Foreign Body

by Robin Cook

  “What hospital is going to be involved tonight?” Veena asked, in the same serious tone. She was not trying to hide her opposition to another case so soon after the first two, especially since it had been she who had started the program.

  “The Aesculapian Medical Center,” Cal said. “Raj called today to say that his patient David Lucas, who’s in his forties, was a terrific candidate. He’d had abdominal surgery to control obesity this morning. Cardiac-wise, he couldn’t be better. He had a stent inserted three years ago, so he’s known to have obstructive disease.”

  “We’ve also made it easier,” Durell said. “We took Samira’s excellent suggestion about the succinylcholine. We now have our very own supply, so there will not be any dangerous sneaking around the ORs.”

  “That’s right,” Cal said. “We got it today. Those are the kinds of suggestions we need to make this plan better and safer. I think we should pay bonuses for them to encourage such constructive thinking.”

  “Then I think Samira should get a bonus,” Durell said, giving Samira a congratulatory squeeze.

  “And Veena a bonus for breaking the ice,” Cal said. He gave Veena an equivalent hug, and the shapeliness and firmness of her body beneath her nurse’s uniform instantly turned him on.

  “Does this mean you don’t plan on doing anything about Jennifer Hernandez?” Veena asked. She immediately pulled away from Cal. She was surprised Cal and Durell weren’t as concerned as she was about Jennifer’s interest in looking into her grandmother’s death. “I made the effort to find out where she was staying, thinking you’d want to know.”

  “Where is she staying?”

  “At the Amal Palace.”

  “Is she now! What a coincidence, since that’s where we all stayed when we interviewed you women for Nurses International.”

  “Cal, I’m being serious.”

  “So am I. But I’m not going to have anything to do with that woman, not as one of the principals of Nurses International. Whereas you could without arousing any suspicion. If you are so concerned, why don’t you come up with a reason to meet her again and find out the source of her suspicions. I’m sure you’d find Durell is right, that it’s her own paranoia, and it will be a relief for you and for us to know there isn’t some clue we’re missing.”

  “I couldn’t,” Veena said, with a shake of her head as if shivering off a touch of nausea.

  “Why not?”

  “Even just thinking of her gives me flashes of her grandmother’s face, contorting as she was dying, and even worse, I hear the grandmother thanking me all over again.”

  “Then by all means don’t meet with her,” Cal said, with an edge to his voice. “I’m just trying to suggest how you can deal with your anxieties.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this at all,” Veena said suddenly.

  “Now, let’s not go off the deep end. Remember, you don’t have to ‘do’ any more patients. You’re done. You were to start the ball rolling, that’s all. You’re in a supporting role now.”

  “I mean, maybe none of us should be doing this.”

  “It’s not your role to decide,” Cal stated. “Just consider it your dharmic duty to support the others. And remember, this activity has freed you from your father, and it is going to bring you and your colleagues, including Samira here, to a completely new freedom in America.”

  Veena stood for a moment, nodding as if agreeing, then turned and left the room without saying anything additional.

  “Is she going to be alright?” Durell asked, looking back at the others after watching Veena silently exit.

  “She’s going to be fine,” Samira said. “It’s just going to take a while. She suffers more than the rest of us. Her problem is that she hasn’t had nearly the Westernizing Internet experience we’ve had, and as such she’s still way more an acculturated Indian than we are. As an example, when she finally started talking to me today after being mad at me for revealing her deep, dark secret to you guys, one of the first comments she made was not to rejoice at finally being free at last of her father and able to follow her dreams but that her family had been shamed.”

  “I think I’m beginning to understand,” Cal said. “What worries me, though, is the suicide thing. Is there any chance she’ll try that again?”

  “No! Definitely not! She did it because she felt she was expected to do it in the context of her religion and her family, but you saved her. So that’s that. It wasn’t to be her karma to die, even if she had thought it was. No, she won’t try it again.”

  “Let me ask you something else,” Cal said. “Since you’re her best friend, does she ever talk about sex?”

