Code 15 (3 page)

“We need you in one right now, Dr. Connolly,” came a harried voice from the doorway. Morgan started to her feet even before her eyes snapped open.

“What do we have?” she asked the nurse.

“A forty-year-old guy with severe chest pain and hypotension. We’ve called a cardiac alert.”

Her mind darting off in a new direction, Morgan grabbed her stethoscope from around her neck and followed the nurse back into the main treatment area.

FOURTEEN MONTHS LATER

 

 

Having just spent the last two hours organizing her lecture on patient safety for the residents teaching conference, Morgan Connolly strolled across the lobby of Dade Presbyterian Hospital.

Attractive in an exceptional way, Morgan’s delicate facial bones, long, burnt reddish hair, and placid hazel eyes combined to bestow a classic beauty upon her. Waiting in front of the elevators, she fell victim to her incurable impatience and tapped the up button for the third time. Just as she did, a man with a stethoscope hanging around his neck walked up.

“Good morning, Dr. Connolly,” he said.

Morgan turned and smiled politely at the gangly man, who, even though he stooped, towered over her.

“Dr. Hawkins. It’s nice to see you again. How’s retired life?”

“Well, I’d like to think of it as semiretired life. But even so, if I had any sense, I’d just quit completely and never set foot in this hospital again.”

Morgan laughed, got up on her tiptoes, and then kissed him flush on his pointed cheekbone.

“A little work is good for your brain, Daddy,” she said, looking into his warm eyes. “It’ll keep the cobwebs to a minimum. There’s just so much
Judge Judy
one man can watch.”

“I thought I raised you not to be so judgmental,” he said.

“You preaching to me about being judgmental is a little like Fagin expounding on the evils of pickpocketing.” The elevator door opened and they both stepped on. “What are you doing in the hospital? I thought you only worked on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“I heard you were giving today’s teaching conference. I thought I’d attend. What’s the topic?”

“Patient safety.”

He sighed. “Let me guess. You’re going to talk about avoidable patient errors.”

“I’m the chairperson of the Patient Safety Committee, Daddy. What should I be talking about?”

“I know it’s a timely and sexy topic, but remember what Groucho Marx said about his cigar.”

“I’m not sure cigars and sick people in hospitals dying unnecessarily are analogous.”

“I just think physicians are getting tired of hearing about medical mistakes.”

“That’s too bad, because there were ninety-eight thousand patient deaths in this country last year from preventable medical errors. I’m sorry our medical staff considers that boring. Physician arrogance and ambivalence continues to contribute to medical mishaps. If we don’t change the culture of—”

He cleared his throat as if he were battling diphtheria and then tapped on his watch crystal. “There must be something wrong with my Timex. I thought your lecture didn’t start for another ten minutes.”

She grinned and shook her head. Ever since she was a teenager, he had been doing the same thing to her whenever she climbed onto a soapbox.

“What are your plans for the rest of the morning?” she asked him.

“I thought I’d go home and take a long nap.”

“Sounds great,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “It will be good practice for the nursing home. Did you know that it’s actually possible to get old without getting older?” she added, refusing to indulge his melancholy and mostly theatrical moods of late.

“The rumor mill says you’re being considered for the Executive Committee.”

“I thought you were no longer interested in hospital politics.”

“I’m not, but I am interested in the professional accomplishments of my daughter.”

“The answer to your question is yes, but it’s not a big deal.”

“Don’t be so modest,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulder. “You’re making your old man proud. You seem to be the only one in the family making a difference around here anymore.”

“Daddy, you’re still a great orthopedic surgeon and the best chief of staff this hospital ever had.”

“I appreciate the unbiased praise but that’s all in the past.” The doors opened on the seventh floor and they walked off in the direction of the conference center. “Are you still flying?” he asked.

“Every chance I get.”

“Tell me at least you quit the aerobatic stuff.”

“I’ve given it up temporarily.”

