It's Nothing Personal (20 page)

“What about the Morphine?” Jim asked.
 
“You indicated that 10 milligrams was a
pretty hefty dose, and she got a total of 15 before her vital signs settled
down.
 
What do you make of that?”

Jenna replied quickly, “It tells me that Ms.
Hollings, like many other young people, probably likes to party.
 
When people routinely drink, do drugs,
smoke pot, things like that, it’s not uncommon to see their anesthetic
requirements increase.
 
According to
the record, I gave her 10 milligrams of Morphine, and she showed virtually no
response.
 
It took another 5
milligrams before her vital signs indicated the drug was having any
effect.
 
For whatever reason, she
had an apparent tolerance.”

Jim asked, “Jenna, I know from the records
that you drew up the Fentanyl in advance, but what about the Morphine?
 
When would you have accessed that drug?”

“I would have obtained it during the case,
when it became apparent that additional narcotic was required.
 
I would have checked it out from the
Accudose machine and injected it immediately.”

Jim placed his elbows on the table and moved
closer to Jenna.
 
“Just so I’m
clear, there would be absolutely no way that anyone could have tampered with
the Morphine that you administered to Ms. Hollings?
 
And, furthermore, she required high
doses of that drug before you saw the desired effect?”

Jenna could see where Jim was going with
this.
 
Grinning, she replied,
“That’s one hundred percent correct.”

Jim then said, “Let’s move on to the
Accudose record that we obtained.
 
The Accudose is the machine from which you check out narcotics,
correct?”

“Correct,” replied Jenna.

“So,” Jim continued, “it looks like you
checked out 250 micrograms of Fentanyl and 2 milligrams of Versed at 7:38, but
Ms. Hollings’ case didn’t start until 8:27.
 
Can you explain why you checked out the narcotics
in advance and what you did with them from 7:38 until 8:27?”

Jenna wanted to lie.
 
She wished she could tell her lawyers
that she kept the drugs in her pocket the whole time.
 
Nancy’s advice rang through her head
– the way doctors hang themselves is by being dishonest.
 
Besides, Jenna was not a liar, and she
would not start now.

Peering down at the record, Jenna locked her
sight on the documented times.
 
With
downcast eyes, she said, “Most likely, I checked them out and drew them up
around 7:38.
 
My practice was to
always be prepared.
 
I would have
all the routine drugs drawn up and ready to go before each case started.
 
That way, if any issues arose, any
unanticipated emergencies or whatnot, I wasn’t caught off guard.
 
Then I probably stuffed them in a drawer
of my anesthesia machine and went to interview the patient.”

“You never left your drugs out on top of the
anesthesia cart in plain sight?” asked Jim.

This time, Jenna raised her
head and faced Jim directly.
 
“Never.
 
I always hid them in
a drawer under supplies.”
 

“Had that always been your
practice with respect to your drugs?” asked Nancy.
 
“To draw them up in advance and hide
them in the anesthesia cart while you tended to things outside the OR?”

“Yes,” said Jenna.
 
“That’s what I was taught to do in
residency and what I continued to do in private practice.”

Jim and Nancy could see Jenna starting to
fade.
 
They had been going strong
the entire afternoon.
 

Nancy looked sympathetically at Jenna and
said, “Kiddo, I think we’re done.
 
Do you have any questions?”

Jenna knit her brow.
 
“How do you both feel about the strength
of our case, right now, based on what we’ve talked about?”

Jim cleared the table in front of him.
 
“Jenna, I’ve been a malpractice attorney
defending doctors for over twenty years.
 
I’ve tried a lot of cases, and I’ve settled a lot of cases.
 
I’m pretty good at sniffing out the ones
that stand a chance with a jury.
 
I
think your actions are defendable.
 
There are a lot of holes in this story that we can use to our
advantage.”

“Such as?” asked Jenna skeptically.

“To begin with, there is no proof that
Hillary Martin stole your syringe of Fentanyl.
 
There is no proof that Michelle Hollings
became infected from a contaminated Fentanyl syringe.
 
Even if Ms. Hollings did acquire hepatitis
C from Hillary Martin, it still doesn’t explain
how
it happened.
 
Hillary Martin could have used saline from the surgical table to refill
syringes that she stole from other doctors.
 
That saline, not your Fentanyl syringe,
could have been the source of contamination.

“There’s also the issue of standard of
care.
 
We’ve done some preliminary
investigation and the consensus, so far, is that there really was no clearly
defined, nationally accepted standard of care when it came to securing
narcotics in the OR.
 
Your practice
was absolutely not out of line with what many, if not most, other physicians
were doing.

“As far as the negligence per se claim, we
will poke holes at what it means to have drugs secured.
 
Our contention is that the operating
room itself was a secure environment.
 
Hillary Martin changed that, of course, but prior to her crimes,
operating rooms were considered protected areas.
 
Therefore, storing your drugs in your
cart within the operating room should constitute securing your drugs.
 
The key here is the law that Anders
refers to in the complaint is extremely vague.
 
It states that drugs should be secured,
but doesn’t go on to clearly define what ‘secure’ means.”

“That’s the most encouraging news I’ve heard
all day,” said Jenna, with a hint of optimism.

Exhausted, Jenna swiveled her chair around
and stole a glance out the window.
 
Only then did she realize the sun had set.
 
At least six hours had passed since
Jenna first arrived.
 
Her stomach
grumbled, and her eyes burned.

Jenna retrieved her purse and stood to
leave.
 
She was almost out the door
when she heard Nancy say, “We’ll be in touch.”

Unfortunately, Jenna knew
they would.

