Chase, the Bad Baby: A Legal and Medical Thriller (Thaddeus Murfee Legal Thriller Series Book 4)

by John Ellsworth

  “I know, I’ve spoken with Mister Murfee. It’s my understanding he is prepared to file a lawsuit against Dr. Payne. Your lawyer believes the delivery was mishandled. He’s probably right. Brain damage in newborns doesn’t just ‘happen.’ It can always be traced back to some source. It’s not magic. If everyone did their jobs properly we wouldn’t see these cases. It’s a crime.”

  “What did you tell my lawyer?” She looked at her attorney as she spoke.

  “I told him that babies are capable of an amazing trick of nature. Babies are born with the ability to endure a short period of low oxygen levels. But when that brief window closes and Chase is still short of oxygen, life can go from wonderful to tragic in just a few breaths.”

  Latoya was crying now. Thaddeus placed a hand on her shoulder. He and the doctor could see she was facing the tough reality again. “And you believe that’s what’s wrong with Chase?”

  “Look at this particular image. It’s representative of this entire area of Chase’s brain.”

  She followed the area he encircled with his pen. “Okay,” she said.

  “The risk of an oxygen shortage or asphyxia increases if your labor and delivery take too long.”

  “Which really pisses me off. Payne should have come earlier and none of this would have happened. We’re furious with that man.”

  “You probably should be.”

  “My delivery took way too long. The nurses were scared to death, I could tell.”

  “After a period of time of low oxygen your baby becomes stressed. The lack of oxygen destroys the delicate tissue in the cerebral motor cortex of his brain. See this region back here?” Again, the images flipped across both screens until he found the one he wanted.

  “Yes.”

  He placed his pen against the computer screen and indicated a large circular area. “This dark zone is the center of Chase’s problem. He suffered this brain damage at birth. There’s just no other possible explanation, given his health, your health, a normal pregnancy, the excellent prenatal care you gave him. He’s suffering probably because he went too long without enough oxygen at birth. That’s the best we can tell.”

  Thaddeus spoke up for the first time. It was time to pop the Golden Question that all plaintiff lawyers must eventually ask the treating physicians. “Doc, you’ll say these things in court? To a jury?”

  The doctor pushed his glasses onto his forehead. He sighed as he contemplated. “I suppose I’ll have to. I’m his treating and my studies tell the story. Yes, I’ll testify, I want to help. He needs advocacy.”

  “That’s what Thad says you told him. He agrees and he’s an expert.” She smiled at Thaddeus and patted his arm. He squeezed her shoulder. This wasn’t easy, not for anyone.

  Whereupon Chase launched into a crying spell, bucking and tossing in his mother’s arms. She patted, she whispered, she cooed, but nothing helped. His pain continued.

  “You know, Latoya, I asked you to visit me with Mister Murfee because he’s a top trial attorney for this kind of injury to newborns. A colleague of mine from med school worked with him in Chicago.”

  “He has a quiet confidence. Chase and I love Thad.”

  Thaddeus smiled. “Thank you both. I’m sure I can help with this.”

  She patted Chase’s back, bundled against her. “Chase likes him too.”

  “That’s a nice thing to say, but I’m afraid there’s not much truth to it.”

  “Oh yes, Chase can already tell the people he likes and the people he dislikes.”

  “Latoya, it’s doubtful that Chase will ever be able to make those fine distinctions. That’s why I asked you to visit me with Mister Murfee.”

  Tears flooded her eyes now. “My poor baby won’t be able to know very much, will he? Thad told me. He told me Chase is going to need special care all of his life.”

  “Probably more care than you and your husband alone are going to be able to give him. I’m thinking maybe Chase should be placed in a long-term care facility where he can get the additional care that he needs.”

  “No way! I’m not giving up my baby to some institution.”

  “You wouldn’t be giving him up, you would just be turning him over to people who are experts in the type of care he needs.”

  “That will never happen. Chase is going to grow up with his mommy and his daddy. We’re all he has.”

