The Sixth Sense (Brier Hospital Series Book 3)

by Lawrence Gold

  Mixed emotions best described what I felt at that moment. Relief that we’d prevented a catastrophe, blessed that I had the skill to detect the problem, and a strange feeling of isolation from my world. This gift, and it was indeed a gift, had changed the forthright way I related to the people I cared about. I was adrift and alone in my unique universe.

  Jack was completing his own note in Vee’s chart when he gazed up at me. The question was all over his face. “Arnie, what’s going on?”

  I shrugged my shoulders and left the ICU.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Ruth Fischer was twenty minutes late for her meeting with Reggie Brand. He’d called this morning saying that he had interesting information for her.

  “What kind of interesting information?” Ruth asked.

  “I’ll see you later.”

  Once Henry left her house, Ruth felt relieved, although knowing him, she expected that this respite might be short lived.

  The day after Ruth threw Henry out, she had lunch with her closest friend Rachael Sims. “You’ve got to see an attorney right away before Henry has a chance to screw you over.”

  “I don’t think he’ll do that, Rachael, and anyway I put in a call to Bob Hughes, he can handle the divorce.”

  “Another lamb to the slaughter,” Rachael laughed and then smirked. “Bob Hughes is a good guy, and a good attorney, but trust me, you need a Pit Bull to deal with Henry.” She opened her address book, found a number. “Call Belinda Savage, she’ll know how to deal with Henry and whatever shark he brings on board to bite you in the ass. Belinda’s last name is particularly apt. She doesn’t take shit from anyone.”

  “Using an aggressive attorney sets the tone for the divorce. I’d hoped for an amiable separation.”

  “My God, Ruth, where have you been for the last twenty years? Given the chance, Henry will screw you over royally, and he won’t understand why you don’t like it.”

  The next day, Ruth met with Belinda for a preliminary consultation. The attorney’s first step was to freeze their accounts, including those for Horizon Drugs. Her prescience was remarkable as Ruth’s bank called the next day. They’d received authorization to close their joint accounts and transfer the funds to Henry’s newly established ones.

  “You greedy bitch!” Henry shouted through the phone. “How could you do this to me? Don’t all our years together mean anything to you?”

  “Sure, Henry, and your attempt to close our accounts and leave me with nothing was an act of goodwill.”

  “Listen, Ruth,” he said pleading. “I’ve got a business to run and ongoing personal expenses since you kicked me out. Can’t we reach an agreement?”

  “Of course, Henry dear. Call Belinda Savage, you’ll find her very accommodating,” she said smiling, and gently replacing the receiver into its holder.

  That afternoon, Reggie Brand rose from his desk to greet Ruth. “How’s it going with Mr. Fischer out of the house?”

  “It’s going quite well, I think. I’m doing much better than I thought possible. I’ve hired Belinda Savage, do you know her?”

  “Do I know her? I thank God she’s on our side, the woman is, pardon the expression, a ball buster. I’ll bet she had your finances frozen, right?”

  “Just in time. Henry was about to take it all.”

  “Well, I’ve worked with Belinda before. She’s going to be real interested in what I’ve discovered.”

  “What is it?”

  “Do you want the abbreviated version or do you want the details?”

  Ruth looked at the small, mild-mannered man, but didn’t know how to respond.

  “By details, Mrs. Fischer, I mean photos and videotape. I don’t know where you are emotionally, but viewing this material could be difficult.”

  “It couldn’t be worse than living with the man. Go on.”

  Reggie opened a manila folder with a stack of high-resolution digital photographs. He slid them across his desk toward Ruth.

  Slowly Ruth thumbed through Reggie’s pictures snapped through office or motel windows, several through the backseat window of a Lexus and one on the beach somewhere that was reminiscent of the beach scene in the movie From Here to Eternity.

  Reggie then turned his laptop computer’s screen to face Ruth, and then played the video. The pictures were crystal clear, sharply focused, and graphic in detail. Ruth watched, captivated by the scenes before her eyes.

