Who: Ben Dubay and Tom Childs When: 22nd April - evening Where: NY Presbyterian - Brooklyn What: Two doctors talk Warning(s): Mention of self-harm, suicide Status: Complete
There was always something about stepping into a hospital - the smell of antiseptic that immediately assaulted the senses as soon as those doors opened and those hard plastic chairs that always seemed to get more uncomfortable the longer you sat in them. One would think that after the best part of the last decade going in and out of them that Ben would be use it, to everything that went along with being a healthcare professional. But things were so much different down here, the American system was complicated compared to the Canadian system that he had worked under since getting his qualifications, back home everyone was treated equally and a simple visit didn’t cost hundreds or thousands of dollars. That was why he worked at Galen, he wanted to offer fellow gifted people the same standards of care that he was used to.
Just over ninety minutes ago Ben had received a call from one of the hospitals in the Bronx, on the edge of Shangri-La. A young man had arrived with injuries that strongly suggested self harm and Ben’s number was saved on their phone as ‘Doc’, after his first few days at Galen Ben had gotten himself a cheap prepaid phone and gave that number to his clients instead of his personal and private one, telling them that if they were in dire needs they could call him. For some reason this young man hadn’t called him before hurting himself and the doctors there thought that having the psychologist there might be helpful.
The trip on the subway took longer than usual but that was the New York transit system. Walking into the hospital he went to the front desk, saying who he was and why he was there. The lady told him that the doctors were still with the man, cleaning wounds and stitching them up but Ben was welcome to wait down the hall in the break room and the doctor in charge would see him there. “Merci.” He said, finding the room and taking a seat by the wall, at least he wasn’t stuck out in the waiting room with everyone else.
Tom often helped out in the clinic and a few times in the emergency room. It was an easy grove to slip into with his experiences in the military. Most days, he was putting together patients’ prescriptions and consulting with doctors or others in the pharmacy. Today, he was looking after someone that had come in with self-inflicted injuries.
After taking great care to help the young man, Tom washed up and nodded to the doctor in charge who asked him to speak with the psychiatrist who had come to see about the patient. Stepping out of the ER and into the waiting room, he looked over the individuals.
“Dr. Dubay?” Tom asked.
Ben didn't have many clients at the present time, he had only arrived in New York about a month ago and started at the clinic a week or so after that, word was still getting out. Though he had gained a few 'private’ clients, those who were happy to pay to see someone and talk about their lives, their feelings, whatever they wanted to. Some would ask for advice while others just wanted someone who they could vent to.
This young man - who he only knew as Daniel - was a Galen client and one who had some serious issues. Hearing that he had hurt himself didn't really come as a surprise but it wasn't for him to judge, he could only offer the person help, it was up to them if they implemented it or not.
Hearing someone call his name Ben turned towards the person “Oui?” He asked, standing up and walking towards the other man, obviously a doctor by the looks of him. He was also slightly impressed that the doctor had also managed to pronounce his name correctly.
Tom stood in his usual stance, not having lost the military even weighted. His knees were not bent at all, arthritis already setting in from the wartime injuries. Smoothing his material of his shirt on his right shoulder, he nodded.
Noticing the other man spoke ‘yes’ in French and thankfully knowing the language, Tom spoke, “Bonjour. Je suis l’un des medecins qui s’occupe de votre patient. Hello. I am one of the doctor’s that is helping look after your patient.”
A small smirk might have flashed on Ben's face as the doctor spoke to him in well practiced French, it was always easy to pick the difference between those who were fluent and those who weren't and the way the other man spoke Ben was pretty sure it was the former of the two.
“Comment va-t-il?How is he?” Ben asked, “Ils ne m'en ont pas beaucoup parlé, à part qu'il a été amené avec ce qui semble être des blessures auto-infligées.They didn't tell me much, other than he was brought in with what appears to be self inflicted wounds.” He knew there were usually two types of self inflicted injuries - those that were done in order to end one's life and those that wouldn't cause serious damage or death, but were more than just a paper cut. Ben wasn't sure which it was, although Daniel hadn't shown any suicidal tendencies in their few appointments so he was expecting it might be self harm. “Je ne suis pas certain de son histoire, il n'est mon patient que depuis quelques semaines. I'm not certain about his full history, he's only been a patient of mine for a few weeks. ”
Tom didn’t often get to use his French skills. But thankfully he lucked out being the one to speak with Daniel’s psychiatrist. Nodding as a sign of respect, the older man took a step closer.
“Il ira bien physiquement. Je crois que ce qui s'est passé était accidentel dans quelle profondeur il est allé. Très probablement automutilation. Il a été nettoyé, cousu et administré un sédatif doux. Nous vous invitons à lui rendre visite une fois qu’il est installé dans une pièce. He’ll be fine physically. I believe what happened was accidental in how deep he went. Most likely self-harm. He’s been cleaned up, stitched up, and given a mild sedative. You are welcome to visit him once he’s settled into a room.” Tom spoke a little more hushed. It was such a sensitive topic. He himself had seen a number of cases similar to Daniel’s here in New York City and a few in Afghanistan.
