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Show 149 I am explaining this, watching his eyes, looking for the usual signs of defensiveness or hostility that I somehow know this procedure and he does not. I can read nothing at all. I am finished with my explanation and he is thinking, saying nothing. "Where can I get a copy of the protocol?" he is asking. "I don't know," I answer. I have tried to get a copy from the company but patients are not allowed to have this technical information. As if I would attempt such a procedure on myself. My inner sarcasm is threatening to explode into this conversation and I am taking a preventative deep breath. "Maybe you could call the company," I am saying. He is rubbing his chin with his hand and looking vacantly at the sheets on my bed. He will now satisfy his curiosity about my rare disease, I am thinking, examine my stiffened and bent arms and legs, see if I have any reflexes at all anymore and then he will leave, academically fed, and life for me will go on as it always has here before. The same old thing. I dare not hope for more. "I'll do that," he has just said. |