Myfathersaidhewasright.Myfatherdidn’twanttorisk
losing his ability to practice surgery for the sake of
treatmentofuncertainbenefit.Thesurgeonsaidthathe
might feel the same way himself in my father’s shoes.
Benzelhadawayoflookingatpeoplethatletthemknow
he was really lookingat them.He was severalinches
tallerthan my parents,but he made sureto sit ateye
level. Heturnedhis seataway from thecomputer and
planted himself directly in front of them. He did not
twitchorfidgetorevenreactwhenmyfathertalked.He
had that midwesterner’s habit of waiting a beat after
peoplehavespokenbeforespeakinghimself,inorderto
seeiftheyarereallydone.Hehadsmall,darkeyesset
behindwire-rimglassesandamouthhiddenbythethick
graybristleofaVanDykebeard.Theonlythingtohint
atwhathe wasthinkingwasthewrinkleofhisglossy
dome of a forehead. Eventually, he steered the
conversation backto the centralissue. Thetumorwas
worrisome,buthenowunderstoodsomethingaboutmy
father’sconcerns.Hebelievedmyfatherhadtimetowait
and seehowquickly hissymptoms changed.Hecould
hold off surgery until he felt he needed it. Myfather
decidedtogowithBenzeland hiscounsel.Myparents
madeaplantoreturninafewmonthsforacheckupand
to call sooner if he experienced any signs of serious
change.
Did heprefer Benzel simplybecausehe’d portrayed a
better, at least slightly less alarming picture of what
might happen with the tumor? Maybe. It happens.
Patients tendto be optimists,evenif that makesthem
preferdoctors whoaremorelikely to be wrong.Only