CHAPTER 29

Jenna drove home with the music blasting at
full volume, hoping to drown out her thoughts.
 
Although she wanted to cry and release
her emotions, she could not.
 
She
was completely spent.
 

Reviewing the events of the day, Jenna could
not comprehend how such horrific allegations could be attached to her
name.
 
Heartless words replayed in
Jenna’s head.
 
In spite of the music
booming from the speakers, all Jenna could hear was Jim’s voice as he read the
complaint:

“If it weren’t for the carelessness of Dr.
Reiner, Michelle Hollings would not have contracted hepatitis C.”

“Had Dr. Reiner shown diligence in her
duties to protect her patient by detecting the syringe of Fentanyl had been
tampered with, Ms. Hollings would not have been infected with the hepatitis C
virus.”
 

“It was the ultimate act of Dr. Reiner
injecting a syringe contaminated with hepatitis C into Ms. Hollings’
bloodstream that resulted in her infection.”
 

Driving drove down the highway, Jenna
started to doubt herself.
 
Maybe it
was her fault.
 
What if she had
ruined Michelle Hollings’ life?
 
What if Michelle Hollings ended up dying from end-stage liver
disease?
 
What if every day of the
rest of her patient’s life was spent in pain, fear, and uncertainty?
 
It would all be a result of what was in
that syringe – the very syringe Jenna had held in her own hands.

Rolling down the window, Jenna allowed an
arctic gust of December air to enter the car.
 
It was painfully refreshing.

In an instant, Jenna’s emotions shifted to
ire and repugnance.
 
She was
outraged at Allison Anders’ characterization of her as a careless and
incompetent doctor.
 
How could someone
write such vile statements about somebody else?
 
What would possess someone to be so
ruthless and cruel?

Jenna could not shake the words, “Michelle
Hollings prays . . .” from her mind.
 

“Give me a break!” Jenna shouted into the
dark emptiness of her car.
 

Before Jenna knew it, she had arrived
home.
 
She pulled into the garage
and rolled up the window.
 
Her
cheeks were icy, and her hair was a tangled mess.
 

Jenna had not yet reached the door of her
house, when Mia flung it open and ran toward her yelling, “Mommy, Mommy!
 
You’re home!”
 
Mia flung herself into the arms of her
mother. “Where have you been, anyway?”

She released herself from Mia’s embrace and
kissed the top of her head.
 
“Mia,
I’m so sorry.
 
Can you give me a
minute to change clothes and settle down?
 
Then I’ll explain things to you.”

“I guess,” said Mia, not sure what to make
of the bizarre expression on her mother’s face.

Jenna walked inside.
 
The scent of garlic permeated the air,
and Jenna knew instinctively that Tom had spaghetti cooking on the stove.
 
She strolled into the kitchen, grateful
he had been considerate enough to have dinner waiting.
 
Tom heard her come in and looked up as
he stirred the sauce.
 
For a moment
he barely recognized his wife.
 
Dropping the spoon on the counter, Tom came over to Jenna and wrapped
his arms around her.
 
His act of
kindness was all it took for Jenna to crumble.
 

With their daughter staring at them with
concern, Tom held Jenna as she buried her head into his chest and wept.
 
Soon, Mia came up and wiggled her way
into the mix.
 

“Mommy, please don’t cry,” Mia begged.
 
“Everything will be okay.
 
Daddy and I promise.
 
Don’t we, Daddy?”

Tom looked at their precious child.
 
At only eleven, Mia possessed wisdom and
compassion well beyond her years.
 

“Yes, Mia,” said Tom, as he looked at his
wife and back at Mia.
 
“We
promise.
 
Let’s take care of Mom
tonight, okay?”

Mia tenderly took her mother’s hand and
said, “Come on, Mom.
 
Let’s get you
changed and out of those icky scrubs.”
 

Jenna blindly followed her daughter into the
bedroom.
 
For Mia’s sake, Jenna let
her pick out a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt.
 
In a reversal of roles, Mia helped Jenna
pull her cotton scrub top over her head and tossed it into the hamper.
 
Jenna pulled the T-shirt on and changed
into the sweatpants.
 
She was deeply
touched when Mia emerged from the closet, carrying her slippers.
 
Jenna sat on the edge of the bed,
allowing her daughter to slip the footwear on her feet.
 
Indulging her daughter was the best
thing that had happened to Jenna all day.

Mother and daughter walked back into the
kitchen, hand-in-hand, to find dinner waiting for them on the table.
 
Tom handed Jenna a generous glass of
Merlot, which she gratefully accepted.
 
The three of them sat down at the table, and Mia immediately asked,
“Mommy, what’s wrong?”

Jenna took an oversized gulp of her
wine.
 
The warmth of the spirits
slid down her throat and hit her stomach.
 

“Mia,” Jenna began, “remember how there was
that awful lady at my hospital who stole drugs?”
 

“Yes.”
 
Mia’s expression grew more intense.
 
She maintained laser-beam focus on her mother.
 

“And remember how I explained to you that
she had a really bad disease, called hepatitis C?”
 

Mia nodded.

“Well, it turns out that woman may have
stolen one of my syringes that was meant for one of my patients.
 
Then, so I wouldn’t catch her stealing,
she put a dirty syringe in its place.
 
The dirty syringe had her disease in it, but it looked exactly like the
real medicine.
 
I didn’t know it,
but I gave the dirty medicine to my patient, and my patient got the
disease.”
 

Jenna took another large drink of wine.
 
She could feel dampness trickling from
her eyes.
 
“Does that make sense so
far?”

“Yeah, Mom.
 
It makes sense.
 
So are you crying because you feel bad
for the patient?”