I nodded. “And I shouldn’t have accused you of trying to make me look bad. I know that’s not what you were trying to do. I guess I—”
The door opened, and Dr. Rosenfeld popped his head in. “Dr. Whitham, could you come with me, please?”
With wide eyes, I looked from him to Mark and back again. “Sure, doctor. What’s up?”
Rosenfeld frowned. “Just come with me.”
Okay, that didn’t sound good. I pushed to my feet and followed him out of the room. “What’s going on, Dr. Rosenfeld? Is there a problem?”
“Let’s go into my office,” he said.
Once I was seated in his office, and he had settled himself behind his desk, he fixed me with a serious look that made my heart drop into my toes.
“Doctor?” I asked, silently cursing the quaver in my voice.
“On January first, you had a patient named Morris Terwilliger. Is that correct?”
Mr. Terwilliger again. Jesus. Was everyone going to bring this up?
“Yes, sir. That is correct.”
“It says here that he presented with abdominal pain and vomiting, and you ordered morphine, Phenergan, and an ultrasound.”
“Well, that’s not exactly—”
Rosenfeld held up a freckled hand. “I’m not finished. At that point, Dr. Johnson informed you that the patient was allergic to morphine—per his wife—and counter-ordered Dilaudid instead of morphine.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say counter-ordered. It was my patient. I instructed the RN to change the order to Dilaudid in light of the new information.”
“Roberta Collins charted that you ordered the morphine and Dr. Johnson counter-ordered the Dilaudid.”
What the hell was the cause of this dressing-down? More of Mark’s tattling? Or Roberta’s? “I suppose that was her perception of the events, but Mr. Terwilliger was my patient. Dr. Johnson only happened to speak to the wife on his way out, and she informed him of the allergy. Then he came back in and told me. Of course, I changed the order to Dilaudid. I wasn’t going to give a patient a medication he was allergic to.”
“Then Dr. Johnson left the room, and you ordered nurse”—he glanced at his computer screen— “Jolene Starr to administer morphine and Phenergan.”
“Not morphine. We just went over that.”
“No, we just went over the order and the counter-order. Then you sent the patient to ultrasound, where they confirmed the diagnosis of kidney stones with a total blockage of the urinary tract by several large stones. You sent the patient straight to surgery for a Percutaneous Nephrolithotomy.”
“Yes, that’s right, but I didn’t order morphine on the patient. Well, I did initially, but I changed the order like I told you.”
“Then how did morphine get in the patient’s system, Dr. Whitham?”
“What? I have no idea. We gave him Dilaudid.”
“There was no Dilaudid in his system. Only morphine.”
I shook my head and searched my memory for anything that would make sense. “Where are you getting this information?”
“From the autopsy, Jason. Mr. Terwilliger died on the operating table.”
“Oh, my God.” The whole world disintegrated around me, and I was floating. I slumped back in my chair and jammed my fists into my temples, trying to quiet the ringing in my head. It sounded like an EKG flatline, loud and piercing and final. “It wasn’t me. We gave him Dilaudid. Who performed the surgery? Maybe they—”
“It was Alex Trevayne. But who performed the surgery is irrelevant, Jason. The autopsy was conclusive. The morphine is what killed Mr. Terwilliger. Morphine that you prescribed and oversaw the administration of.”
“It’s impossible,” I said. “Unless… maybe the pharmacy sent the wrong medication over.”
Dr. Rosenfeld steepled his fingers under his chin. “We’re going to look into that. There will be a full inquest, Jason. Mr. Terwilliger’s family is suing the hospital for malpractice. You know what that means.”
I nodded slowly.
“Mr. Terwilliger was your patient. If the inquest determines that you were at fault, you could be charged with manslaughter. I’m sorry, Jason.”
“But I didn’t—”
“We’ll look into it. There will be a full investigation, and everyone involved will be questioned. I hope this turns out well for you, but right now it doesn’t look good. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you need to prepare yourself. This could get ugly.”
