Even though these precautions are being taken and everyone is being very careful, there is still a great deal of fear about AIDS within the ranks of our house staff. I went out for a couple of beers with Andy Baron one night early this month. He looked terrible: He has lost at least ten pounds since the start of internship, and he was barely able to keep his eyes open. It was pretty clear he was depressed. During our third beer, he let me in on why: He’s convinced that he’s infected with HIV. “I’ve stuck myself with so many needles, there’s no way I don’t have it,” he explained.
I told him he shouldn’t worry so much, that every intern and resident has stuck himself or herself multiple times over the past five years and so far nobody’s tested positive for HIV. Andy replied that the key phrase there was “so far.” He’s sure that it may not be today and it may not be next month, but within ten years he and most of the rest of the interns in his group are going to wind up coming down with AIDS.
“How do people get AIDS?” he asked. “Drug addicts get it from contaminated needles that have been used by people who are infected with the virus, right? If we stick ourselves with needles that have been stuck into the veins of children who are infected, why shouldn’t we get it? We’re no different from drug addicts. We don’t have any magical protection.”
There’s really no way to argue with his reasoning. I think it’s pretty safe to say that at this point in the year, most of the interns would agree with Andy. This fear of AIDS has definitely changed the way the members of the staff approach patients. And it’s not something that will go away or change in the near future. AIDS is here, apparently to stay.
Andy
APRIL 1986
Saturday, March 29, 1986, 11:30 P.M.
I’m not going to talk for long because I’ve got to go to sleep; I’m on call again tomorrow. I’m on Infants’ [NW5—Infants’ ward]; I started a couple of days ago and of course I was on the first night. I got totally fucking killed. I was assigned six kids to start and then I got six admissions and a transfer that first night. It was like thirteen admissions, because I never had a chance to get to know anybody. In any case, it was terrible; I was up all night with a cross-covering resident who was really pretty mediocre; he didn’t help organize things at all. Then the next morning was a nightmare; I couldn’t present to save my life, it was like being a third-year student all over again. I was tired and they stole my scrubs and . . . it sucked. I felt disorganized, panicky, and I got chewed out by Alan Nathan for delaying giving an antibiotic to a patient. And there was so much scut I couldn’t get anything done; I didn’t have any progress notes written, nothing! I barely got my admission notes done. I finally got to sit down and write my progress notes at seven o’clock. I had two days’ worth of notes to write! I was postcall and I had to try to make some sense out of what had happened over the past thirty-six hours! I didn’t get out until after ten-thirty, and that was my post-call night! Ten-thirty at night! I was there for thirty-six hours without a wink of sleep, working my butt off the whole time. I’m still tired, and tomorrow I’m on call again. I think that was probably . . . that may have been the worst call I’ve had all year. What a fucking nightmare.
Anyway, I’m sure my senior resident, Eric Keyes, whom I like a lot, thinks I’m a complete idiot by now. He probably won’t trust me for the rest of the month. First impressions are pretty important.
Tomorrow I’m on call with another idiotic cross-coverer. I won’t mention names, but tomorrow I’m on with one of the worst, least-liked second-year residents in the program. What a pain in the butt! You know, they don’t give a shit when they’re cross-covering, because they’re out of there the next morning. They don’t have to face up to things; I do! I have to clean up the mess through the entire next day! And then my next call after that is on Wednesday, the day I have clinic. Then I’m on next Saturday. You know what that’s like? It’s like having four lousy calls in a row. It sucks! I hate it. I really hate this so much. If tomorrow’s anything like yesterday and the day before, I don’t know how I’m going to get through this month. It’s absolutely torture.
Right after vacation to come back to this! I can’t tell you! My vacation was pretty good. I’ll talk about that some other time.
Monday, March 31, 1986, 8:30 P.M.
I’m post-call again. Not so angry this time and not so unbelievably tired. I had a really easy night, actually; I got only one hit. It was easy, but still I was running scut until midnight. The guy I was on with turned out to be a completely obnoxious blowhard who at least is pretty smart. He’s a total zero as a human, though. Two calls and two total-zero cross-coverers. But now that I got these two over with I’m scheduled to be on with really, really good people during my next two calls. It’s just too bad it’s worked out in this order.