  After ten minutes, she suddenly burst out laughing. “I didn’t know the old bastard had it in him. I didn’t know he could move his limbs that way. He’s going to love these…maybe have copies made or post them online.”

  Reggie looked relieved. He had his box of tissues and the smelling salts ready, but Ruth had made the emotional transition and was ready to deal with whatever would come.

  “I’ve spent many hours trying to get into Horizon Drugs’ finances. I had a friend of mine, a forensic accountant who consults for the DA, look into Henry’s business affairs. Although we can’t access much of the important financials, he thinks that there’s funny business going on. By what he discovered, he cannot see how Horizon Drugs has so markedly improved their financial position in such a short time. They were heavily in debt and had made overtures to lenders indicating major cash flow problems, then suddenly, profits are up and the debt’s mostly gone. Ordinarily, he would suspect mob connections, but he can’t find any.”

  “Mob connections? I doubt Henry has the stomach for that. He said they’d made up for the cash flow problems when Medi-Cal came through with delayed payments and the new stores came on line.”

  “We don’t think so, Mrs. Fischer. My accountant says, that it doesn’t add up. Something else is going on.”

  “What do we do now?” asked Ruth.

  “Let me talk with Belinda. Since you’re a principal in Horizon Drugs, and both you and Mr. Fischer will have to come to a financial settlement, we should have access to the information we need very soon.”

  “Thanks, Reggie, let me know what’s happening.”

  “Ruth,” asked Reggie, “what do you want me to do with the pictures and the videos?”

  “Put them in a safe place, Reggie.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The troublesome events surrounding Vee Dent and Arnie’s reaction, continued to bother Jack Byrnes. When he reached home that night, he collapsed on the soft sofa. Beth soon joined him carrying two glasses of wine. As they sipped the icy Chardonnay, he said, “Did you hear what happened today?”

  “What do you think? Carla Watts called ten minutes after that bizarre event with Arnie. What’s up with him?”

  “Whatever’s up with Arnie, he probably saved Vee’s life and our careers. The combination of Nardil and Demerol is lethal. The mistake may be understandable in that Vee withheld vital information, but before a jury, if she died, we wouldn’t have a chance.”

  “How did he know?”

  “I don’t know, and he’s not saying. That by itself is distinctly unusual. More than most docs we know, Arnie is up front and honest about everything. Then we had the episode in ICU where he was certain that we had pseudomonas in the unit when everyone else was oblivious to it. He smelled it, he said. We’re all familiar with the aroma of that bug, but nobody else detected it.”

  “Maybe he just has a world class nose. Some people are like that.”

  “Perhaps, but there’s more; he’s been erratic, distant, and inattentive, as if he’s preoccupied with something. It’s a stark change from the Arnie we know. Docs, a few nurses, and several patients have commented on the change. Maybe it’s the residue of the encephalitis, but I’ve examined him several times, and I didn’t note any changes. Have you talked with Lois?”

  “No, but I will.”

  “I’m going to ask Arnie to come in for a checkup. I’m concerned. Maybe he needs a neuro-psychiatric evaluation.”

  It wasn’t a surprise to Lois when Beth called and asked her to lunch. They’d meet at noon once or twice a month, usuall
y alone, but at times with other close friends. They relished these conversations for their easy informality on both the mundane and the more serious problems they often shared.

  “Jack’s concerned about Arnie. What’s happening?”

  “Concerned? Why?”

  “I know you too well, Lo. Don’t tell me you’re not worried.”

  What can I say? Lois thought. How do I draw the line between the privacy and my concern for Arnie’s welfare?

  Beth met Lois’s gaze. “Arnie’s more than merely a patient to us, and you’re more than a close friend. We love you both. We’d do anything to help you, but you must let us in.”

  Tears streamed down her cheeks. “We thought it was over when Arnie recovered. We thought he was fine, but he’s not.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It’s difficult to describe. He’s the same loving and caring Arnie, but at times, he’s preoccupied. Sometimes, I can’t understand his behavior.”

