Executive Sick Days

by Maria E. Schneider

  "Why?"

  "He made a big stink over the séance. Got caught on tape saying he didn't want to hear what his mother-in-law had to say when she was alive, and he sure didn't want to hear from her after she was dead. His wife was absolutely appalled. He'll probably lose the re-election too."

  Now there was a loss. Although I couldn't blame the man for saying what he did. It might well have been the only honest comment the politician had ever made.

  After getting miserably cold and grumpy to boot, we headed back upstairs. I happily noted that my lunch trick was still working. Brenda had her lunch in her locker. We sat in the break room and ate lunch together.

  We were just finishing up when Dr. Evans wandered in. She grabbed a soda from the machine and perused the snack machine.

  I thought about Dr. Staple and his cleaning crew problem. "I hear you might need some cleaning or filing help over at The Pavilion." While I wouldn't willingly help Dr. Staple, Dr. Evans was a nice lady. If she was in the lurch over the cleaning service, I could pitch in temporarily for her--and it would get me inside the building.

  She turned to me, her eyebrows raised. "Don't tell me. We lost the cleaning service again."

  Apparently she hadn't known. "Dr. Staple mentioned something about it. I can't really clean the whole place or anything, but if you need temporary help I could probably do filing and cleaning on Wednesdays until you find something more permanent."

  Her lips pressed together, and her face looked like it might self-combust. Very succinctly she said, "I don't need filing help because I don't have a problem keeping staff." She slammed her Sprite down on the table. "That man is in charge of hiring the cleaning staff." She jabbed her finger out toward the nurses' station even though Dr. Staple was nowhere around. "He is supposed to hire a cleaning service because he fired the first one we had and drove out the other two." She paused. "Now the other three."

  Brenda swallowed nervously. I babbled for the both of us. "Oh. I, uh. I guess I don't want to work with him either, but thought if you needed some temporary help, I could do it for a little while."

  Dr. Evans smiled grimly. "Honey, no one wants to work with that man except the drug sales people. Dr. Staple thinks he deserves to have the world put him on a pedestal and since the salesmen are the only ones willing to put up with his attitude, they are his only friends." She grabbed her soda and took a long drink.

  One of the call lights came on. I got up to go see what Mr. Potts in three-fourteen needed.

  Before I cleared the doorway, Dr. Evans called out after me, "Do you need a job?"

  I needed a life. "No, I'm okay, really." There had to be a better way to get inside the building. "Maybe you could each hire your own cleaning service, like you do for filing."

  Dr. Evans opened her mouth and started to speak. She closed it. "There are still the shared hallways and the entrance. Lord, that entrance is huge. It's one of the things I loved about the building." She smiled then. "I'd even pay my person to do the hallway and front to avoid this crap." Before I could utter another word, she patted me on the shoulder and went around me. "Brilliant. That's a great idea."

  I looked over at Brenda. The call light was still blinking. "I better go see Mr. Potts. What does she mean about the drug salesmen?"

  Brenda shrugged. "Oh, the salesmen for all the drug companies try to get the doctors to prescribe their drugs over a competitor's product. So the happy little salesmen come by, take the doctors to lunch, give them tickets to sporting events, and hold conferences in places like Hawaii. As if getting information on a new drug in Hawaii somehow makes it more effective for a patient."

  Hmm. I hadn't known that, but I did find it interesting. "Aren't all drugs different? Aren't some better than others?"

  "Sure," Brenda agreed. "But some of them are equally efficient. And if a drug is effective, the doctor could prescribe the cheaper one, unless said doctor has decided he likes working with, say, the representative who takes him to lunch four times a week. Then he may prescribe that drug. It's no skin off his nose. He isn't paying for the drug and usually the patient isn't either. Insurance is picking up the tab so no one is paying any attention."

  "But don't the insurance companies complain? Don't they ask why the doctor couldn't prescribe the cheaper drug?"

  "They can complain. But the doctor can say he's tried the other stuff, and it had too many side-effects or whatever. That's why when I go to the doctor, I always talk over all the prescriptions. Of course," she lowered her voice to a whisper, "I wouldn't go to Dr. Staple anyway. He might be a good surgeon, but I bet he's responsible for some of his patients' high blood pressure. I know he makes mine go up."