Finding people who spoke French and could carry on a decent conversation was a rarity, even though the border with Canada was just a few hundred miles away. Ben didn't really care that others in the room might be looking at him and the doctor weirdly, conversing naturally in another language.
He nodded as the doctor gave him a rundown of the injuries, Daniel hadn't really revealed that he was a self-harmer but Ben had lost count of how many gifted people he had treated and chronicled in his studies that suffered from this. “Je le vois plus que je ne voudrais l'admettre, I see it more than I'd like to admit,” he said softly so only the two of them could hear. “nous traitons tous notre douleur mentale et émotionnelle différemment, il est triste de constater que le seul soulagement qu’ils obtiennent est de se faire mal physiquement. we all deal with our mental and emotional pain differently, it's sad when the only relief they get is physically hurting themselves.”
Though some might argue that Ben's sometimes strenuous gym routine which left him with aching muscles might be classified as a kind of self abuse. “Merci de l'avoir cousu… et je dois dire que votre français est très bon, cela me donne le mal du pays.” Thank you for stitching him up… and I must say that your French is very good, it makes me feel a bit homesick.” Ben chuckled softly.
Tom often tried to keep himself as busy as possible throughout his life since he was sixteen. So French was one of those tasks. He was comfortable being around a room full of different languages. New York City was a melting pot.
The older man nodded, listening and sympathizing. “De rien. C’est notre travail. You’re welcome. It’s our job.” Tom began and then smiled softly at the compliment. “Oh? Merci. Oh? Thank you.”
New York was definitely more of a melting pot of cultures, countries and languages than Ben had experienced in Montreal or Quebec City. He was slowly falling in love with the place and finding all the good places to eat and what he could enjoy without ruining his diet too much. He wasn’t sure if anyone else around could understand them or not but anything to do with the patient was still in hushed tones.
Ben knew that it was all in the job description for an emergency room doctor, that the man had probably seen a hell of a lot worse than Daniel had presented with. “Ça me donne envie de la poutine It’s making me crave poutine.” He chuckled, as unhealthy as it was Ben really did love those fries covered with gravy and cheese curds. “Je n'ai pas attrapé ton nom I didn’t catch your name.” Hoping that it wasn’t rude to at least get the name of the doctor he was talking to, he always preferred to use given names rather than surnames when talking to people.
Keeping the hushed tone, Tom’s voice took on a bit of an airy growl. But it was just the nature of his voice these days. New York City had its quirks and marvels and the older man was content to be in the middle of it. Yet he should visit Shangri-La a little more.
Tom nodded and smiled, “Oh, oui. Thomas Childs. Oh, yes. Thomas Childs.” He wasn’t a fan of poutine, but he liked to know that others had a variety of good food tastes.
There was a lot more hustle and bustle than Ben was used to, he was still trying to navigate the subway system because it usually proved to be quicker and less stressful than trying to drive just about anywhere. Only time would tell if he would still like it after a couple of months or years.
He extended his hand for the doctor - Thomas to shake. “C'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer, Benjamin Dubay. Pleasure to meet you. Benjamin Dubay.” Although Thomas probably already knew that as he called Ben by his surname. “Je devrais vous laisser retourner au travail, je sais à quel point les services d'urgence peuvent être occupés.I should let you get back to work, I know how busy emergency departments can be.” He pulled out his wallet, got out one of his old cards that had his personal phone number on it and handed it to Thomas. “In case you have some questions… or just want to practice your French.” Ben for the first time in the whole conversation actually spoke English.
At the offer of the hand, Tom carefully took it with his own right hand and shook it firmly. “Également. Aider quand et où je peux. Merci pour le travail que vous faites.Likewise. Helping out when and where I can. Thank you for the work you do.” Letting go of Ben’s hand, the older man nodded. Blinking at the offered card and the verbal offer, Tom smiled. “Or perhaps a cup of coffee and some fresh air.” He took the card, liking the novel sound of Ben speaking English.
Ben rarely got thanked for his work helping minds, especially from other doctors so Tom's words brought a wider smile to his face. A firm handshake was also welcomed, so many people had such a weak or sloppy handshake that it was almost embarrassing. “I would not say no to coffee or fresh air, as long as you don't want to talk about work.” He smirked, even speaking in English his accent was still strong. “No free psychoanalysis, I promise.”
From some who was reluctant at first to confide in a psychiatrist, Tom had gained an appreciation for them. Putting people back together physically paled in comparison to reestablishing a healthy mind. “Definitely no work will be discussed,” he replied as his smile deepened into a grin. “Thank you got that,” he leaned slightly as he replied.
That was definitely true, the human body physically was pretty much all the same with some differences from person to person, the mind was so much more complex and just because something worked well once it didn't mean that it would again, even on the same person. “I’m still trying to find my way around this city, and really good coffee shops are hard to find if you don't want Starbucks.” His nose scrunched at the thought of having to settle for a Starbucks coffee. “Or drink what they try to pass off as coffee in the machines in the lobby.” Ben was a bit of a coffee snob. "I'll see you around. I better go and see my patient."