BETTER THAN BROTHERS

MY FIRST ROOMMATE

I live on Hilton Head Island, SC. Hilton Head is known to be a haven and resort area for the wealthy and the upper middle class. Personally I’ve been to classier and more beautiful places but that’s me. I came here for the first time on a honeymoon with my second wife and I swore I would never return. I was wrong. Not only did I visit often on golf outings, but my third wife and I relocated to Hilton Head at the end of 1999.

I’ll tell you at first I was reasonably impressed. We first lived in an upscale plantation (that’s what they call subdivisions on Hilton Head) around the corner from a supermarket that dealt mostly with gourmet foods and played chamber music while we shopped. I remember the overall attitude of everyone I met as being somewhat snobbish. Driving into town in my red Mercedes convertible was kind cool. Boy did I think I had made it until I noticed an abundance of Mercedes convertibles being driven by a bunch of guys with gray hair and bad driving habits. They all looked just a little older than me but there I was, one of them. That was the first time I felt old. I remember thinking that this place was like a geriatric ward but only bigger. Other than snob appeal, warmer weather than the north, forty some odd golf courses and an abundance of tennis courts what did this place have to offer? The beaches were not as nice as some I have been to, and there was nothing that made this place a real salty island. The ocean could not be seen from the main road and most of the restaurants were nothing special. It was even difficult to get fresh local seafood. As I said, other than reputation, my opinion at the time and still is that Hilton Head was greatly overrated. Believe me, had I not had business involvements to consider along with my wife’s happiness I would have been out of here in a New York minute back to the Jersey Shore where I was raised. One of the striking realizations came from my local accountant who clearly and seriously indicated to me that Hilton Head was the end of the line for most things. Banks and banking sucked, the Internal Revenue auditors didn’t like coming here on business (he hadn’t had a client audit in years), the stores rarely had updated products, and the place was loaded with bullshit people and old foggies. HE WAS SPOT ON. There was nothing I could think of to counter him and I had a few other choice items I could have added to his list. One being mediocre medical care. There were plenty of doctors but for some reason it was very difficult to see them when you needed them. There was a modern and beautiful hospital but as they say “you can’t tell a book by it’s cover”.

I know people who relocate from one place to another. When they do the do their due diligence. They check out the schools, the average temperature, rainfall, politics, airports, number of golf courses, population and so on, but how many really go into depth investigating the caliber of medical care? Guess what I didn’t either. NOTHING.

When we decided to leave Atlanta I told my wife I wanted to get back to the beach and our ideas of the beach were different. Mine was Monmouth County, New Jersey and all the things that came with the area. Her’s was Hilton Head. I compromised and we ended up in Hilton. Happy wife, happy life.

I experienced a number of disappointments regarding healthcare. I found only one doctor on the entire Island who I could see without at least a two week future appointment. Most doctors required a minimum of three weeks notice for an appointment and you were lucky if they would take you even if you are dying. People I knew told me that when one becomes ill they immediately visit the emergency room at the hospital for care regardless of how serious the situation was. I was also warned never to have a heart attack because if I needed a by bass or a stint because the Hilton Head Hospital was not qualified or certified to do that particular procedure. Further, if you did have a major heart problem you were shipped out to a hospital in Savannah, Georgia about an hour or so away. Pretty scary for a guy my age which seemed to be the age of most people around town. I decided to become proactive but I was at a loss as to where to begin.

Over the years in Hilton Head I became friendly with a Pediatrician who seemed to know his way around. Dr Peter Salarno. To begin with Dr Pete was from NJ, secondly he was a good golf buddy, he was funny, and his wife was a fabulous Italian chef. I asked Dr Pete what to do? His response was to go to the emergency room and never have a heart problem. Wow, I felt terribly vulnerable and I knew I had to do something. Shortly after my disappointing discussion with Peter I came down with a case of what was diagnosed by the only available doctor as Bells Pawlsey. I guess he wasn’t sure of his diagnose because he sent me to the hospital for an MRI. When I arrived at the hospital I was sent to the radiation department and went to check. When I arrived at the destination I deliver my paperwork. I waited for about fifteen minutes and my name was called so I went to desk where the nurse was giving me a very strange inquisical look. I inquired if there was something wrong? Her answer was astonishing. She shook her head and said she was sorry she couldn’t help me BECAUSE the hospital did not and never did have an MRI machine. How could that be and why was I sent there? That was the last straw.