  "Yeah. He is pretty high and mighty." I scurried away to answer the call light. The longer I worked here, the more it resembled a computer company. Instead of pushing a particular drug, computer vendors bribed managers with lunches to get them to buy specific computers.

  The medical industry was just sick. Of course, accepting lunch in the computer business wasn't illegal, and it probably wasn't in the medical industry either. It was a far cry from overcharging or claiming a patient was hospitalized when the patient hadn't been. But giving a patient a more expensive drug didn't seem all that ethical either.

  Maybe I should let Dr. Evans or Staple hire me. We were going to need access to doctor records somehow. But cleaning?

  Surely Mark was a better way in than me having to clean, especially for Dr. Staple.

  Chapter 18

  Christmas was a complete disaster. It had nothing to do with the fact that we celebrated two days late, nor my extra activities. Even worn out I could instruct Brenda on warming up a ham and slicing potatoes. Everything proceeded smoothly until Mom and Dad called.

  We had just finished eating. I was comfortably sleepy and contemplating going home when the phone rang. Brenda hopped up and answered it. Maybe its proximity to the dining room was the reason I could hear my mother yelling, her Irish temper going full steam.

  Sean looked at me and jumped up to get the phone.

  "What now?" I muttered, trying to decide between another helping of the main course or extra pie. The dessert selection was pumpkin pie rather than chocolate pecan. I vastly preferred the chocolate, so I was tempted to eat more ham and potatoes.

  Brenda rushed back in from the kitchen. "Oh my gosh, they are married! Your mother is beside herself."

  My parents had been married for ages. "What are you talking about?"

  Brenda sat and fanned her face. "Your brother and his…"

  That thought was so mind boggling, it took a minute to compute. "His…my brother Dean?" I finished chewing the last potato I had stolen and nearly choked. "They got married today?" That didn't make sense and as the implications hit, my eyes widened. "You mean, they showed up at Mom and Dad's and sat around and had Christmas two days ago and just now got around to telling them?"

  Brenda nodded. "It was a surprise."

  "Oh, I'll bet it was." And I bet they had waited this long to tell my parents because Dean hadn't found an appropriate time to tell them sooner. "Ohboy."

  Brenda glanced over at the kitchen and decided it would be a while before Sean could join us. "You should open your gift now. I'll show you all of mine too."

  We retired to the living room by the tree. I was on auto-pilot as I unwrapped my gift. Brenda "oohed and aahed" over the recipe box I had gotten her. It was filled with a bunch of recipes from me and Mom.

  Brenda had been to the store and gifted herself more "costumes" for work. When she lifted one of them up to show me, I was too tired and stunned to cover my horror. "You aren't really going to go into work as a bunny?" She put on a strange little hat with ears, long ones that flopped over.

  "Isn't it great?"

  "Brenda, don't you think--"

  "You've met Attila," she interrupted. "What would you do? Would you just tell her?"

  I squirmed uncomfortably. "Well, yeah, probably."

  Brenda sat down and pulled of
f the cap. Sean came in from the kitchen looking grim. The droopy rabbit ears flopped over Brenda's knees. "You…you would?"

  I chose to ignore Sean even though he looked like he was going to burst at any minute. "Look Brenda, Attila is going to have to face facts sooner or later, and you have the right to be pregnant."

  Brenda's eyes filled with tears.

  "Brenda--" Oh, dear.

  "You think I'm a stupid coward, don't you?" Her eyes brimmed over, spilling tears down her face.

  How was I supposed to answer that? I loved my sister-in-law, but the woman was walking around wearing felt hats and a cape two days out of the week. She now had rabbit ears hanging over her knees and sat next to a box holding some sort of clover tiara.

  "Sean got me this great sweat top for the bunny costume," she sniffed.

  "Wear the sweatshirt! Just maybe not...the hat."

  It was the wrong thing to say. "Do..do..waaaaah!!!" Off she ran into the bedroom.