  “I hate this, but is it possible that Arnie’s seeing someone?”

  Lois stopped crying. She smiled then laughed. “Not a chance. I’m not one of those last-one-to-know wives, but Arnie’s crazy about the kids and me. If anything, he’s been more amorous than ever. It’s not easy to maintain an active sex life with a full-time medical practice and a houseful of kids, yet Arnie’s sexual interest is in overdrive. He’s discovered a new outlet for his creative talents; sex,” she blushed, and then whispered, “and it’s been amazing!”

  “People at the hospital have mentioned that Arnie’s different somehow,” said Beth. “His mind is often elsewhere, and his behavior’s unusual, yet Jack says that his skills as a physician are at an all time high. He’s helped Jack several times and recently he saved a patient from a catastrophic drug interaction. Whatever happened to Arnie has been a mixed blessing.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” Lois said.

  “Jack’s going to ask Arnie to come to the office for a checkup. Maybe we’ll get answers.”

  Beatrice Hodges only made things worse for me when, with a typical act of kindness and love, she arrived several days after the ultrasound carrying a freshly baked vanilla sponge cake. I loved these tokens of affection from patients, but I was about to reward her kindness by destroying their lives.

  I hadn’t yet discovered a kind way to deliver bad news, but as usual, I tried.

  Patients are often wary of test results. That made delivering them a little easier. I’d be suspicious at once if my physician called me back after I’d been through testing, but Irving and Beatrice showed not the slightest sign of concern.

  Beatrice held up her creation. “I know you love my sponge cake, Dr. Roth. Here it is, fresh out of the oven.”

  “Thanks, but let me put it aside for a minute. I have the results of your tests.” I hesitated, and looked into their eyes. “We have a problem, Beatrice. A big problem.”

  Irving slid to the edge of his chair, swallowed hard, and stared at me. “What kind of problem are you talking about?”

  How could I tell them?

  “The ultrasound test showed a mass on your right ovary, Beatrice.”

  “What kind of mass?” Beatrice asked.

  “It’s a tumor…”

  Irv sat upright. “What kind of tumor? You don’t mean cancer, do you?”

  “I’m afraid it is. That’s the reason you have so much fluid in your abdomen, Beatrice. We found cancer cells in the fluid.”

  Beatrice clutched Irv’s hand. “Can we get rid of it, cut it out?”

  “We may have to remove it, but that would be only to help with other parts of your cancer treatment. The fact that it’s already in the abdominal fluid, means that cancer cells have spread beyond the ovary. Beatrice, you’re going to need chemotherapy with strong anticancer medications if you are going to have a chance.”

  “Have a chance?” Irv shouted, the true import of what I said finally getting through to him. “What are you talking about? Have a chance?”

  Beatrice squeezed Arthur’s hand. “It’s okay, Irv. I’m going to be fine, right Dr. Roth?”

  “I can’t lie to you. This is serious business. You have cancer of the ovary, Bea, and it’s spread. I’m going to discuss your case with the cancer specialists, but I have several other patients with this disease, so I already know how we’ll treat it. None of it will be easy, but with surgery and chemotherapy, your chances of getting through it are pretty good.”

  “Pretty good?” Irving asked.

  “Statistics don’t mean much in an individual case.”

  “Tell us anyway,” an irritated Irv demanded.

  “I can’t because we don’t understand the nature of the cancer cells in the abdominal fluid. We don’t know if they represent the cancer’s distant spread. We’ll know more after surgery.”

  I referred Beatrice to Harvey Russo, an experienced gynecological surgeon who scheduled her at once for an abdominal and pelvic exploration.

  Irving Hodges had never felt this frightened before. The years carried its fair share of illnesses and surgeries for the family, but this was something entirely different, he could lose her. He couldn’t conceive of a life without Bea.

  “It’s almost like we’re one person,” he said on the night before surgery. “I can’t go on without you, sweetheart.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Irv, I’ll be fine.” She paused. “I’m not worried about the surgery. I’m worried about how fast I can get back to you.”