With a curmudgeon’s scowl he asked, “Why would a bright, educated, and sensible girl such as yourself want to turn tiny airplanes upside down?”

“Because I love it, and I need something more in my life besides this place.”

“I thought that’s why you got married.”

She wagged her finger at him. “Daddy, we’re not doing this now.”

“Can’t I even ask how you and Kevin are doing?”

“We’re still separated and I’m not very hopeful things will work out. Okay?”

“I knew this would happen.”

Smiling inwardly, she said, “It’s probably because we didn’t have that big church wedding you wanted.”

“I simply don’t understand why you two don’t—”

Morgan put her hand to her father’s lips. “You’re not listening. We’re not having this conversation now. One way or the other, Kevin and I will sort this out. We’re both adults.”

“I would say one of you is an adult. The other’s a hormonal adolescent trapped in the body of a grown man.” His brow creased as he added, “I always felt he intimidated you.”

“I grew up with two older brothers who didn’t exactly pamper me. I also survived a father who kept me on the tennis court until dark five nights a week, hoping to turn out the next Chris Evert.”

“What’s your point?” he inquired.

“Men don’t intimidate me.”

They strolled up to the entrance of the conference center. Before going in, Morgan turned and began straightening her father’s bow tie.

“When are you going to snap out of this self-imposed funk?” she asked him. “Don’t you think you’ve milked it for long enough?”

“Maybe if your mother were still with us, things would be better.”

Morgan chuckled. “It’s not as if Mom died or abandoned us, Daddy. You left her for your scrub nurse.”

“That was a mistake that I now fully admit to.”

“I’m sure you do, but it’s a little late for that now. We all tried to warn you, but you wouldn’t listen. You had already decided Amber was the answer to all your problems.”

“She was a great nurse and for someone of her age, she had expansive knowledge.”

“The only thing expansive about Amber was her boobs.” Morgan finished fiddling with his bow tie and took a step back. “There, that’s better.”

“As long as you brought up the topic of your mother, how’s she doing?”

“I didn’t bring up the topic; you did. She married a brilliant, great-looking guy with more money than God who worships everything about her. She spends six months a year traveling the world. How do you think she’s doing?”

“Someday she’ll see through all that superficial stuff.”

Morgan laughed again, opened the door to the conference center, and held it while her father walked through.

“How about dinner tomorrow night?” she asked. “I have something I want to tell you.”

“Really? Who’s buying?”

“It’s your turn,” she said firmly.

“In that case, I’ll come over to your place and we’ll order in Chinese. I have a coupon.”

“And if it were my turn to pay?” she asked, following him down the center aisle.

“We’d be going to the Palm.”

Morgan folded her arm around his waist and gave him a quick, but adoring, pinch. She then escorted him to an aisle seat before making her way to the front of the lecture hall. Catching herself in a quick grin, she wondered how he’d react when she told him over dinner tomorrow night that she was six weeks pregnant.

ONE WEEK LATER

 

 

Although he called himself Gideon, the man who limped into Dr. Allen Hawkins’s office at five minutes to nine signed in as Stuart Artesian.

The name Gideon suited him well. The impulse to cast aside his God-given name and take the name of the angel had come to him in the form of a ghostly revelation six months earlier. Having no earthly need for the name bestowed upon him by his parents, he discarded it as easily as the individual who had borne it for the past forty years.

Even though he had now ascended to a higher purpose, he still thought about his old life. It had been one filled with backyard barbecues, homeowners meetings, and long days at the beach. It was a life he cherished, but one that had become nothing more than a collection of treasured memories. The realization that the only place he could relive those memories was in his mind was maddening. Thinking about the past often incited the terrible ringing in his ears that had been plaguing him for the last several months. Of late, he even considered consulting a physician, but he kept putting it off in the hopes the high-pitched humming would subside on its own.

Just as he was about to sign in, the frosted glass window in front of him wobbled open. A young lady wearing a floral shirt smiled. Her name badge read Judy.

