Maria Gonzales opened the door to room 1420, and tried to awaken Lynn Anne. It was difficult. She explained to the ambulance attendants that they'd received a phone call order for a double dose of sleep medication as well as phenobarbital because of the possibility of seizure. The men told Maria it didn't matter, and they positioned the stretcher and arranged the blankets. With a smooth, practiced maneuver, they lifted the patient and settled her with the blankets. Lynn Anne Lucas never even woke up.
The men thanked Maria, who had already begun to strip Lynn Anne's bed. Then they wheeled her out into the hallway. Ms. Arnette didn't look up when they passed the nurses' station and got back on the elevator. An hour later the ambulance pulled away from the Med Center. There was no need for the siren or rotating light. The ambulance was empty.
Chapter 8
Moments before the alarm was due to sound, Martin pressed in the knob on the clock and lay there, looking up at the ceiling. His body was so used to waking at five-twenty-five that he rarely needed assistance, no matter what time he went to sleep. Marshaling his strength, he rose quickly and donned his jogging clothes.
The nighttime rain had saturated the air with moisture, and a stringy fog hung over the river, making the stanchions of the bridge appear as if they were supported by vaporous clouds. The dampness deadened the sound so that the early-morning traffic did not interrupt his thoughts, which were mostly about Denise.
It had been years since he had felt the excitement of romantic love. For a couple of weeks he hadn't even recognized the reason for his insomnia and odd mood swings, but then when he found himself remembering what Denise wore each day, the reality finally dawned on him with a mixture of cynicism and delight. The cynicism came from having watched several of his colleagues who were also forty plus make fools of themselves with new, young loves. The delight came from the relationship itself. Denise Sanger wasn't just a young body to be used to deny the inevitability of time. She was a fascinating combination of mischievous inventiveness and penetrating intelligence. The fact that she was so pretty was like icing on the cake. Philips had to admit that he was not only crazy about her, but was also becoming dependent upon her as a means of rescue from the self-fulfilling prophecy his life had become.
When he reached the 2.5-mile mark, Philips turned and headed back. There were more joggers now, some of whom he recognized; but he tended to ignore them as they did him. His breathing became a little heavier but he continued to maintain a strong smooth pace all the way to his apartment.
Philips knew that as much as he'd liked medicine, he'd used it as an excuse for not expanding any other parts of his life. The shock of his wife's flight had been the biggest single cause of this realization. What to do about it was another issue. For Martin, research had become the potential salvation. While he continued his grading day-to-day commitments, he'd expanded his research hoping that it would eventually win some freedom for him. He didn't want to give up clinical medicine, just loosen the stranglehold it had on his life. And now that Denise had come along, he was even more committed. He vowed he would not make the same mistake again. If things worked out between them, Denise was going to be his wife in the full sense of the word. But to do that his research had to succeed. By 7:15 he had showered, shaved and was at his office door. When he went inside he stopped, amazed. Overnight the room appeared as if it had been transformed into a dump for old X rays. Randy Jacobs with his usual efficiency had pulled a great percentage of the films he'd requested. The envelopes from the master list were stacked in precarious piles behind the worktable. Those from the second, smaller list were stacked by Philips' alternator. Lateral skull films had been taken from each of the envelopes of the latter group and mounted on the viewing screens.
Philips experienced a new wave of enthusiasm and sat down in front of the alternator. He immediately began scanning the films for abnormalities similar to those he'd seen with Marino, Lucas, Collins, and McCarthy. He'd gotten through almost half when Denise walked in.
She looked exhausted. Her normally shiny hair seemed oily and her face was pale with dark circles under her eyes.
She gave him a quick hug and sat down. Looking at her wan expression he suggested she take a few hours off for a nap. He'd see her in the angiography room when she felt like returning. Meaning, of course, he'd start the case.
"Hold on," said Denise. "No special concessions for the boss's mistress. It's my turn to be in the cerebral angiography room and I'll be there whether I've slept or not."
Martin realized he'd made a mistake. Denise would never be anything but professional about her work. He smiled and patted her hand, telling her he was glad she felt the way she did.
Somewhat mollified, she said, "I'll just run and shower. I'll be back in thirty minutes."
Philips watched Denise leave, then spun to his viewing screen. In the process his eyes swept over his desk and noted something new in the chaos. Walking over he found two hospital charts and a note from Randy. The note merely told him that the rest of the X rays would be pulled the following evening. The charts were those of Katherine Collins and Ellen McCarthy.
Philips carried them over to the chair in front of the viewer, opening Collins' first. It took only a few minutes to glean the essential information, namely: Katherine Collins was a twenty-one-year-old white female with diffuse neurological symptoms, extensively worked up by neurology without a confirmed diagnosis. In the differential diagnosis, multiple sclerosis was being considered.
Philips carefully read through the whole chart. As he got to the end he noticed that Collins' visits and laboratory tests abruptly stopped about one month ago. Up until that time there had been increasingly frequent entries and some of the latter notes indicated that she was due back for follow-up. Apparently she never showed up.
Taking the other chart, which was considerably smaller, Philips read about Ellen McCarthy. She was a twenty-two-year-old female whose neurological history involved two seizures. She was in the process of being worked-up when her entries abruptly stopped. That was two months ago. Philips even found a note saying that the patient had been scheduled for another EEG with a sleep sequence the following week. It had never been done. Her work-up had not been completed and no differential diagnosis was listed in the chart.
Helen arrived and came in with her usual handful of problems, but before she said anything she presented Martin with a fresh cup of coffee and a doughnut she'd brought from Chock Full O' Nuts. Then she got down to business. Ferguson had called again and said that the supplies had to be out of the room in question by noon or they were going to be out on the street. Helen paused for a response.
Martin had no idea what to do with all the equipment. The department was already crammed into a space half the size they needed. Just to be rid of the problem, even temporarily, he told Helen to bring everything into his office and stack it against the wall. He said he'd think of something by the end of the week.
Satisfied, she went on to the problem with the technicians who wanted to get married. Philips told her to let Robbing handle it. Helen patiently explained that Robbins was the one who had presented the problem to her in order to have Philips handle it.
"Damn," said Martin. There was really no solution. It was too late to train new technicians before they left. If he fired them, they'd get new jobs easily while Philips would have trouble finding replacements. "Find out exactly how long they plan to be away," he said trying to stifle his exasperation. He hadn't taken a vacation himself in two years.