Life, on the Line by Grant Achatz (leveled readers .TXT) 📗

talk is a big problem. But for me especially anything involving my tongue comes as a great concern due to my profession as a chef. I am due to present a lecture in NYC this Thursday, and as you might expect was hoping to get this under control in time to keep that appointment . . . eating would be nice, too, although weight loss is appreciated.

I opened my mouth, he looked in, and his mood changed instantly. “I’m going to want to take a biopsy of that,” he said. He didn’t look at me as he left the room and returned quickly with two more doctors.

He explained how the biopsy would work. The doctors looked at each other and one said, “Make sure you take a good sample.”

As opposed to what?

He took a healthy slice of the area and despite the anesthetic I nearly flew out of the chair. But it was over that quickly. He explained that it would be sent to a lab and that he’d have results in a week to ten days.

I still didn’t know quite what he was testing for. “What kind of test is it?” I asked.

“We are testing to see if the tissue is cancerous.” He began packing up. It seemed like the exam was over. I was waiting for him to do something else, or to prescribe some antibiotics or something. But that was the extent of it.

“And that’s it? Nothing else to do?”

“Not right now. We’ll see what the test results say. In the meantime I’m giving you a prescription for some pain medication.”

I left the office feeling very uneasy. If there was a chance that the test result wasn’t cancer, shouldn’t he be trying to figure out what else it could be?

I headed back toward Alinea and called Nick on my cell. “Hey. I went to the oral surgeon. The guy freaked me out. Took a biopsy and that was it.”

“Well, that’s what you went there for, right? Did he say anything else?”

“No. Not really. That’s why I’m worried.”

A few days went by and we heard nothing. The pressure of the uncertainty clearly weighed on Grant and was reinforced by the constant pain in his mouth.

I decided to call the oral surgeon’s office to try to get the results of the biopsy more quickly. Grant was nervous, to say the least, and neither of us had a good feeling about the outcome.

A woman answered the phone.

“Hi. My name is Nick Kokonas and I’m the business partner of one of your patients who recently had a biopsy. He was told that he would have to wait seven to ten days for the results. I was wondering if there is any way we can pay the lab to expedite the analysis.”

She was confused by this question. “This biopsy was performed on you?” she asked.

“No ma’am. It was performed on Grant Achatz. He is a chef at a nearby restaurant named Alinea. Have you heard of it?”

“No.”

That was too bad. I was going to use that angle. I pressed on, “Well, he’s a world-famous chef. His restaurant was named the number-one restaurant in the country by Gourmet magazine. Number one. He is in tremendous pain and is having a very difficult time eating, let alone performing his job. And frankly, ten days seems like a long time to have a potential cancer diagnosis hanging over your head. If there is anything at all we can do to speed up the lab results it would be hugely appreciated.”

She really wasn’t following any of this, it seemed. “So, he’s a chef, he can’t eat, he’s in pain. Has he seen the doctor?”

I grew frustrated. “Look. I need to speak with someone there that deals with the lab. It is critical that we get these results very soon. Is there someone else I can speak with?”

“Please hold.”

A few minutes went by and I could feel my blood pressure rising. Thankfully, someone came to the phone who was on top of things. I repeated my entreaty.

“Well, the doctor can request the results more quickly in emergency situations.”

“Great. Have him do that, please. Grant is in a great deal of pain, his livelihood depends on his palate, and frankly he’s freaking out a bit. I really would appreciate anything you can do to expedite this on his behalf.”

She promised to do her best.

I called Grant and relayed the conversation. “You know, it feels a bit better today, actually,” he said. “Maybe it’s nothing.”

The next morning the oral surgeon’s office called me.

“We have your biopsy results and the doctor would like you to come in first thing tomorrow morning. Can you make it at nine thirty?”

“No. Not really,” I replied. Ideally, I would be asleep at 9:30 in the morning, since I was leaving Alinea these days at around 3:00 A.M. and getting to sleep closer to four. We were implementing a series of menu changes, and the kitchen was struggling to keep up. “Can you just tell me the results over the phone?”

“No, sir, I’m sorry. I’m not allowed to do that. Only the doctor can give you the results.”

“Well, can you have him call me, please?”

“No, sir. The doctor needs to see you at nine thirty A.M. tomorrow. He will give you the results then.”

My blood ran cold. I knew.

Negative results, I figured, were good news that could easily be communicated over the phone. You get a strep test, they call you to tell you that it’s negative.

“Okay. I’ll be there.” I hung up the phone and immediately dialed Nick. “Hey. The office called me and said they got the results. But they’ll only tell me the results in the office and want me to come in first thing tomorrow morning. That can’t be good.”

“I am sure it’s just a formality,” Nick said. “Or maybe they want you to come in because they want to see if it’s changed at all, or to prescribe medication or something. Even if the result is negative,