  Sean folded his arms and hissed, "Thanks a whole lot, Sedona. You're a great sister." He waved a hand towards the bedroom. "Now look what you've done. And on top of that I've got to tell her that our child might not even be the first grandchild. How could you?"

  I sat there and blinked, thankful that we had already eaten because I was suddenly feeling a bit queasy. "I…but..." There was no one there to hear my protests. Sean slammed the door to their bedroom. I looked down at the little box I had not yet opened and pulled the lid off.

  A hand-carved frame whose border read, "For My Aunt Sedona" sat inside. There were little carved flowers and a delicate teddy bear etched along the sides. "I'll just leave now," I said to the empty air.

  It was a lonely evening followed by a desolate Sunday morning at church. It wasn't just remorse over Christmas dinner, it was also guilt because I had missed Christmas Mass. Jet lag had nothing on me; my schedule was so twisted around, I couldn't figure out if I was coming or going. I sat in church and remembered to pray for my health because I didn't have insurance. Surely I didn't have anything to worry about. No one ever noticed the volunteers. We were all ignored unless a bedpan needed changing. Who could possibly suspect me of being involved in investigating a high tech scheme that included entering extra charges?

  Of course, just because I was ignored, didn't mean I was safe.

  Chapter 19

  Mondays weren't my best days anyway, but after my weekend, my feelings toward my fellow man, sickly or not, were not charitable. Due to my sulking, I arrived late, which left me with no time to sneak down and talk to Radar in the hopes that he had found a way to hack into the doctors' database files without me working at every doctor's office in town.

  The first person I saw was Brenda, which was strange, because she didn't work Mondays.

  I greeted her tentatively, wondering if she was over her snit. "Hi. I thought you only worked on Thursdays and Fridays."

  She glared at me and sniffed. "Paul called in sick so I was called in. As if I need the stress. I'm going to have to work his shift, my two days this week, and tomorrow if he calls in sick again. This is exactly what I mean about Attila. I'm positive that shrew is guilty of helping those patients overcharge insurance companies."

  "You are?" This was news to me.

  "She has to be. She is mean and cruel. I'll bet she is doing it for the hell of it, not because she pockets a dime."

  "Oh." While I didn't disagree with Brenda about Attila's personality, being an ogre wasn't illegal. None of my old bosses had been arrested and most of them had been complete jerks.

  Brenda hissed into my ear, "This is precisely why I can't tell her about my pregnancy. Then she wouldn't schedule me to come in."

  "I thought you said you didn't want to come in?"

  "Exactly. But she would make me pay by noting I wasn't a team player and that would affect my raise."

  “Uh-huh.” There was no point in continuing the conversation. Brenda didn't have any actual proof against Attila; if she had, she would have gleefully told me.

  I started distributing breakfast trays. Brenda was on her rounds, pushing the medicine cart. We both entered the first room together.

  "Mrs. Trin, how are you?" she started. Brenda was in front of me, blocking my view of Mrs Trin. She abruptly left the med cart, rushed to the bed and put her hand on Mrs. Trin's neck.

  I was barely two steps inside holding a breakfast tray in each hand.

  Brenda ordered, "Hit the code blue button."

  I nearly dropped the trays. The code blue button meant there was an extreme emergency…like someone wasn't breathing.

  Brenda moved to start CPR. Seeing me still not moving, she hissed, "Now!"

  I backed up and hit the button with my elbow. Then I stared at it, not quite believing. We had been drilled with the location and the procedures for a "code blue" several times in training.

  The intercom dutifully blared, "Code Blue, room 318, Code Blue."

  My CPR training hadn't even been scheduled, never mind completed. I wasn't of any help to Brenda unless she wanted to tell me what to do in-between trying to do it herself.

  I moved from the doorway to the other patient's bedside, put the breakfast trays down and pulled the privacy curtain.

  The patient whispered, "What is going on?"

  "Nothing to worry about, of course." I set up her tray as if everything was normal even though there were uncharacteristic noises coming from the other side of the curtain.

  I peeked around the curtain, wondering if I should leave.