Back to my plan of action. This was serious. Enough is enough. I put on my thinking cap. I called Peter what had happened and told him the course of events. He burst out laughing and I said in a loud voice what should I do? I’m trapped in this shit hole.

The next day Peter called me with a plan. He suggested that I should find a doctor in Savannah, as a matter of fact a Jewish doctor. My response was is there one because there aren’t any in Hilton Head. I would like to say I’m not a bigot but being from the New York area and being my age I have to acknowledge the majority of doctors around my area were Jewish. plus I am Jewish. Not a bad idea. A Jewish doctor. There were none that I knew of but I will say I never gave it a thought before. Goldberg, Stein, Schwartz, Goldman, Farbman, Bernstein and more. I decided to find one so I asked Peter where I should start looking. He said sit tight and he’ll do some research. The next day Peter called and told me his idea. Look at the roster for Saint Joseph’s Hospital in Savannah. It’s the best hospital in Savannah and certainly there will be a doctor that would qualify for our standards. Peter said once some were selected I should interview them. I called the hospital and requested the roster be sent to me by email.within green minutes the roster appeared on my computer. Wow, they were pretty efficient. I was impressed. A good omen.

I went over the list and I found only one name of a doctor associated with Saint Joseph however there were others who had rights with the hospital. I immediately called Dr Stephen Herman’s office and made an appointment for my first interview the following week. I was told to bring as many as my medical records as possible. I was so excited I couldn’t see straight. I immediately got to work and collected a fairly large folder of records going back several years.

Finally the appointment day arrived and I was ready. I jumped in the car, turned on the GPS, checked my gas gauge, and I was off to Savannah in a cloud of smoke with plenty of time. I arrived about forty minutes early so I took my time finding a good Parkin spot on Mall Blvd. Not a very large building but big enough three or four offices. The first office displayed the sign for Dr. Stephen Herman — General Practice. I was there. I was so excited to finally find a big city doctor.

I entered and found myself in a strangely familiar setting. There was a small dimly lit wiring room to the right with shop worn furniture with new carpet. The walls were a dull greenish color in need of a paint job paint job. There were pictures on the wall of West Point, and various bridges in New York, and a number of covers from New Yorker Magazine. To the left was the receptionist counter with a sliding glass window. I remember it reminded me of my Uncle Mike’s medical office on fifty ninth street in Brooklyn New York when I was little boy. It was such a comfortable feeling. I loved my Uncle Mike and he always wanted me to become a doctor.

The receptionist was a middle aged woman wearing a black wig. Just a bit on the heavy side and I recognized her as being an Orthodox Jewish woman. She slid the widow open and greeted me and asked me to please sign in. Standing behind her about ten feet in the corner was a mustached man, medium height, wearing glasses, partially bald with curly hair dressed in a white knee length smock. He was staring at me over his glasses. The receptionist turned around and said “ Steve, this is Mr Rodkin from Hilton Head who is here to see you”. I assumed the receptionist was Mrs. Herman and I also realized the man in the smock was Dr Herman. I was asked to enter a door to the right and to wait for the doctor in the room directly across from door. I entered and I found myself in another dingy room with an over waxed floor and shopworn furniture. I thought even though I had fond and familiar memories of the surroundings this was not what I expected. Dr Herman seemed to glide through the entrance to the room and shook my hand and introduced himself. He aske me to have a seat. As I was about to sit he asked what I had in my hand. These are my medical records I said. He took the folder from my had and said I want to see what’s in hear and started to examine the records. To break the mood I told him I had noticed all of the pictures in the waiting room were of New York and I asked him if he was a New York. He replied that he was from Brooklyn and that he also attended West Point. He kept his head down scrutinizing my file and finally looked at me and said you know we were born on the same day in the same year. I said I was born in Brooklyn and asked him what hospital were he was born in and his reply almost floored me. Maimonides. I started to laugh. That was the hospital that I was born. Steve looked at me with a big smile and said you were my first roomate and if it weren’t for your hair I would have recognized you. We were both hysterical laughing and hugging each other. Unbelievable. What are the chances of this meeting? Why did we meet so far from home after so many years. How did this happen and why. I have no answers.

All I can say is there must be a reason. Since that day Steve and I have become very close friends and confidants. He has become my doctor and I never have to make an appoint. He keeps after me. We try to celebrate our birthday together every year. Sometimes on the exact day and sometimes at an near day. At our first celebration I presented Steve with a pewter train engine baby toy. We also occasionally spend Thanksgiving together.

I tell everybody that Steve is my oldest friend and that I know him longer than anybody on the planet. We have a tie stronger than brothers.