“May I help you?” she asked.

“My name is Stuart Artesian. I have a nine-fifteen appointment with Dr. Hawkins.”

Judy handed him a clipboard with a two-sided patient information sheet to fill out.

“Do you have your insurance referral with you?” she asked.

“I don’t believe in health insurance. I’ll be paying for the visit in cash.”

Even though it was not a response she was accustomed to hearing, Judy simply smiled. “If you’ll just fill out both sides of the form, Dr. Hawkins will be with you shortly.”

Clipboard in hand, and with the assistance of a brandy smuggler-styled cane, Gideon hobbled across the waiting room and took a seat on a dark green upholstered couch. It had taken him two hours to prepare for his appointment with Dr. Hawkins. He had set his alarm for five to allow himself ample time to dye his hair, apply foam latex to his cheek-bones, and affix a gray artificial mustache.

When he finished filling out the form, he reached into the inside pocket of his sports coat and removed a paperback book of advanced crossword puzzles. Over the past month he had completed most of them, leaving him only the last few to work on.

At that moment, Carrie Alexander, Dr. Hawkins’s physician’s assistant, stepped into the waiting room. “Mr. Artesian?” she asked, glancing around the room.

Gideon caught her attention by raising his cane. “I’m Stuart Artesian.”

She took a few paces toward him. “We’re ready for you.”

Carrie escorted him down a long corridor and then into a nicely appointed examination room where she helped him onto a table. While he was getting settled, she read his patient information sheet.

“You mentioned you were referred to our practice by Dr. Connolly.”

“That’s right.”

“Would that be Morgan Connolly?” she asked.

“Yes. She was the emergency room doctor who took care of my hand.”

“Are you sure?”

With a smile he said, “I may be getting old and senile, young lady, but I can still remember the names of the doctors who treat me. I liked Dr. Connolly very much. When she told me she was referring me to her father and that she chaired the hospital’s Patient Safety Committee, I was very comfortable.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .”

“Don’t you accept ER patients?”

“Of course,” Carrie was careful to answer, still a little perplexed. She knew Dr. Connolly never referred patients from the emergency room to her father. She didn’t know why exactly, but she was pretty sure it had something to do with hospital politics. Instead of trying to explain a difficult situation to Mr. Artesian, she moved on. “How did you hurt your hand?”

“It was stupid, really. I was in my garage trying to pull down some heavy boxes from an eight-foot shelf. I did okay with the first one, but I lost my grip on the second and it pinned my hand against the wall as it fell.”

Carrie made notes as they spoke. “How long ago did this happen?”

He thought for a few moments. “I’d say about a month now.”

“And is the pain is getting worse?”

“Definitely, and the swelling has never completely gone away,” he answered, gently rubbing the back of his left hand.

“I noticed you walk with a cane.”

“Oh that—it had nothing to do with the accident. I’ve had arthritis in my right hip for more years than I can remember. My family doctor told me I’ll eventually need a hip replacement.”

Before Carrie could ask her next question, the door opened.

“Mr. Artesian. I’m Dr. Hawkins.”

They shook hands.

“Actually, it’s Dr. Artesian.”

“My apologies. Are you a physician?”

“No, but I was accepted to medical school. I decided to get my PhD in anthropology instead. I felt that teaching at a college level would be a more sensible life. I’m a full professor at the University of Miami.”

“Do you live in Coral Gables?”

“Ever since I moved to Miami.”

“What brings you all the way up here? There are a number of excellent orthopedic surgeons in South Miami,” Hawkins inquired.

“I only see doctors who are on staff at Dade Presbyterian.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m a thorough man, Doctor, and I’ve done my homework when it comes to patient safety and hospital mistakes. To put it bluntly, your medical staff’s the best of a bad lot.”

“What brought you to that conclusion?”

Gideon paused just long enough to move his cane a little closer. “Have you read the Institute of Medicine’s report on medical errors?”