staff members let go of him and stepped back. A continuous beep filled the sudden silence in the room. It came from the monitor above Tony's head displaying his heart activity. The erratic sinusoidal curves previously displayed there were moving to the left, pushed out by a flat line at zero microVolts.