“What happens now? Do I just go back to work?”
“As of now, you’re on paid leave pending the results of the investigation.”
“But that’s not fair, Dr. Rosenfeld. Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?”
“Would you rather be unemployed now? I can arrange that if you like.”
“No, sir. I just… What if—”
Rosenfeld stood abruptly. “You’re dismissed, Dr. Whitham.”
There was nothing else I could do but stumble out of his office. As soon as the door closed behind me, I leaned my back against the wall and slid down to the floor, cradling my head in my hands.
I will not cry. I will not cry.
But the tears came anyway. It was impossible not to cry when my world was coming down.
When I was finally able to pull myself together, made my way to the break room, unable to make myself leave just yet. This might possibly be the last time I got to sit in the doctor’s break room. If I couldn’t prove my innocence, my career was over. Even worse, there was a possibility of jail time.
Mark had come into the break room while I was there, and we’d had a conversation that I barely remembered. Then Rosenfeld had called him out, and I’d known what it was for. Rosenfeld was about to tell him what had happened, and Mark would probably believe him. Hell, I almost believed the lie, and I’d been there. I knew I hadn’t ordered morphine, and yet… God, what had happened?
Eventually, I left the hospital. Roberta and Jolene watched me from the nurse’s station as I passed by on my way out. From the confused expressions on their faces, I knew they hadn’t been questioned yet. They were still oblivious to the fact that I was screwed. But it wouldn’t be long. It wouldn’t be long before everyone knew.
By the time I got to my apartment—taking a detour through the liquor store—I had gone over the scenario at least twenty times in my head. Now, as I plopped down on the sofa with Bill tucked under my arm, I swigged Jack Daniels straight from the bottle and went over it again from the point where Mark left the patient’s room.
Roberta had returned from the bathroom with Mr. Terwilliger and reported that he had been unable to pass any urine. Then the nurses hooked him up to the IV and gave him the Phenergan. The ultrasound techs showed up, and they had to wait while Mr. Terwilliger got his Dilaudid. Then Jolene went back to the pharmacy to return the unused vial of morphine while the techs wheeled Terwilliger off to his ultrasound.
I called ahead to surgery and made sure they could get him in immediately. The ultrasound confirmed it was indeed kidney stones, and due to their size and the fact that Mr. Terwilliger hadn’t been able to urinate at all for more than twenty-four hours, he was taken straight to surgery. That was the last I’d heard, since the surgery took place after my shift, and I’d been off work the next day. I’d just assumed everything had gone smoothly. Rosenfeld or Mr. Terwilliger’s own doctor would have handled any follow-up.
No matter how many times I ran through the events in my mind, I couldn’t come up with any logical explanation for the morphine in Terwilliger’s system or the absence of any trace of Dilaudid. So, I drank.
By the time I normally would have just been getting off work, I was lying in the middle of my living room floor with just over half a fifth of liquor clutched in my hand. Bill pushed at my face with his little cat nose, nudging and nudging until I thought he would take the skin off my cheek. He was obviously worried about me.
Hell, I couldn’t blame him. I was worried about me, too.
8
Mark
Several Hours Earlier
Jason never came back from his meeting with Rosenfeld. A couple of hours later, I found him in the break room, sitting at a table in the corner and staring dejectedly into a Styrofoam cup of coffee. A half-eaten donut lay on a napkin beside his cup.
“Hey, where have you been?” I asked. “I’ve been busting my ass, and I haven’t seen you take a single patient. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said. “Just peachy.”
As I got closer, I noticed his eyes were red and puffy. He rested his hands on the table and began ripping small tears into the edge of the napkin.
“Have you been crying?” I lowered myself into the chair across from him and tried to catch his gaze, but he was just staring at the napkin as he systematically dismantled it around the forgotten donut.
“A little,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m not worried about you. I’m worried about that poor napkin.”
That made him look up, and I was shocked at what I saw in his eyes. The ocean blue had dimmed to a stormy gray.
