She began by apologizing for the scene Thomas had caused, but Dr. Ballantine cut her off and assured her that the party had been a great success and he doubted if anyone even remembered the incident. Cassi wished she could believe that; unfortunately she knew it was just the kind of scandalous scene that stayed in peoples’ minds.
“I’ve talked with Thomas several times this morning,” said Dr. Ballantine. “I happened to see him before surgery.”
“How did he seem?” asked Cassi. In her mind’s eye she could see Thomas unconscious in the leather armchair, then stumbling into the bathroom.
“Perfectly fine. Seemed to be in a good mood. I was pleased that everything was back to normal.”
To her dismay Cassi’s eyes filled with tears. She’d promised herself it wouldn’t happen.
“Now, now,” said Dr. Ballantine. “Everyone occasionally blows up under stress. Don’t place too much importance on last night’s incident. The way he’s been working, it’s entirely understandable. Maybe not excusable, but understandable. The house staff have even commented that he’s spending an unusual number of nights in the hospital. Tell me, my dear, has Thomas been acting normally at home?”
“No,” said Cassi, dropping her line of sight to her hands that lay immobile in her lap. Once she started talking, the words came out easily. She told Dr. Ballantine Thomas’s reaction to her proposed operation and confessed that their relationship had been strained for some time, but she didn’t think the cause was really her illness. Thomas had known she had diabetes before they were married, and, except for the eye problem, her condition had not changed. She didn’t think her medical complications explained Thomas’s anger.
She paused, beginning to perspire with anxiety.
“I think the real problem is that Thomas has been taking too many pills. I mean lots of people take an occasional Dexedrine or sleeping pill, but Thomas may be overdoing it.” She paused again, looking up at Ballantine.
“I have heard one or two things,” mused Ballantine. “One of the residents commented on a tremor. He didn’t realize I was behind him in the hall. What exactly has Thomas been taking?”
“Dexedrine to keep awake and Percodan or Talwin to calm down.”
Dr. Ballantine strode over to the window and stared into the surgical lounge directly opposite. Turning back to Cassi, he cleared his throat. His voice had not lost any of its warmth.
“The availability of drugs can be a severe temptation for a doctor, particularly if he is as severely overworked as Thomas.” Ballantine moved back to his desk and eased into his chair.
“But availability is only part of the story. Many physicians also have a sense of entitlement. They take care of people all day and feel they deserve a little aid themselves if they need it. Drugs or alcohol. It’s an all-too-common story. And since they have been trained to be self-sufficient, instead of talking to another doctor, they medicate themselves.”
Cassi was enormously relieved that Dr. Ballantine absorbed the news about Thomas with such composure. For the first time in days she felt optimistic.
“I think the most important thing is that we keep this to ourselves,” said Dr. Ballantine. “Gossip could be detrimental to both your husband and the hospital. What I will do is have a diplomatic talk with Thomas and see if we can’t take care of the problem before it gets out of hand. Having seen this kind of thing before, I can assure you, Cassi, that Thomas’s difficulties are minor. He has been carrying his usual surgical load.”
“You’re not worried about his patients?” asked Cassi. “I mean, have you seen him operate recently?”
“No,” admitted Dr. Ballantine. “But I would be the first to hear if something were amiss.”
Cassi wondered.
“I’ve known Thomas for seventeen years,” Ballantine said reassuringly. “I’d know if there was something seriously wrong.”
“How will you bring up the subject?” asked Cassi.
Dr. Ballantine shrugged. “I’ll play it by ear.”
“You won’t mention that I spoke with you, will you?” asked Cassi.
“Absolutely not,” said Dr. Ballantine.
Carrying a handful of irises that she’d purchased in the hospital flower shop, Cassi walked down the eighteenth floor corridor to room 1847. The door was open about halfway. She rapped and peeked in. A figure was lying in the single bed holding a sheet up to his eyes. He was shaking in apparent terror.
“Robert!” laughed Cassi. “What on earth…”
Robert bounced out of the bed dressed in his own pajamas and robe. “I happened to see you coming,” he said. Eyeing the flowers, he asked, “Are those for me?”
Cassi surrendered the small bouquet. Robert took the time to arrange them carefully in his water pitcher before placing them on the nightstand.
Glancing around the room, Cassi could see she wasn’t the first. There were a dozen bouquets blooming on every surface.
“Kinda looks like a funeral,” said Robert.
“I don’t want to hear that kind of humor,” said Cassi, giving him a hug. “There is no such thing as too many flowers. It means you have a lot of friends.” She settled down on the foot of the bed.
“I’ve never been a patient in a hospital,” said Robert, pulling up a chair as if he were the visitor. “I don’t like it. I feel so vulnerable.”
“You get used to it,” said Cassi. “Believe me, I’m a pro.”
“The real problem is that I know too much,” said Robert. “I can tell you, I’m terrified. I’ve convinced the anesthesiologist to double up on my sleep meds. Otherwise I know I’ll be up all night.”
“In a couple of days you’ll wonder why you were nervous.”
“It’s easy for you to say, dressed in street clothes.” Robert held up his wrist with its plastic name tag. “I’ve become a statistic.”
“Maybe it will make you feel better to know that your courage has prodded me into action. I’m being admitted tomorrow.”
Robert’s expression changed to one of compassion. “Now I feel foolish. Here I am worried sick over a couple of teeth while you face eye surgery.”
“Anesthesia is anesthesia,” said Cassi.
“I think you are doing the right thing,” said Robert. “And I have a feeling that your operation is going to be a hundred percent successful.”
“What about your own chances,” teased Cassi.
“Um… fifty-fifty,” said Robert, laughing. “Hey, I got something to show you.”
Robert stood up and went over to the nightstand. Picking up a folder, he joined Cassi on the edge of the bed. “With the help of the computer, I collated the data we have on the SSD cases. I found some interesting things. First of all, as you suggested, all of the patients were on IVs. In addition, over the past two years, the cases increasingly involved patients who were in stable physical condition. In other words, the deaths have become more unexpected.”
“Oh God,” said Cassi. “What else?”
“I played around for a while with the data, punching in all the parameters for our study except surgery. The computer spat out some other cases, including a patient by the name of Sam Stevens. He died unexpectedly during cardiac catheterization. He was retarded but in excellent physical condition.”
“Was he on IV?” asked Cassi.
“Yup,” said Robert.
They stared at each other for several minutes.
“Finally,” said Robert, “the computer indicated that there was a preponderance of males. Curiously enough, where the information was available, the computer pointed out an unusually high number of homosexuals!”
Cassi looked up from the papers to Robert’s friendly gaze. Homosexuality had never been mentioned between them, and Cassi felt a reluctance to discuss it.