by Gary Birken
Before stepping aside, he looked over his shoulder. A pregnant woman seated in a wheelchair covered her abdomen with both hands. She tried, but the pain in her eyes was impossible for her to conceal. Begrudgingly, he moved aside. Seeing no other alternative, he returned to the long row of attached plastic chairs, sat down and placed his forearms flush on the armrests. He sighed in a way that betrayed his irritation. In addition to the dozens of people waiting to be seen, there were at least ten stretchers pushed against the wall holding patients who by all appearances had been abandoned. Directly across from him, a young mother with a fretful face pushed a blood-soaked hand towel against her screaming toddler’s forehead. Next to her, a man with pasty skin wearing a tattered white T-shirt hacked uncontrollably.
A civil, spit-and-polish man by nature, Kaine was not one to become easily unglued. Looking around at the despair and hopelessness that surrounded him evoked little, if any, sympathy. He had always believed that when mankind crawled out of the caves, they were equal. What happened after that depended solely on the individual’s skill and determination. Society was neither responsible nor made any guarantees. Compassion for the great unwashed, as he liked to call the less fortunate, was not an emotion he possessed.
Seeking any form of distraction, he turned and looked up at the fuzzy picture displayed on an undersized, wall-mounted television. After a minute or so he gazed back in the direction of the registration desk. He saw a young Asian man wearing green scrubs whispering to the nurse. When the man strolled back into the triage area, the nurse stood up and walked over.
“If you’ll follow me to the consultation room, the doctor will be right out to see you.”
Kaine stood up in silence. He followed directly behind the nurse, who escorted him to the small consultation room. The converted office was bare-walled and adorned only with a potted plant, a small upholstered couch and a wooden end table.
“Just have a seat,” she suggested. “It shouldn’t be too long.”
The nurse then stepped outside. He watched her walk back to the registration area where she motioned to a woman in a thigh-length white coat with a stethoscope draped around her neck. When the woman approached the information desk, the nurse pointed in his direction. He was too far away to read her identification badge but he assumed it was Dr. Connolly.
She started toward him. He studied her carefully through the open door as she crossed the waiting area. It wasn’t until she stood in the doorway that he could see the unmistakable look of doom in her eyes.
CHAPTER 4
“Mr. Kaine, my name is Dr. Connolly.” Morgan noticed the skin covering his forehead roll into fine parallel troughs.
“How are my sons doing?”
Morgan took a few steps closer before continuing, “Jason and Andy arrived about forty-five minutes apart. They were both suffering from advanced meningitis. Their vital signs were critically unstable.” Kaine said nothing. He folded his arms and took a broad-based stance squarely in front of Morgan. She could feel his slate gray eyes transfixed on her like a powerful beacon. “The infection was far advanced and overwhelming. We began full cardiopulmonary resuscitation immediately. Unfortunately we were unable to—”
“Cardiopulmonary resuscitation? Excuse me, Doctor. Are you trying to tell me both my sons died?”
With no intention of doing so, Morgan averted her eyes for an instant. “I’m . . . I’m afraid so. I’m very sorry, Mr. Kaine. We did everything possible, but we were too late. Perhaps if they had gotten here sooner, we—”
“I’m confused, Dr. Connolly. When Andrew and Jason arrived in the emergency room, were they or were they not alive?” Morgan was instantly taken back by the lack of shock or disbelief in his voice.
“They were alive, but as I said they were in profound and irreversible septic shock.”
“I understand, but I thought meningitis is curable with antibiotics.”
“In most cases it is. But sometimes the disease has progressed too far and there’s simply nothing we—”
“Did my sons receive antibiotics?”
“Of course,” she answered.
“Were you aware that both Andrew and Jason received the meningitis vaccine?”
“I wasn’t, but the present vaccine doesn’t cover every possible strain of bacteria that can cause meningitis,” she explained.
“And you’re quite certain you gave every medication possible to reverse the shock?”
Morgan was accustomed to denial in family members who had lost a loved one, but Mason Kaine’s behavior took on an odd and inappropriate note of resentment and antagonism she had never seen before.
“I assure you, Mr. Kaine. We—”
“My sons were perfect specimens. They were accomplished athletes. Neither of them was ever sick for more than a day or two in their entire lives. Now you tell me they’re dead? With all due respect, Doctor, this makes no sense.”
“Mr. Kaine, we’re familiar with treating meningitis. Most of the time we’re successful, but from time to time we run into a strain that . . .”
Kaine shook his head. His businesslike expression never changed. “I don’t believe you,” he announced one word at a time.
“I beg your pardon,” she said with total exasperation.
“I’m an educated man, Doctor. My sons were alive when they arrived in your emergency room. With expert medical attention, they should have survived. I don’t believe you’re being truthful with me.”
“I’m not sure I understand the implication of what you’re saying, Mr. Kaine.”
“There is no implication. I’m saying categorically that with proper medical care Jason and Andy should have survived.” He pressed his palms together, pulling his fingertips to his chin and then sending them out again until he was pointing directly at Morgan. “I’m saying you screwed up.”
