“I was a drummer,” he insisted, drawing my attention from his bulging belly, skin taut like a snare but less tympanic. My first solo paracentesis had history, jangling my nerves. Procedures were easier with anonymity. “Call me Hank!” His jaundiced hands trembled with cirrhotic syncopation. Track marks on paper-thin skin raced like lines of music without notes to play. “We were huge!” Heroin was bigger; killed his craft. I swabbed him with Betadine while sterilizing my emotions. Advanced the needle steadily. Heart beating, breaths held. Ascitic fluid splashed rhythmically into the container. A relieving symphony resonating differently for us both.
Nina Miller is a physician, épée fencer, and flash aficionado. A graduate of Cornell University and NYU Medical school, she currently resides in New York. Find Nina at www.ninamillerwrites.com and on Twitter @NinaMD1.