“Just give me some time alone, okay? I’m not in the mood to talk right now.”
“Or apparently to take patients,” I said. “Do you need to go home? I’ll cover for you with Rosenfeld.”
Jason huffed. “Don’t act like you don’t know. That’s just insulting.”
“Whoa, hang on a minute. I apologized this morning. No harm, no foul, right? We’re not going to see eye-to-eye on everything, but we make a good team. Please don’t let New Year’s get in the way of that. I made a stupid mistake. You’re right. I let my dick do the thinking, and he’s not known for making sound decisions.”
Jason shook his head and continued to shred the napkin bit by bit. “Either you’re the nicest guy in the world, or you’re a fantastic liar.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say I’m the nicest in the world, but I can be pretty damn sweet when I put my mind to it.”
Jason laughed through his nose, just a stream of air, really, but he didn’t say anything. I was about to press him further when Alex Trevayne came through the door.
Not now, I thought.
Alex smiled when he saw me, but he froze when he realized who was sitting across from me. Alex had no use for Jason Whitham. That was clear in his every action and comment when Jason was around. It made me wonder if he sensed there was something between us.
There’s nothing between you, stupid. Jason thinks you’re a tool, and you spend way too much energy trying to prove him wrong.
“What’s up, Mark?” Alex approached us, looking unusually wary. Maybe he’d noticed Jason’s swollen eyes, or maybe he felt the tension in the room. Whatever it was, it had the overly-confident surgeon uneasy, and I’d never seen that look on him.
“We’re just resting our feet for a minute,” I said.
Jason looked up at Alex, and for a moment I thought I saw something like fear in his eyes. But then he just went back to shredding the napkin. At this point, the donut had been moved to the side, and the napkin was just a pile of fluffy white.
Alex crossed his arms, then uncrossed them and moved to the counter, where he popped a pod into the coffee maker and watched it dispense into a cup. The stream of liquid hitting Styrofoam was too loud in the room, adding to the sense of awkwardness.
“You want a cup?” he asked without turning around. I knew he was talking to me. He never talked to Jason unless it was to try to cut him to the bone.
“No, thanks.” I shook my head even though I knew he couldn’t see me.
Jason cut his eyes up to me and back down again. More shredding, more piling. He was going to run out of pieces soon, and then he would just have a mountain of fibers. I wanted to reach out and stop him. Just cover his hand with mine and tell him it would be okay. Whatever it was, it would be okay. But I didn’t. I’d only followed my urges with Jason one time, and look where it had gotten me. On his shit list.
He didn’t want my sympathy, and he didn’t want my attention. What he wanted was for me to go away.
“My mother is hosting a fundraiser in a couple of weeks,” Alex said. His eyes met mine as he took a sip of coffee and winced. “Damn, that’s hot.” He smacked his lips and then blew into the cup. “The fundraiser is for the war veterans something-or-other. Did you get an invite?”
“I think so,” I said. “Sounds familiar.”
“So, you weren’t planning on going.” Alex blew on his coffee again and eyed me over the rim of his cup.
“Well, I’ve been so busy. Had a lot going on.” I thought of Jason and our aborted sexual encounter, and the fact that he thought I didn’t have his back with Rosenfeld. “Just a lot on my mind. Is it black tie?”
“You know my mother. She’s never planned an event that wasn’t.”
“True. The one she did for the cancer kids last fall was nice.” Small talk. Meaningless small talk when all I wanted to do was find out what was wrong with Jason. But I was better at small talk than real talk. I had a lot more experience with it.
“This one is at the club, but it’s not open to all members. Invitation only.” He sent a side glance in Jason’s direction. Subtle, but not subtle enough. Was he making a point because Jason had managed to get himself a membership at the club?
“Sounds nice,” I lied. “I’ll make an appearance if I can, but I can’t make any promises.”