“With all due respect, I’m not sure you have the medical expertise or . . .” Morgan stopped in mid-sentence and said nothing further.
Kaine said, “I’m well aware that fatal hospital errors are an epidemic in this country.”
Morgan took a few seconds to regroup. She quickly decided the last thing she was going to do was dignify his preposterous accusations by denying them or enter into a debate on medical mistakes.
“I understand how upset you must be, but I promise you, your sons received expert medical care.”
“My sons are dead, Dr. Connolly, so I guess we’ll never know the answer to that question.” Kaine’s stony glare never shifted from Morgan’s eyes. She didn’t feel physically threatened, but his intimidating demeanor made her uneasy. It was obvious her words were falling on deaf ears. Kaine dropped his hands to his sides. His voice never became louder but its added intensity left no possibility of misinterpretation. “I don’t believe you did everything possible. Absent your excuses, the obvious conclusion is that you failed to save the lives of two healthy boys.” Without waiting for a response, Kaine walked past Morgan. When he got to the doorway he stopped. “If you think this is over, you’re sadly mistaken. You have no idea who you’re dealing with, and if I have anything to say about things, you and this hospital are going down.”
Morgan had the presence of mind to realize that it would be an exercise in futility to say anything further. Maintaining her silence, she watched Kaine thunder out of the emergency room. Finding herself somewhere between rattled and appalled, she fell into a small love seat. In view of Mr. Kaine’s behavior, she had only one option available to her. She would report the matter to Arlen McMinn, the administrator on call. She had known Arlen long enough to know that his response would be to give Mr. Kaine some time to cool off and let Patient Relations handle the problem.
Trying her best not to think any further about Mason Kaine, Morgan closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the cushion.
“We need you in one right now, Dr. Connolly,” came a harried voice from the doorway. Morgan started to her feet even before her eyes snapped open.
“What d
o we have?” she asked the nurse.
“A forty-year-old guy with severe chest pain and hypotension. We’ve called a cardiac alert.”
Her mind darting off in a new direction, Morgan grabbed her stethoscope from around her neck and followed the nurse back into the main treatment area.
CHAPTER 5
FOURTEEN MONTHS LATER
Having just spent the last two hours organizing her lecture on patient safety for the residents teaching conference, Morgan Connolly strolled across the lobby of Dade Presbyterian Hospital.
Attractive in an exceptional way, Morgan’s delicate facial bones, long, burnt reddish hair, and placid hazel eyes combined to bestow a classic beauty upon her. Waiting in front of the elevators, she fell victim to her incurable impatience and tapped the up button for the third time. Just as she did, a man with a stethoscope hanging around his neck walked up.
“Good morning, Dr. Connolly,” he said.
Morgan turned and smiled politely at the gangly man, who, even though he stooped, towered over her.
“Dr. Hawkins. It’s nice to see you again. How’s retired life?”
“Well, I’d like to think of it as semiretired life. But even so, if I had any sense, I’d just quit completely and never set foot in this hospital again.”
Morgan laughed, got up on her tiptoes, and then kissed him flush on his pointed cheekbone.
“A little work is good for your brain, Daddy,” she said, looking into his warm eyes. “It’ll keep the cobwebs to a minimum. There’s just so much Judge Judy one man can watch.”
“I thought I raised you not to be so judgmental,” he said.
“You preaching to me about being judgmental is a little like Fagin expounding on the evils of pickpocketing.” The elevator door opened and they both stepped on. “What are you doing in the hospital? I thought you only worked on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
“I heard you were giving today’s teaching conference. I thought I’d attend. What’s the topic?”
“Patient safety.”
He sighed. “Let me guess. You’re going to talk about avoidable patient errors.”
“I’m the chairperson of the Patient Safety Committee, Daddy. What should I be talking about?”
“I know it’s a timely and sexy topic, but remember what Groucho Marx said about his cigar.”
“I’m not sure cigars and sick people in hospitals dying unnecessarily are analogous.”
“I just think physicians are getting tired of hearing about medical mistakes.”
“That’s too bad, because there were ninety-eight thousand patient deaths in this country last year from preventable medical errors. I’m sorry our medical staff considers that boring. Physician arrogance and ambivalence continues to contribute to medical mishaps. If we don’t change the culture of—”
He cleared his throat as if he were battling diphtheria and then tapped on his watch crystal. “There must be something wrong with my Timex. I thought your lecture didn’t start for another ten minutes.”
She grinned and shook her head. Ever since she was a teenager, he had been doing the same thing to her whenever she climbed onto a soapbox.
“What are your plans for the rest of the morning?” she asked him.
“I thought I’d go home and take a long nap.”
“Sounds great,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “It will be good practice for the nursing home. Did you know that it’s actually possible to get old without getting older?” she added, refusing to indulge his melancholy and mostly theatrical moods of late.
“The rumor mill says you’re being considered for the Executive Committee.”
