"Do you know how I got hepatitis?"

"No."

I could feel your eyes on me as I arranged the tray by the beside to prepare for the procedure. You weren't a patient I was following; I had been asked to perform a paracentesis on you by a colleague. Your swollen, distended abdomen made you look heavily pregnant and the sheer weight and pressure of the fluid impaired your walking and breathing. The discomfort was evident which is unsurprising given you were hauling around several litres of fluid in your abdominal cavity. I knew your ascites was due to liver disease and I assumed it was attributable to a history of alcoholism or something of that ilk.

"There's going to be a poke and some stinging," I warned before injecting the freezing. You flinched and I felt the familiar twinge of guilt. The paracentesis needle, long and sharp, finally pierced your peritoneum and straw coloured fluid started draining out. I've always found it a bit ironic that ascites resembles beer. You breathed a sigh of relief and I did the same, feeling some of the tension recede from my shoulders. I hate causing people pain, even if it is in pursuit of therapeutic benefit. This wasn't your first paracentesis and it certainly would not be your last.

With the technical part complete, I refocused on your question. You regarded me with a certain intensity as you told me your story: a mugging, a gunshot wound, a tainted blood transfusion. "They caught the guy who shot me and he went to jail. But I was stuck with a life sentence."

I was quiet with shock as that certainly was not what I had expected. I was ashamed of myself for the assumptions I made about the etiology of your disease. I wonder if you knew that's what I thought; I imagine that people jumping to conclusions was common for you. A series of unfortunate events, none of which were in your control, led you to your current day predicament.

We chatted as more and more bottles were filled up at the bedside. You were transfused with albumin to prevent fluid from rushing back into your peritoneal space to replace the eight litres that were removed. I watched the IV drip and considered how thoroughly this blood product was screened to prevent the type of incident that brought you here to begin with.

At the end of the procedure, you thanked me for helping you feel so much lighter, but it should have been me thanking you. You taught me a lesson about keeping an open mind and to approach every patient with a fresh perspective. I need to let every patient tell their own story rather than writing it myself. Thank you, Mr. G.