  “Yes, that’s why I’m suggesting maybe he should have more. I’m just hoping we can at least open the door to discussion.”

  She was weeping and dabbing her eyes and nose with tissue. Never had Thaddeus felt more helpless than he did right then. “You’ve enlisted my help, too. It’s only for a limited time, I’ll give you that. But I’ll be there fighting for Chase one hundred percent.”

  She said, “Chase is growing up with me and his daddy. The help he needs can come to see him in his house where he lives.”

  Dr. Arroyo said, “And that takes money. Millions and millions of dollars over a lifetime. Chase has a natural life expectancy of eighty-one years. That’s a long time of daily—hourly—care.”

  “Thad is suing the hospital and the doctor. Chase will get the money he needs to live with his mommy and daddy at home,” the mother confidently said.

  “I hope you’re right.” He closed the chart and closed the CT scans and stood up. “OK, we’ve covered enough ground for today. I’d like to see you back in one month.”

  “We’ll be here. This baby isn’t going anywhere.”

  “Thanks, Doctor Arroyo,” Thaddeus said, and shook his hand.

  Latoya was busy with Chase’s coat as the doctor grimaced at Thaddeus and shook his head.

  This was going to be a tough one and they both knew that.

  They would have to be at the top of their game, especially the young lawyer.

  But he was confident. He had the treating physician ready to tell it all in the courtroom. Now he would add an expert witness from a local medical school, put the nurses and resident physicians on the stand, and Chase stood to win a whole roomful of money.

  And that was a lot.

  But first, he needed the Hudd records. They were due in two more days. He was certain he would find the smoking gun in those records. He knew they would show the doctor’s late arrival, his neglect of his duties, and the clear liability for the injuries Chase had suffered. Records won or lost these cases.

  And this time, he was sure he had a winner.

  Chase, John, and Latoya would soon have the help they so desperately needed.

  32

  Morgana’s Porsche Cabriolet eased up the slope and nosed abruptly into its reserved parking space. The headstone said the slot was reserved for Morgana Bridgman, Esq. Morgana and Manny remained in the car to talk.

  Morgana sighed. “So we’ve got another Phillip Payne case, Manny? Does this guy never stop hurting kids?”

  “Evidently not. Even worse, I’ve been feeling like shit ever since you made me turn over the phony records.”

  “The meeting will be a walk. You’ve turned over the notes I said you could turn over. So what else. Give me a rundown.”

  “We got the Staples case a month ago. Doctor Payne is on the one o’clock. You met the guy a year or two ago. Similar case. He’s going to need reassuring because he sure as hell was at fault. He could have killed this kid. Maybe it would have been better if he had. Kid’s life is destroyed.”

  “What did you turn over?”

  “What you said, the phony records.”

  “What all was missing from the records?”

  “Only the nurses’ notes. That made it easy. I destroyed the originals they sent us. We only scrubbed nurses’ notes.”

  “Good man. Look, no one hates this place any more than me. It’s a shit job and I get that.”

  “So why are you doing it?” Manny asked.

  “Why are you? Same reason. It pays the bills.”

  “There’s got to be a better way. What if we went out together?”

  “And did
what?”

  “Open our own firm.”

  “Doing what, medical malpractice defense? No one would hire us.”

  “No, I’m thinking divorce, bankruptcy, some criminal, personal injury.”

  “I took a look at the numbers. I can’t bankroll what it costs to start up plus pay my monthly nut.”

  “So we’re screwed.”

  Morgana tapped her hand on the steering wheel. “What kind of injury is it again?”

  “Anoxia. Brain damage, you’ve defended Payne on this very thing before.”

  “I vaguely remember.”

  “It settled, no trial.”

  “How much did we pay?”

  “Policy limits. Five million.”

  “Not much of a policy.”

  “It’s all Northwest Physician Reserve would insure him for. After they settled, they dropped him from the policy.”