  Crissa skidded into the room, focused and serious. She pushed the code blue crash cart into place. Another guy took Brenda's place near the head of the bed and put a tube down Mrs. Trin's throat.

  Dr. Burns entered the room, moving his plump form very quickly compared to his usual meandering gait. Brenda grabbed the clipboard from the side of the crash cart and reported, "When I came in, she made a short gurgling noise. By the time I reached the bed, she was not breathing and there was no pulse."

  I had never seen Dr. Burns in action, unless you counted his eating habits. In his element now, he was even more efficient and focused than Brenda. She might be ditsy and completely unable to cook, and he might be a man on a mission to eat every stray piece of food he found, but this was their world and they knew it well. Dr. Burns never hesitated, and for once, he completely ignored the breakfast trays.

  "Epinephrine, one milligram," he ordered. He picked up the paddles from the crash cart.

  When he said, "Clear," I pulled the curtain tight. This, I did not want to see.

  Apparently, Emma, the patient behind the curtain with me, was a lot more curious than I was. "What is happening? I can't see!"

  "We have a pulse!" Brenda said.

  "Is she going to be okay?" Emma whispered.

  "Uhm, of course." The voices counted. No one said "clear" again, and I did not hear the snap of the defibrillator.

  Now seemed like a very good time to make a graceful exit. "I'll be back," I whispered without promising when.

  I picked up the extra tray and scurried into the hallway. The big cart with all the breakfast trays had been pushed out of the way. I very carefully maneuvered it so that I could continue to pass out trays. I wasn't sure what else to do.

  Every time I came out of a room, I peeked down the hallway. Amazingly, none of the other patients seemed aware of what had happened. I supposed that was why they called it in code. It would be a lot more upsetting to have the intercom blare, "We have a dead one, let's resuscitate!"

  After a while Brenda wandered down the hall.

  "She make it?" I asked.

  Brenda nodded. "Yup. She'll go to the unit for a few days."

  "Special care?"

  "Yes. That reminds me. I wanted to tell you this morning that Mr. Prescot in four is going into surgery after all. He's on clear liquids from now on. Double check his tray before you give it to him, will you?"

  "I can handle that." I grabbed the next tray. Funny, in previous jobs,
I had been to a lot of meetings where tech managers acted as if they were dealing with life and death problems. The real thing was a lot different. No one stood up and pontificated. No one showed off or tried to outdo someone else by shouting out every technical fact they had learned since birth. These people concentrated on the immediate survival need without wasting precious seconds.

  By the time I finished doling out trays, making beds and restocking supplies, I was exhausted from the nervous adrenalin of doing nothing to help during the emergency. Brenda didn't look perturbed in the least. She was simply doing her job and appeared normal. Correction, she looked normal for Brenda. She was wearing a striped flag-like outfit in celebration of the New Year. This costume was definitely a winner because no one would notice her pregnancy while she walked around looking like a cross between Lady Liberty and a cartoon president.

  I sighed. At least her nurse's jacket covered most of the silly thing, and she wasn't wearing a top hat.

  Since my nerves were shot, I figured I more than deserved some peace and quiet. "Psst, Brenda. I'm gonna be gone a little longer than usual for lunch, ‘k?"

  She raised an eyebrow, but I zipped away before she could ask why.

  I headed for the basement and Radar. Luckily, he hadn't left yet. "Hey, you planning on eating today?" I asked.

  He looked at his watch. "It's barely eleven-thirty."

  "So? Are you hungry or what?"

  "I could eat."

  I had planned on Chinese, but Radar suggested Italy's Canal. Having been there once with Brenda on Radar's recommendation, I was enthusiastic. It had great food.

  While we were walking through the parking lot and arguing over who was going to drive, I noticed Dr. Fox get into a fancy white Porsche with a slim, short blond. I was delighted to see the blond was Crissa.

  For my own selfish reasons I hoped she really, really liked Dr. Fox. And I hoped Dr. Fox stayed interested in her for months, or at least until the case was solved.

  One thing was for sure--short, blond hair wasn't black and there was no way it was Attila being treated to Dr. Fox's attentions. "Is Attila still bothering you?" I asked Radar.