“I thought you were no longer interested in hospital politics.”
“I’m not, but I am interested in the professional accomplishments of my daughter.”
“The answer to your question is yes, but it’s not a big deal.”
“Don’t be so modest,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulder. “You’re making your old man proud. You seem to be the only one in the family making a difference around here anymore.”
“Daddy, you’re still a great orthopedic surgeon and the best chief of staff this hospital ever had.”
“I appreciate the unbiased praise but that’s all in the past.” The doors opened on the seventh floor and they walked off in the direction of the conference center. “Are you still flying?” he asked.
“Every chance I get.”
“Tell me at least you quit the aerobatic stuff.”
“I’ve given it up temporarily.”
With a curmudgeon’s scowl he asked, “Why would a bright, educated, and sensible girl such as yourself want to turn tiny airplanes upside down?”
“Because I love it, and I need something more in my life besides this place.”
“I thought that’s why you got married.”
She wagged her finger at him. “Daddy, we’re not doing this now.”
“Can’t I even ask how you and Kevin are doing?”
“We’re still separated and I’m not very hopeful things will work out. Okay?”
“I knew this would happen.”
Smiling inwardly, she said, “It’s probably because we didn’t have that big church wedding you wanted.”
“I simply don’t understand why you two don’t—”
Morgan put her hand to her father’s lips. “You’re not listening. We’re not having this conversation now. One way or the other, Kevin and I will sort this out. We’re both adults.”
“I would say one of you is an adult. The other’s a hormonal adolescent trapped in the body of a grown man.” His brow creased as he added, “I always felt he intimidated you.”
“I grew up with two older brothers who didn’t exactly pamper me. I also survived a father who kept me on the tennis court until dark five nights a week, hoping to turn out the next Chris Evert.”
“What’s your point?” he inquired.
“Men don’t intimidate me.”
They strolled up to the entrance of the conference center. Before going in, Morgan turned and began straightening her father’s bow tie.
“When are you going to snap out of this self-imposed funk?” she asked him. “Don’t you think you’ve milked it for long enough?”
“Maybe if your mother were still with us, things would be better.”
Morgan chuckled. “It’s not as if Mom died or abandoned us, Daddy. You left her for your scrub nurse.”
“That was a mistake that I now fully admit to.”
“I’m sure you do, but it’s a little late for that now. We all tried to warn you, but you wouldn’t listen. You had already decided Amber was the answer to all your problems.”
“She was a great nurse and for someone of her age, she had expansive knowledge.”
“The only thing expansive about Amber was her boobs.” Morgan finished fiddling with his bow tie and took a step back. “There, that’s better.”
“As long as you brought up the topic of your mother, how’s she doing?”
“I didn’t bring up the topic; you did. She married a brilliant, great-looking guy with more money than God who worships everything about her. She spends six months a year traveling the world. How do you think she’s doing?”
“Someday she’ll see through all that superficial stuff.”
Morgan laughed again, opened the door to the conference center, and held it while her father walked through.
“How about dinner tomorrow night?” she asked. “I have something I want to tell you.”
“Really? Who’s buying?”
“It’s your turn,” she said firmly.
“In that case, I’ll come over to your place and we’ll order in Chinese. I have a coupon.”
“And if it were my turn to pay?” she asked, following him down the center aisle.
“We’d be going to the Palm.”
Morgan folded her arm around his waist and gave him a quick, but adoring, pinch. She then escorted him to an aisle seat
before making her way to the front of the lecture hall. Catching herself in a quick grin, she wondered how he’d react when she told him over dinner tomorrow night that she was six weeks pregnant.
CHAPTER 6
ONE WEEK LATER
Although he called himself Gideon, the man who limped into Dr. Allen Hawkins’s office at five minutes to nine signed in as Stuart Artesian.
The name Gideon suited him well. The impulse to cast aside his God-given name and take the name of the angel had come to him in the form of a ghostly revelation six months earlier. Having no earthly need for the name bestowed upon him by his parents, he discarded it as easily as the individual who had borne it for the past forty years.
Even though he had now ascended to a higher purpose, he still thought about his old life. It had been one filled with backyard barbecues, homeowners meetings, and long days at the beach. It was a life he cherished, but one that had become nothing more than a collection of treasured memories. The realization that the only place he could relive those memories was in his mind was maddening. Thinking about the past often incited the terrible ringing in his ears that had been plaguing him for the last several months. Of late, he even considered consulting a physician, but he kept putting it off in the hopes the high-pitched humming would subside on its own.
Just as he was about to sign in, the frosted glass window in front of him wobbled open. A young lady wearing a floral shirt smiled. Her name badge read Judy.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“My name is Stuart Artesian. I have a nine-fifteen appointment with Dr. Hawkins.”
Judy handed him a clipboard with a two-sided patient information sheet to fill out.
“Do you have your insurance referral with you?” she asked.
“I don’t believe in health insurance. I’ll be paying for the visit in cash.”