  “So good old Hudd rushes in and picks him up.”

  “Who else would?” It was rhetorical. Both lawyers knew the answer.

  “Jesus.”

  Morgana stared straight ahead. Her hands gripped and loosened on the steering wheel. Her jaw worked as she contemplated.

  Morgana turned and faced her associate. “So do we still have the original records?”

  “I’ve got the original records. Just like we agreed when you came back to work here.”

  “Jesus.”

  “You want me to dump them?”

  “No, no, you did fine,” Morgana said, although she couldn’t explain her hesitancy. Normally she would have insisted Manny destroyed all originals. Not this time, though she couldn’t say why.

  “This is one messed up kid. I don’t like this at all.”

  “But the firm would know if we turned the originals over to the mom’s lawyer.”

  “How would they know?”

  “For openers I’d probably get hit for fifty million by the jury. That would be a huge flag that something seriously went wrong.”

  “So what do I do with the real records? That is a pretty dense cloud of smoking gun.”

  “Let’s just hold them in reserve and see how this thing goes. We’ll prepare for trial like the original records don’t exist.”

  “I don’t like that, dude. If you change your mind on down the road and give them up, maybe you’ve committed a crime by then. Maybe you lose your license to practice law.”

  “Knowing Dr. Payne they’ve probably got him nailed even without the records. It’s a miracle any insurance company will still insure him.”

  “That’s the thing. He’s left the practice just because of that. Nobody will sell him malpractice insurance. Even Hudd caved on him.”

  “Serves the bastard right.”

  “It does.”

  “So let’s go hear about the baby he destroyed. Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  * * *

  A black and white marble tile floor demarcated the waiting area, and at the far end a staircase to the second floor could be seen, back-dropped by six vertical windows, the upper three with lattice inserts. Beneath the staircase waited a wingback couch, flanked by end tables, fronted by a coffee table and surrounded by a flurry of wingback chairs.

  Off the elevator stepped Dr. Phillip Payne, who cast an anxious look at the reception desk then averted his eyes as he approached. Busted.

  The receptionist looked up and smiled at the doctor. “Good morning. Who are you here to see?”

  “Phillip Payne, M.D. Here for Miss Bridgman.”

  “One moment, I’ll buzz.”

  Moments later he was escorted into Morgana’s office and the inquiry began.

  “Just so I have this straight. Your wife threw your beeper in the hot tub?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And that’s why we’ve got this brain-damaged baby on our hands?”

  Manny rolled his eyes and said, “Somebody get the checkbook. This baby’s going to get his needs met.”

  Morgana ignored her associate. “Let me ask this, Doc. The nurse’s notes indicate you were scrubbing for C-section well within the thirty-minute window for decision to incision.”

  Manny added, “That’s not what the real records say, of course.”

  The doctor looked puzzled. “What do the real records say?”

  “That you’re fifteen minutes late.”

  Morgana said, “We’re going by the new records they gave us from the hospital, Doc. We’re covering your ass on this one.”

  Manny shrugged. “Well, according to those records he made it with ten minutes to spare.”

  “Is that right, Doc?”

  “I believe that’s accurate.”

  “So your version has it that you made it to the hospital inside the thirty-minute window, correct?”

  “Correct. Not my version, the truth.”

  “Then this baby shouldn’t be suing us. Why is he suing us?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Doc, you tell me. Why do we have a bad baby on our hands?”

  “There could be many reasons for an injured baby. Disease, maybe. Poor prenatal care, mother’s drug or alcohol use, lack of proper nutrients—”

  Many scoffed. “Why don’t you just pick one. What’s the theme of our case? Wrong vitamins? We’ve got a bad baby because mom took prenatal E instead of A?”

  “Let him finish. What else, Doc?”

  “The thirty-minute decision to incision requirement is an arbitrary number.”

  A frown settled on Manny’s face. “As in, someone pulled it out of thin air?”

