Chapter 9: The Pinch Test

The neurologist came at nine with a case of instruments and no expression at all.

Xie Guangping came with him, and so did the tall lawyer in the grey suit, who did not look at Lin Zhi.

They stood at the foot of the bed in a line.

Lin Zhi sat on the left side with his husband's hand in both of his.

"I'd like every test written down," he said, before anyone spoke. "And signed. I'm the spouse."

"Mr. Lin, this is routine," said the neurologist.

"Then it won't mind being written."

The neurologist sighed, and took out a form, and filled in the date.

He shone a light in each of Zhaoran's eyes first.

The pupils shrank, and the doctor grunted, and wrote something down.

Then he took a small steel rod from the case.

"Nail bed pressure," he said. "I'll apply it to each finger."

Lin Zhi tightened his grip.

He had seen the rod before, in a video, and he had not understood how bad it would look in person.

The doctor set the rod across the nail of the first finger, and pressed.

Zhaoran's hand was still.

Lin Zhi felt it go rigid in his palm, and then, with an effort that he could feel in his own wrist, go slack.

"Doctor," he said, loudly, "what scale are you using?"

"The Glasgow," said the neurologist.

"Is that the 2014 revision?"

"I beg your pardon?" said the neurologist.

"I asked because in my law school, a case was thrown out over exactly that."

"You've written down the pupils, but not the scale. Could you add the scale?"

The doctor stared at him.

He was already pressing the second finger.

"I'll add the scale," he said stiffly.

"And the time. And your license number. And is it a pinch or a rod? Because the form says pinch."

"Mr. Lin."

"I'm just trying to be careful," said Lin Zhi, miserably.

He pressed his thumb into the back of the hand he held, over and over, where only Zhaoran could feel it.

Under his thumb, the hand trembled.

Third finger.

Fourth.

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