  Samira laughed hollowly. “Sex? Are you joking? No, she never talks about sex. She hates sex. Well, let me amend that. I know she wants to have kids one day. But sex for sex’s sake, no deal. Not like other people I know.” Samira winked at Durell, who snickered behind a closed fist.

  “Thanks,” Cal said. “I should have asked you these questions weeks ago.”

  Chapter 19

  OCTOBER 17, 2007

  WEDNESDAY, 6:15 A.M.

  NEW YORK, USA

  Before ever opening his eyes, Dr. Jack Stapleton heard a sound that was foreign to his ears. It was a distant hushed roar, the likes of which he found hard to describe. For a moment he tried to think what could be making it. Since their 106th Street Manhattan brownstone, which was actually brick, had been renovated only two years ago, he thought it could have been a sound that was normal to the newly configured house but that he’d just never appreciated. Yet on further thought it was too loud for that. Trying harder to characterize it, he suddenly thought of a waterfall.

  Jack’s eyes blinked open. Sweeping his hand under the covers on his wife’s side of the bed and not encountering her sleeping form, he knew what the sound was: It was the shower. Laurie was already up, an unheard-of phenomenon. Laurie was a dyed-in-the-wool night owl and often had to be dragged kicking and screaming from her bed in order for her to get to the OCME, also known as the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner, at some reasonable time. As for himself, Jack liked to arrive early, before everyone else, to give him the opportunity to cherry-pick the good cases.

  Mystified, Jack tossed back the covers, and completely naked, which was the way he liked to sleep, he padded into the steamy bathroom. Laurie was practically invisible within the shower stall. Jack cracked the door.

  “Hey in there,” Jack called out over the sound of the water.

  With suds in her hair, Laurie leaned out of the spray. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” she said. “It’s about time you woke up. It’s going to be a busy day.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The India trip!” Laurie said. She leaned her head back into the torrent and vigorously rinsed her hair.

  Jack leaped back to avoid being splashed and let the shower door close. It all came back to him in a rush. He’d vaguely remembered snatches of the conversation in the middle of the night when he’d first awakened, but he’d thought it all had been a nightmare.

  Jack had not seen Laurie so motivated since she and her mom had teamed up for planning their wedding. A little later Jack learned that Laurie had stayed up and essentially made all the travel and lodging arrangements, pending Calvin’s permission for the two of them to take a week off. They were to leave that evening, change planes in Paris, and arrive in New Delhi late the following night. As far as the hotel was concerned, they were booked in the same place Jennifer Hernandez was staying.

  By seven a.m. Jack found himself staring into the lens of a digital camera in a shop on Columbus Avenue. When the flash went off, he jumped. A few minutes later he and Laurie were back on the street.

  “Let me see your photo!” Laurie said, and giggled when she looked at it. Jack grabbed it back, miffed that she was making fun of it. “Want to see mine?” Laurie asked, but she extended it to Jack before he had a chance to respond. As he’d expected, hers looked better than his, with the flash c
atching the auburn highlights in her brunette hair as if the clerk was a professional photographer. The biggest difference was the eyes. Whereas Jack’s light brown, deeply set eyes looked like he was hungover, Laurie’s blue-green eyes were bright and sparkly.

  When they got to the OCME at seven-thirty, Laurie thought things looked auspicious. She imagined that if it had been a particularly busy day, Calvin would be less inclined psychologically to let them both take a week. But it was not busy, at least not yet. When she and Jack walked into the ID office, where the day began for all the medical examiners, the medical examiner in charge of reviewing the cases that had come in during the night, Dr. Paul Plodget, was sitting at the ID desk reading The New York Times. In front of him was an unusually small stack of folders that had already been reviewed. Next to him in one of the brown vinyl club chairs sat Vinnie Amendola, one of the mortuary techs whose job it was to come in early to help with the transition from the night techs. He also made the communal coffee. At the moment he was reading the New York Post.

  “A light day today?” Laurie questioned to be certain.