  Harvey Russo grasped the scalpel then made a four-inch midline incision in Beatrice’s abdomen. He controlled the bleeding with the electrocautery and dissected down until he reached the abdominal cavity that welled up with fluid when he entered.

  He inserted shiny metal retractors into the incision, and placed his assistants’ hands on them. “Pull hard. I need to see what we have here.”

  They pulled and the wound widened revealing the small intestine and an overlying layer of fatty tissue. Harvey gradually pushed things aside and worked his way down to the pelvic area where he immediately felt, then exposed the large cancerous tumor involving Bea’s right ovary.

  He dissected around the uterus and both ovaries so he could remove them. “I don’t see any evidence of local spread.”

  Afterward, as Bea’s pelvic organs sat in a stainless steel basin, Harvey turned to his assistant. “Let’s take a good look around.”

  The fact that Beatrice never had abdominal surgery before made exploration easy. “Let’s take a look at the liver and the lining of the abdominal cavity to see if we can find evidence of spread.”

  After thirty minutes searching and feeling, and finding nothing, Harvey smiled. “She’s clean. Let’s close her up.”

  When the young scrub nurse entered the waiting room, she said, “Dr. Russo said everything went well. Mrs. Hodges is in the recovery room. Doctor will be out in about ten minutes to go over the details.”

  The Hodges family sat anxiously in the surgical waiting room awaiting Harvey Russo’s arrival. When he strode through the door, still in a sweat-stained scrub suit, they rose as one.

  Harvey looked at Irving and his daughters. “Should we talk here, or should we go somewhere for more privacy?”

  Irv’s stomach knotted and he felt weak. He drifted to his right as if he were about to faint.

  Kathy, their eldest daughter caught him. “Dad, are you okay?”

  Irv pulled himself up to look at Harvey. “Go ahead, Doctor, tell us.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Harvey said, “I didn’t mean to suggest by my question that I had bad news. In fact the results are as good as they can get considering the circumstances.”

  “Go ahead, Doctor,” Kathy said.

  “First, I removed her uterus and both ovaries. The right ovary had a large tumor attached, but I could find no signs of local spread. The abdominal cavity was full of fluid, but again we couldn’t find tumor anywhere. More important, we cannot find any signs of tumor spread to other organs, especially the liver.”
/>   “You mean she’s cured,” Irv shouted.

  Harvey approached Irv and sat by his side. “We can’t use the word cure for a while, Irv. We have to assume that cells from the cancer remain and that if not treated, they will continue to grow and threaten Beatrice’s life. We can control all that, if we’re lucky, by chemotherapy.”

  “Beatrice and I have been lucky all our lives. I know we’ll be lucky now.”

  “She’ll be with us for four or five days then she can go home. Dr. Roth is arranging for chemotherapy to begin as soon as possible.”

  Irving’s large hands grasped Harvey’s hand and arm. “I can’t thank you enough, Dr. Russo. You don’t know what this means to all of us.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  After months of hell, Debbie Wallace finally awakened intact from the breast cancer nightmare. While she labored to keep it out of her conscious mind, on occasion, a comment, an article in the newspaper, or a moment of vulnerability would breach her complacency.

  When Debbie checked her naked body from all angles while standing before her full-length bedroom mirror, she saw that Julie Kramer was right about the reconstruction. She lifted both arms upward, then grasped each breast and turned, examining them in detail. Time had transformed her breast from unshapely and lumpy to the normal breast’s smooth-curves. If she looked closely, she could see subtle differences. For months, she’d kept them in hiding, but now she concluded that, girls, you’re ready for prime time and returned to low-cut tops she loved and to the joys of cleavage.

  Matt’s whistle from the doorway caught her by surprise, but she recovered immediately then slowly turned to face her husband.

  “They look…I mean,” he stumbled over his words, “you look fantastic.”

  Debbie opened her arms, an invitation he readily accepted.

  She smiled. “We have about an hour before the kids get back, that is if you’re interested.”