"What?"
"These last few days I've been holding up what you did for Baxter, or at least were prepared to do, as an example of what they might well emulate, and some of them got a tad upset about it."
"You didn't."
"I just wanted to warn you-"
"Jimmy, you know damn well not to interfere in how doctors practice."
"Who's interfering? When someone does the right thing, as you did, I simply make a joyful noise about it."
"A joyful noise?"
"Right. Jesus always went on about the need to make a joyful noise. I take him at his word."
"And which doctors, specifically, did you see fit to make this joyful noise to?"
"Well, Peter Wyatt, the chief of that bunch, for one. I always figure it's best to deal with the top man…"
Earl groaned. Wyatt personified the old-boy network at St. Paul's, though he himself hadn't yet reached sixty. But mentally Wyatt allied himself with those from an era where doctors were above mere mortals and not to be questioned, especially by underlings outside the medical hierarchy. "Jimmy, don't give me that naive crap. You knew going to him would stir up a hornet's nest."
"It needed doing."
"What did you say exactly?"
"That a dozen or so members of his department were dinosaurs who sucked at managing pain, and then I suggested an audit on the subject might be in order. I waited until today, of course, figuring it safer to express my opinion in a crowd, where he'd be forced to behave."
"You've got to be kidding."
Jimmy, now looking more defiant than sad, shook his head.
Earl's stomach did a pirouette at the thought of how Peter Wyatt would react, crowd or no crowd, to such a frontal assault, especially since the charge hit home. No greater hot-button issue existed in palliative care than proper pain management. The dilemma was, the more potent an analgesic and the bigger the dose, the more likely the medication would stop a person's breathing as well as the pain. Though some enlightened doctors advocated sufficient amounts to make a patient comfortable, even if they inadvertently hastened the person's inevitable death, some didn't. They administered instead rote, inadequate quantities rather than risk an accusation that they'd committed active euthanasia.
Then he thought Jimmy had to be ribbing him. He wouldn't be so crazy as to pull such a stunt with Wyatt. "Come on. This is a joke, right?"
Jimmy's gaze shifted to a point behind Earl and his eyes widened. "Oh, sweet Jesus, I see the man himself headed this way."
"Quit kidding me, Jimmy, not about this."
"Oh, but I'm not. And he's flushed purple as an eggplant."
Of course Peter Wyatt wouldn't be behind him. Maybe Jimmy had never said anything to him at all, the story being just a way of making a point about a problem that he thought deserved attention from the new VP, medical. Earl loved how the priest could quick-shift from the serious to quirky, off-the-wall teasing. Delivered at the right moment, his jokes could lift the spirits of an entire ER staff and keep the craziness of what came in the door from eating at their minds. What's more, fun could be had in playing along with the man, calling his bluff, throwing out even nuttier nonsense, the game being to top him. Earl relaxed. "Yeah, right, Jimmy. And were I to turn around, there'd be the Pope as well, the pair of them coming to admonish you for sticking your nose where it had no business."
"Dr. Garnet!" rattled the gravelly voice of Dr. Peter Wyatt, the sound running down Earl's spine like knuckles on a washtub.
Jimmy winced. "Want me to stay? I will, but my presence might inflame things."
"Jesus Christ, you really did tell him off!" Earl still couldn't believe it.
Jimmy's gaze hardened, completely devoid of the sadness from minutes ago. "As I said, it needed doing. Do you want me to stay or not?"
"Garnet, I want a word with you!" Wyatt's bellow sounded twice as close as before.
"Jimmy, I swear I'll get you for this. But right now, just get out of here."
"See ya." He flashed that magic grin, gave his hamstrings a quick stretch, and jogged off.
Earl, fuming, turned to confront the chief of oncology, and had to stifle a nervous laugh at the sight of the man descending on him. Bushy eyebrows and a furrowed forehead always endowed Wyatt's grim face with more horizontal lines than the mug of an onrushing bulldog. Normally he stuffed his stocky frame into a three-piece suit, giving himself the formidable air of a Winston Churchill. Today, however, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts, he looked more like a knobby-kneed drug dealer. "Peter, good to see you." Earl force-marched his mouth into a genteel smile and held out a hand in greeting. "Fine day for a race, isn't it?"
Wyatt huffed up to where he stood and ignored the gesture. "I see that priest's already gotten to you."
Oh, brother. "Jimmy? He just promised to leave me in his dust during today's race, as usual."
"He didn't tell you what he said to me?"
At close range, Earl could see droplets of perspiration appear across Wyatt's beefy forehead despite the cool breeze. He almost suggested the man sit down somewhere but figured Wyatt would take it as an insult, he being a staunch practitioner of middle-age macho. "He never mentioned you at all, Peter. And why would he? Today's a time for fun, not business."
"Fun, my ass. That comedian in a collar had the nerve to tell me and my physicians how to treat dying patients. Even suggested that there ought to be an audit of how we practice. I never liked these modern types of chaplains, always going on about 'interfacing' and 'holistic care,' as if that's going to shrink a tumor. But Fitzpatrick crossed the line today, and I don't want him in my department anymore. You make sure he stays away."
"Now, wait a minute. I can't do that."
"No?" Wyatt drew in a sharp breath, the kind meant to show indignation, except the wheeze in his nose ruined the effect. "If you won't, then I'll go to the CEO, the board of directors, whoever it takes to get rid of him."
The man's angry voice had started to attract passersby. "Peter, this isn't the time or place."
Wyatt looked uneasily around and broke into a professional smile. "I want him to leave oncology patients alone." His voice had dropped to a whisper but had the sibilance of an angry snake.
Earl maintained the show grin he'd started with, but his cheek muscles had started to burn. "I won't do that, Peter. Jimmy's the only person some patients have to talk with, especially the terminal ones. They'd die alone if it weren't for him."
Wyatt's smile congealed a little, like cold grease. "Garnet, I didn't want you as
VP, medical in the first place, and you sure as hell aren't changing my opinion any-"
"Well, I'm sure I can work with you, Peter," Earl interrupted. Despite the pain, he attempted to widen his grin, determined to take control of the situation. It felt more like a show of teeth than a smile. "How about I issue a formal reminder to him and all other Pastoral Service personnel? Something to make it clear that while their insights into patient needs are always valued, final decisions on issues of pain control and medication have forever been and forever will be the exclusive domain of doctors? A kind of 'render unto God what is God's and unto Caesar what is Caesar's' memo."
Wyatt turned a deeper shade of purple. "You're making fun of me."
Earl imagined him in a toga and sporting a crown of leaves around his head. If anyone had an emperor's complex and fantasized about possessing the power to make all of St. Paul's do his bidding with a thumbs-up or thumbs-down, it had to be Peter Wyatt. "Not at all, Peter," Earl quickly reassured him. He knew that Wyatt also held considerable sway over the other dinosaurs who'd led the anybody-but-Garnet lobby and opposed his appointment of Earl Garnet to his current post. They couldn't wait to engineer his downfall. The best defense against this bunch would be copious stroking and keeping them busy. "The truth is, Peter, you just gave me a brilliant idea."