  “Studies have shown that babies in trouble during delivery can withstand thirty minutes of compromised oxygen supply without lasting injury.”

  “So maybe Chase Staples is the exception? Maybe he couldn’t take the full thirty minutes of oxygen deprivation?”

  “That’s what I’m suggesting.”

  Manny glowered at him. “Because that sounds better than the truth, which is just that you were too damn late to do the kid any good.”

  “Manny, shut the hell up. This is hard enough without your commentary. Now, let’s hear this. Doc, the medical industry selected the thirty-minute window based on what?”

  The doctor sniffed. He had been treated with rudeness. “Based on several studies.”

  Morgana asked, “So pretty much the whole obstetrics community believes that thirty minutes without full oxygen is survivable without brain injury?”

  “The vast majority of obstetrical physicians believe so.”

  “So if the hospital’s policy of thirty minutes decision to incision was based on those studies, the hospital met the standard of care?”

  “The hospital met the standard of care in the industry. And so did I.”

  Manny looked skeptical. “Except we know you didn’t because we know from the real records that you were thirty minutes plus fifteen. You were late, late, late and now some little kid is never going to know how to spell his name, which is S-C-R-E-W-E-D.”

  “Can we get someone else to help on my case?” said Dr. Payne, the frustration and fear driving him deeper in his chair.

  Manny smiled broadly. “You’re stuck with me.”

  “Manny will work his butt off for you when the time comes. Cases get won because of Manny’s meticulous, relentless study and research.”

  “But I don’t trust you, Manny.”

  “That’s probably the smartest thing you’ve said today. You shouldn’t trust me.”

  Morgana was impeded in her effort to frame this correctly and it was showing in the deep lines cutting across her face. “Knock it the hell off, both of you. We’ve got our defense. The injury occurred because this particular baby was an exception to the general rule of thirty minutes.”

  The doctor looked at her closely. “Do I lose?”

  “You do not. You win because the standard of care was thirty minutes and that was met. Nurse’s notes say you were there at Decision plus twenty-one. Plenty of time to save the kid.”

  “Tha
nk God.”

  Manny shook his head and waved his hand. “Did someone just cut one? It reeks like bullshit in here.”

  33

  All gold shields and darting looks, they entered his waiting room at eight o’clock Monday morning. Special-Agent-in-Charge Pauline Pepper and partner George Washington.

  Agent Pepper was all business, and that morning, wearing a silk Anne Klein six-button belted pants suit with Glock 19 stuffed in a shoulder holster, she looked it, all business, that is. Washington was a black man from Yale, undergraduate in accounting, law degree from Georgetown. It only fit, he told everyone, George Washington at Georgetown. The humor was lost, of course, on the FBI, especially his senior partner Pauline Pepper. George Washington sported the mandatory FBI pinstripe. He was wearing Gucci eyeglasses with photo-lenses yet dark when Thaddeus received the page from the receptionist and found the agents impatient and refusing to sit. He asked their business. “Our business is you,” said Pauline Pepper. She was unsmiling and grim. “We need to talk. Or we can just run you over to Metropolitan Correctional Center and book you. Your choice.”

  “What would you be booking me for?”

  “How about a federal murder rap? Two down, four to go? Ring a bell?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But come on in. Enlighten me.”

  They followed him into his office. It was a corner office, view of Lake Michigan, blue sky, sailboats swooping across distant water, seagulls riding the thermals. And it was large, barely filled even by two couches, facing—Oval Office style—with silk-upholstered wingback chairs and marble coffee table the size of a Chevrolet Impala. His own desk was teak with a glass top. Arranged in a neat U were three computer screens, a Mac computer, two telephones, and a scanner. Law books were nowhere to be seen. The walls were covered with French Impressionists, most of which were originals. Thaddeus spent his days and many of his nights in that office, and cost was uncurbed when interior designs were drawn.

  The agents took the couch facing the door and Thaddeus slumped on the facing.

  “Get you anything?” he asked.

  “We’re good,” said Washington.