Alexandre Vidal Porto - Sergio Y.

As I listened to Cecilia Coutts talk, I heard echoes in my head of Sergio’s voice describing Areg.

“Sandra received offers from all of the restaurants where she’d interned. They were the best in New York. Surprisingly, she preferred opening her own business. She had the money and the support of her family. ‘Why not go for it?’ she must have asked herself. That’s what she tried to do. It was what she was doing when she died. Sandra was a person of courage.”

Earlier, she had mentioned “Angelus’s example.” I imagined she was speaking of Sandra’s determination to open her own business. Pretending to know what she was referring to I said: “I know. She named the restaurant Angelus.” To which, to my surprise, she replied: “Yes, Angelus, for the book you managed to get into her hands. It brought about the most important epiphany in her life.” She looked at the bookshelf behind her and pointed to the spine of a yellow book on one of the shelves, face level.

Cecilia Coutts’s use of “epiphany” in her testimony raised my confidence level. But my fear of seeming ignorant in her eyes also increased. At this point in my life, I know that not all epiphanies are positive. Some, paradoxically, show us the wrong way, the one we should not follow.

Cecilia Coutts did not detect the stiffness in my lips. Neither did she notice that for a moment I lowered my eyes, feigning a deep sigh. While she described the hormone therapy she had prescribed, I looked at the shelf, just above her eyes, trying to find the book that had unleashed this revelation in Sergio Y. I almost wished our meeting would end so I might get closer to the books as we were saying our good-byes.

I could not make out the word “Angelus” on the spine of any of them. From where I was seated, I really could not get a good look. I knew that the book I was looking for was there, but my eyes betrayed me. Against my will, I kept returning to the outlines of Dr. Coutts’s nipples visible through her sleeveless white T-shirt.

Just then, the intercom rang. A patient had arrived. Our meeting had come to an end. We exchanged business cards, cell phone numbers, and she said she would be available to clarify any doubts I might have.

I left Cecilia Coutts’s office not having had the courage to tell her the truth. I was not able to confess that I had been unaware of our patient’s transsexualism. I never managed to ask the questions I had intended to ask. My vanity had prevented me from revealing my ignorance. I was intimidated by her beauty. As a man, I felt physically attracted to her. As a doctor, I think this attraction disarmed me, it weakened me.

Sandra might have referred to me with great respect and admiration, as her doctor was now revealing, but this was never apparent to me. She never said anything to me that hinted at this. Even when she thanked me on the day she told me she would be stopping the therapy. Why?

If it were true that Sergio Y. was aware of his transsexuality from the time he was twelve, he did not mention the topic to me because he did not want to. Maybe he was not ready. The fact is, he did not. It is no use asking why.

He never told me anything. But, from what I could deduce, I had played an important role in his accepting his transsexuality and owning it. For some reason, I had been instrumental in his choosing his life’s course. Was I therefore equally responsible for his death?

The question remained unanswered in my mind. Still, I left Dr. Coutts’s office relieved.

I had been acquitted by one judge, Dr. Cecilia Coutts, who knew about me and the transsexuality, said I had done “a good job” with Sandra. Given that Sandra and Sergio were two identities of the same person, the good I had done to one could compensate for the damage I had done to the other. I could not help but feel flattered and feel the guilt lift from my shoulders, even if momentarily.

That night, I ate sushi with my daughter in the hotel’s Japanese restaurant. Back in my room, I took a shower and went to bed, but the sushi did not sit well.

I woke up a little after 2 A.M. I lay in bed, thinking, motionless, waiting to fall asleep again. I mention this little bout of insomnia because, if not for it, I would not be here writing this. It was during those many minutes of sleeplessness that I arrived at the conclusions that made me feel obligated to leave a record of Sergio Y.’s story.

That night of insomnia confirmed for me the importance of humility. Pride had prevented me from admitting my ignorance to Cecilia Coutts. I had been unable to confess my professional failure. I did not mention my ignorance. I chose to stay in the shadows.

But I am a doctor. And ignorance, to a doctor, can be death. I learn in order to save lives. It is what I do. If I stop learning, my usefulness in the world comes to an end. I must accept that I do not know everything. I have strived to learn as much as I can. But I have to continue learning. I must see ignorance as an advantage. Learning what one does not know expands life’s possibilities.

While I lay awake in bed I had a revelation. That same night, beneath the sheets that were tucked firmly under the mattress, I, who never pray, prayed for my parents’ souls. Without them, perhaps I would not value honesty as much as I value it today. There would be no reason for me to tell this story.

At 4:07 in the morning, I sent the following email to Cecilia Coutts:

Dr. Coutts,

Thank you for seeing me in your office yesterday morning. It was a pleasure to meet you. The conversation we had about the patient we have in common was very illuminating. However, I have to confess that I have not been completely candid about my knowledge regarding Sandra’s clinical picture.

I fear I am abusing your time and your patience, but I would like to meet with you once more. If you can see me today, Friday, for five minutes, I would be very grateful. I leave for the airport at 2 P.M. Before then, any time that is convenient for you is good for me.

A.

At 7:30 A.M., my alarm clock went off. I got up and went directly to the computer to check whether Cecilia Coutts had responded. At 6:56 A.M., Cecilia had written the following message:

Dr. Armando:

I have a busy day today, but could meet you at my office before 11 A.M. At noon I have a conference at Beth Israel Med Center. Let me know by email if that works for you.

Cecilia

I felt relieved at her response. I immediately wrote back confirming my intention to visit her “a little after ten.” I hastily finished packing, I ate a cereal bar from the fridge, I took a shower and shaved. All of this with the TV on.

I left my luggage at the reception and went to meet Mariana to say good-bye to her at a café near her future office, on 47th Street. The taxi driver spent the entire ride — from the hotel to the café—on a phone call, which he only interrupted once for a few seconds to ask for the address.

I was determined not to let the anxiety I felt about my second visit to Cecilia Coutts’s affect my meeting with my daughter. I succeeded.

Mariana told me about the work she would be doing at the bank. She would travel to Brazil on a regular basis. With a sly smile she extended her fingers to show me the ring I had given her on graduation day. She explained how the company would pay for her relocation to New York, and that I would no longer need to send her money.

We said good-bye with a kiss and a hug. I got into a taxi and headed to Cecilia Coutts’s office with the taste of coffee and pride in my mouth. In the car that would take me to the next destination of my unknown fate, I allowed myself to be overcome by positive feelings, such as optimism and a determination to make things right.

As in Fernando Pessoa’s poem saluting Walt Whitman, images of Sergio Y. appeared to me along the entire ride to Dr. Coutts’s office. “Hey, Sergio, it’s me, Armando. Remember the excitement you felt walking these streets, going to see your doctor, trying to change your life? I’m feeling the same thing. Remember the wind you felt in your face on those hot days? I feel that right now. I know you. We’re holding hands.” And, once again, I felt his finger on the doorbell, his hand on the doorknob and his body in the chair Cecilia asked me to sit in when I arrived at her office at five to ten in the morning.