Chapter 1
Oliver knew he was dying. He could just tell. He had known ever since his 3rd year of medical school. Certain beliefs in life were subject to debate, inquiry, and questioning. This was not one of those. This was a feeling, no a fact, that had snuck up on him during the course of medical training. He attended Big Apple Medical School and completed courses and rotations at Big City Medical Center. New York City only reinforced his feelings of erosion and decay. Its entropy is so visually apparent. He could not help but feel transient.
Stepping out into the street on a cold December morning felt like a million tiny needles prodding him faster towards the subway entrance. It’s cold down in the tunnels but at least it is out of the wind. He wore a cheap tie and a heavy winter coat with a satchel over his shoulder carrying a short white jacket with his name embroidered on the left chest: Oliver Platt-Walrus. In the world of medical training there are two lengths of the white coat, long and short. Long white coats are generally worn by those who have completed medical school and short white coats are worn by medical students. While the origins of this distinction are somewhat blurry to most medical professionals, the general consensus is that it originated as a quick way for doctors, nurses and hospital staff to tell the difference between doctors and med students. Oliver found the shortness of the coat demeaning, but would never admit this to others.
Oliver’s parents divorced when he was very young. The Walrus family had the distinction of being the only Walrus’ residing in the United States. Walrus’ were notoriously suspicious of non-Walrus’. Oliver’s father Michael Platt was not the first in-law to experience and endure the intense loyalty and secrecy of the Walrus family. He had felt like an outsider from the beginning, but believed their marriage would overcome these differences. The Platt family was not close. Michael viewed his wife’s familial relationships as an affront to their spousal bond. These issues were only exacerbated by Michael’s penchant for strong drink and eventually Silvia moved out and took Oliver with her.
The subway train rumbled into the station, stopped, and opened its doors. Oliver drowned out the extraneous noise with loud rock music. He stepped into the train car, joining other early morning Manhattan commuters. He felt his heart beating in his chest in syncopated rhythm with the bass drum and the thud thud of the track noise. The heart contracts a finite number of times, thought Oliver, like seconds in a day, tick ticking away. These drowsy thoughts vanished as the doors opened at his stop. He was currently on a general surgery rotation. Each day on the rotation served as a reminder to choose a career other than surgery.
“Oliver! Wait up.” A familiar voice called from behind him about one hundred yards from the hospital main entrance. It was Sam, a friend and fellow med student. “I do not envy you, man. Jesus, Debra Duluth. How do you survive?” Debra Duluth was a notorious senior surgery resident known for decent looks, superior intelligence, and above all else, petulance.
“I hide,” replied Oliver.
“Ha. Good one. Let’s get inside, it’s freezing.”
“No, seriously, I hide.”
“What?”
“I spend at least half of every day hiding.”
“I was wondering why I hadn’t seen you around this month.”
“Hey, I’m going to be late. Let’s get together sometime soon.”
“Happy hiding. I’ll see you around,” said Sam as they separated in the lobby.
Oliver’s father Michael was a surgeon and Oliver had always assumed that he would also purse a scalpel wielding career. Michael was an orthopedic surgeon. He maintained a successful practice until shortly after the divorce when a trio of legal matters led to his loss of hospital privileges and ultimately disbarment by the Medical Board of California. Michael rarely admitted the existence of these events, but Oliver had learned various conflicting details from the Walrus’, who whispered these morsels with elements of both guilt and zeal. This gossip was never openly discussed, but on three separate occasions Oliver heard the story from three separate generations of Walrus’. Each version differed wildly from the next, but he never argued this point. He just listened, starred straight ahead, and nodded. To disagree would have been an insult.