  “One of the lightest,” Paul said, without appearing from behind his newspaper.

  “Any interesting cases?” Jack asked as he started rummaging through the short stack.

  “Depends on who’s asking,” Paul said. “There’s one suicide that’s going to be a problem. Maybe you saw the parents. They were parked out in the ID room earlier. They are part of a prominent, well-connected Jewish family. To put it bluntly, they don’t want an autopsy, and they are pretty adamant.” Paul glanced around the edge of his paper at Jack to make sure he’d heard.

  “Does the case really need an autopsy?” Jack asked. By law, suicides demanded autopsies, but the OCME tried to be sensitive to families, especially when religion was involved.

  Paul shrugged. “I’d say yes, so there needs to be some finesse involved.”

  “That leaves out Dr. Stapleton,” Vinnie commented.

  Jack roughly flicked the back of Vinnie’s paper with his fingernails, causing the man to jump. “With that kind of recommendation, mind if I take the case?” Jack asked Paul.

  “Be my guest,” Paul said.

  “Has Calvin arrived yet?” Laurie asked.

  Paul lowered his paper so he could look at Laurie with an exaggerated questioning expression that said, Are you crazy?

  “Jack and I are possibly having to take some emergency leave starting later today,” Laurie said to Paul. “If it’s not a problem, which it doesn’t look like it will be, I’d like to take a paper day to sign out any and all cases I can.”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem,” Paul agreed.

  “I’m heading out to talk with these parents,” Jack said to anybody and everybody while holding the case file aloft.

  Laurie grabbed his arm. “I’m going to wait for Calvin. I want a yes or a no as early as possible. If it’s yes, I’ll pop down to the pit before heading out to get our visas.”

  “Okay,” Jack said, but it was apparent he was already preoccupied by the purported case.

  After a quick detour out to Marlene at reception to ask to be informed the minute Calvin arrived, Laurie took the elevator up to her fifth-floor office. Sitting down, she dove into the stack of cases she had pending. But she didn’t get far. It was only twenty-two minutes later that Marlene informed her that Calvin had just come in through the front door, much earlier than usual.

  The deputy chief medical examiner’s office was sited next to the chief’s much larger one near the building’s front entrance. At that time, prior to eight, the secretaries had yet to arrive, and Laurie had to announce herself.

  “Come on in!” Calvin said when he saw Laurie at his door. “Whatever is on your mind, make it fast. I’m due down at City Hall.” Calvin was an enormous African-American who could have played in the NFL had he not been quite so interested in studying medicine when he graduated from college. With his ability to intimidate combined with a stormy temperament and streak of perfectionism, he was a very effective administrator. Despite the OCME being a city agency, things got done and got done efficiently under Calvin Washington, M.D.

  “Sorry to bother you so early in the day,” Laurie began, “but I’m afraid Jack and I have a kind of emergency.”

  “Uh-oh,” Calvin intoned, as he gathered the material he needed to take to the mayor’s office. “Why do I get the feeling I might have to do without my two most productive pathologists. Okay, give me the short version of the problem!”

  Laurie cleared her throat. “Do you remember that young girl, Jennifer Hernandez, whom I invited here fourteen years ago?”

  “How can I forget. I was totally against it, and somehow I let you talk me into it. Then it turned out to be one of the best things this office has ever done. Has it been fourteen years? Good lord!”

  “It has been that long. In fact, Jennifer is graduating this coming spring from UCLA Medical School.”

  “That’s terrific. I loved that kid.”

  “She sends her regards.”

  “Likewise,” Calvin said. “Laurie, you have to pick up the pace. I’ve got to be out that door five minutes ago.”

  Laurie told the story of Maria Hernandez’s death and Jennifer’s difficulty trying to deal with the body. She also told Calvin how Maria had been like a mother, not only to Jennifer but to herself as well from infancy to early teens, and concluded by saying that she and Jack wanted to go to India and needed a week to do so.

