Read Online The Anatomy of Deception by Lawrence Goldstone - Free Book Online

so that a young patient might enjoy a modicum of privacy during treatment.
    In the first bed lay a boy of nine with dark eyes and a mop of black hair, who had been admitted the previous day suffering from dizziness and extreme fatigue. Blood had been taken and examined under the microscope.
    “Hello, Giuseppe,” the Professor said with a smile. “How are you feeling today?” Another of the improvements in the care of children was an identification card at the foot of each bed, so that a physician or nurse might address the patient by name. The Professor never needed to look at a card more than once.
    “Johnny,” the boy replied weakly. “Not too swell.”
    The Professor pulled up a chair. “Okay, then, Johnny, I was wondering if you could help me with something.”
    The boy looked suspicious.
    “These are my students,” the Professor went on, “and, well, some of them aren’t very good.” Two or three of my colleagues around the bed pretended to look aghast, which elicited a faint smile from Johnny. “I was wondering if you could help me teach them to be better doctors.”
    “What do I have to do?”
    “I’m trying to teach them to remember four words—just four—but they can’t seem to get it.”
    “I could do it,” said the boy.
    “They’re kind of tricky.”
    “Ah, four words won’t be no trouble.”
    The Professor stroked his mustache, then nodded. “Allright. Let’s try. Each of these words stands for something that every doctor should do each time he sees a patient. Ready?”
    “Yeah.”
    “The first word is ‘inspect.’ Do you know what that means?”
    Johnny’s smile broadened. Most of us attending stood blank-faced. Farnshaw had succeeded in appearing positively stupid. “To check something out,” said the boy.
    “Perfect!” said the Professor. He turned to us. “A natural, this lad is. That’s right, the first thing a doctor should do is check out the patient, see how the patient looks and feels. So, Johnny, how do you feel today? What bothers you?”
    “I’m real tired,” the lad answered. “Every time I stand up, I feel like I’m gonna fall.”
    “Do your ears ring?”
    “Nah.”
    “Are you eating all right? Do you get sick after you eat?”
    “Nah.”
    “Does it hurt when you breathe?”
    “Nah.”
    “Fine,” said the Professor. “Now, on to the second word. This one is harder. Do you know what ‘percussion’ means?”
    Johnny shook his head.
    “It means to knock two things together and see what kind of sound it makes.” The Professor stood. “Watch.” Without warning, he rapped his knuckles against my head. Rounds had distracted me from my postalcoholic malaise but, although it was a physiologic impossibility, I felt as if my brain had shifted inside my skull.
    “I just percussed Dr. Carroll here,” he informed the boy with a grin, and I wondered if he had chosen me on purpose. “From the sound, I can tell you what’s inside his head. Sounded kind of hollow, eh?”
    Johnny was not the only one who agreed.
    “Now, I’m going to percuss your stomach and chest.” The Professor pulled back the sheet and the boy watched withcuriosity as the Professor examined his abdomen and thorax. “Perfect,” the Professor declared when he had finished. “Nothing bad going on there. On to number three, another tricky one. It’s ‘palpate.’ “
    “Don’t know that one,” Johnny said.
    “It means to press on something, to see how it feels, if it’s too hard or too soft. I’m going to palpate your stomach and your liver.”
    When he was finished, the Professor said, “The last word is the hardest, Johnny. It’s ‘auscultate.’ It means to listen. For this one, we have something special.” Dr. Osler removed the familiar device from the pocket of his coat. “This is called a Cammann binaural stethoscope. A lot of big words, but it just makes sound louder. Want to hear your heart?”
    “Sure,” said the boy.
    The Professor put the earpieces in