Notes from a Healer
Lunch To Go
Brian T. Maurer
btmaurer1@comcast.net
When “To Go’s” opened up, I dropped by twice a week for lunch. A franchise from the west coast, “To Go’s” was one of the few eateries that offered take-out salads, a nice alternative to the usual fast-food establishments that lined the local strip mall.
As I stepped up to the counter to place my order—a chicken Caesar salad—I realized that I was the only patron in line.
Several employees milled about in the open space behind the counter, gearing up for the noontime onslaught. One elderly man dressed in a “To Go” logo shirt and the signature green baseball cap shuffled across the tiled floor. I pegged him for a retiree, probably someone who had elected to take a part-time job to pass the time and earn a few extra dollars.
As the girl at the register entered my order, I noticed that the old man had raised his hands to his throat. His face turned bright red and his eyes began to bulge.
“Hey, are you okay?” I called out to him. He stood stock still, clutching his throat. “I think that fellow’s choking on something!” I shouted to the people behind the counter. The girl at the register looked up at me, then turned to glance at the old man. No one moved.
I vaulted over the stainless steel counter, wrapped my arms around the old man from behind, and began to push forcibly against his belly with my fist. He finally sputtered when a small piece of hard candy flew out of his mouth onto the floor.
“Are you okay?” I asked him.
He managed to nod his head. “Got a piece of candy stuck in my throat. I’ve been trying to quit smoking, so I keep a piece of candy in my mouth.”
I walked around to the front of the counter. The old man shuffled across the floor and disappeared through a doorway in the back. “Someone needs to keep an eye on him,” I said to the wall of blank faces.
No one said anything. Then the young girl standing behind the counter at the register looked at me. She opened her mouth and closed it again.
“Yes?” I asked her.
“That’ll be $3.75 for the chicken Caesar salad, mister.”
About the Author
Brian T. Maurer has practiced pediatric medicine as a Physician Assistant for the past three decades. As a clinician, he has always gravitated toward the humane aspect in patient care—what he calls the soul of medicine. Over the past decade, Mr. Maurer has explored the illness narrative as a tool to enhance the education of medical students and cultivate an appreciation for the delivery of humane medical care. His first book, Patients Are a Virtue, recently reviewed in The Yale Journal for Humanities in Medicine, is a collection of fifty-seven patient vignettes illustrating what Sir William Osler called “the poetry of the commonplace” in clinical medical practice.
Published: July 29, 2008