  “My condolences,” Calvin said. “I certainly can understand your wish to show your respects, but I’m not sure I understand why Jack has to go. To lose both of you at the same time puts us under a degree of strain unless we have significant warning.”

  “The reason Jack has to go is actually unrelated to the Hernandez death,” Laurie explained. “Jack and I have been undergoing infertility treatment for about eight months. Currently, I’m in a cycle where I have been injecting myself with high levels of hormones, and within days I’ll be giving myself the follicle-releasing shot. At that point—”

  “Okay, okay!” Calvin exclaimed, stopping Laurie in midsentence. “I get it. Fine! You guys take your week. We’ll manage.” Calvin picked up his briefcase.

  “Thank you, Dr. Washington,” Laurie said. She felt a shiver of excitement. The trip was really going to happen. She followed the deputy chief out of his office.

  “Give me a call when you’ll be returning to work,” Calvin called over his shoulder on his way to the front door.

  “Will do,” Laurie called back, as she headed for the elevators.

  “One more thing,” Calvin called, halfway out the door, keeping it open with his butt. “Give me a souvenir; get pregnant.” With that he left, and the door swung shut.

  Like the arrival of a sudden summer storm, a cloud swept over Laurie’s nascent excitement. Calvin’s last comment infuriated her. Turning back to the elevator, she let loose a barrage of expletives. With all the pressure she’d been putting on herself to get pregnant and the despondency it engendered, she didn’t need more. For her, Calvin’s weighing in on the issue was akin to sexual discrimination. After all, he wasn’t about to put equivalent pressures on Jack.

  Inside the elevator, she slammed the fifth-floor button with the heel of her fist. She could not believe how insensitive men could be. It was inexcusable.

  Then, almost as soon as the fury had arrived, it dissipated. Sudden clairvoyance made Laurie know it was the hormones at work again, similar to her response last night with Jack and in the grocery store with the elderly woman. What surprised and embarrassed her was the speed with which such episodes took place. There wasn’t time to be rational.

  Once back in her office and feeling more in control of her emotions, Laurie put in a call to her friend Shirley Schoener. She knew it was a good time, because Shirley set aside eight to nine as the time to be available for phone and e-mail communication with her infertility patients. She answered immediately.

  Knowing oth
er patients would be calling, Laurie got right down to business, telling Shirley that she and Jack were leaving for India that evening and why.

  “I’m jealous,” Shirley responded. “You are going to find it so . . . interesting.”

  “That’s how someone would describe something he or she didn’t like but felt the need to be diplomatic about,” Laurie responded.

  “It’s just that it is difficult to characterize your response to India,” Shirley explained. “The country evokes such a wide range of emotions; it makes simple, generic descriptions useless. But I loved it!”

  “We’re not going to have time to really see India,” Laurie said. “It’s going to be in and out, I’m afraid.”

  “It doesn’t matter. India is so full of contradictions all over that you’ll sense what I’m talking about irrespective of how long you are there and no matter whether you go to Delhi, Mumbai, or Kolkata. It’s so complex. I was there a year ago for a medical conference, and I just haven’t been the same since. There’s sublime beauty and urban ugliness all mixed together. There’s extreme wealth and the most wrenching poverty you can imagine. I tell you, it takes your breath away. It’s impossible not to be affected by it.”

  “Well, we’ll certainly keep our eyes open, but we’re going to be there to deal with Maria Hernandez’s death. But we have to deal with my cycle as well.”

  “My goodness,” Shirley exclaimed. “In my enthusiasm about India, I momentarily forgot about that. I feel so positive about this cycle; I don’t want you to go away. I won’t be able to take any credit for when you get pregnant, which I think you are going to do.”

  “Now, don’t you put any extra pressure on me,” Laurie said with a chuckle. She related her recent reaction to Calvin’s innocent comment.

  “And you were the woman who doubted you’d have a problem with hormones!” Shirley laughed.

  “Don’t remind me. But I really didn’t think I would. PMS was never the bother that it is with some of the people I know.”