“We could ride together,” Alex said, and I could tell he was trying hard for nonchalant. “It would be a hell of a lot more fun with you there. Probably going to be a bunch of old-timers. We could grab a bottle of whiskey on the way and show up with our ties loosened. Show those old men how it’s done. What do you say?”
I shrugged, wishing like hell he wouldn’t do this here, and certainly not right now. Because what he was doing, as covertly as possible, was asking me out on a date. In front of Jason. “We’ll see. It just depends, really.”
“On what?”
I shrugged again. “I can’t commit to anything yet. I’m sure one of the other guys from the club would be glad to ride with you. Benjamin likes to drink. You two would be three sheets to the wind by the time you got there. They’d probably have to call the cops.”
Alex chuckled. “Hey, I’m not looking to get that crazy. Just… you know. Like we used to do.” Alex gulped down the last of his coffee and tossed the cup into the trash. “Think about it, Mark. Really think about it.”
I nodded. “I will. I’ll let you know soon.”
Alex left, but before I could breathe a sigh of relief and get back to grilling Jason, Rosenfeld came in looking frazzled, his gray hair sticking out from his head in thick, greasy hanks. He stared at Jason, who met the stare with an even one of his own.
“Mark,” Rosenfeld said. “Could I see you in my office?”
“Uh… sure. Let me just finish up here, and I’ll be in—”
“Now,” he said, his eyes harder than they usually were when he spoke to me. “I’m very busy today, and I don’t have time to wait around.”
I wanted to ask him what the hell crawled up his ass and died. He was acting weird. In fact, everyone around here was acting weird.
“Fine,” I said, not bothering to disguise my annoyance. Let him reprimand me for insubordination. I was beyond caring at the moment.
“We’ll catch up later, okay?” I tapped a finger on the table in front of Jason’s shell-shocked face.
He nodded, but the gesture didn’t look anything like agreement. He still didn’t want to talk to me, or be around me, apparently. I thought maybe I should ask Rosenfeld to split us up before things got any worse, but I didn’t want to get Jason in trouble, especially after all of the things he’d accused me of. Treating him disrespectfully, throwing him under the bus to make myself look better… I didn’t do those things, did I? I mean, I was ambitious, but I’d never really thought of it that way.
“Mark…” Rosenfeld’s voice snapped my attention back to him, and I
reluctantly followed him out of the break room and to his office. Something was wrong; I could tell that much. Even the sounds of the ED down the hall seemed to grow quiet as if waiting to see what Rosenfeld had to say.
“Have a seat, Mark.” He indicated the padded chair that faced his desk and took his own seat.
“What is this about, sir?”
“There’s an inquest.”
“An inquest?” My heart tripped in my chest. Had I done something wrong? Was I going to lose my career now? Was this the end of everything I had worked for?
“Mr. Terwilliger,” Rosenfeld continued. “The patient you and Mark were both working on January first. Kidney stones. Do you remember?”
“Yes.” I didn’t mention that the only reason I remembered was that Jason and I had been arguing. Terwilliger’s case had not been remarkable in any other way.
“Tell me about it,” Rosenfeld prompted. “Tell me everything that happened.”
Oh, shit. This was about the argument. It had to be. Perhaps Jason and I were being labeled Distressed Physicians—or Disruptive Physicians, as most other hospitals called it. It was not a pleasant thing to be labeled as such. We’d all heard the horror stories.
The accusations were usually anonymous, and so the accused could never confront their accusers. The hospital would look into it, and the determination was rarely in the accused physician’s favor. There would be therapy sessions, time off from work, possibly prescription meds, and consequences that would follow us wherever we went. Once a physician had been labeled disruptive, it never went away. And from what I had heard, there was little to nothing you could do to fight the charges. You either went along with the treatment, or you retired. End of story.
So, what on earth was I going to say? Rosenfeld liked me. It was no secret that I was his favorite resident. But could I manage to save myself without incriminating Jason?
Dr. Perfect: A Contemporary Romance Bundle Page 8
