Nothing Lasts Forever (17 page)

H
oney was happier than she had ever been in her life. She had a warm relationship with patients that few of the other doctors had. She genuinely cared about them. She worked in geriatrics, in pediatrics, and in various other wards, and Dr. Wallace saw to it that she was given assignments that kept her out of harm’s way. He wanted to make sure that she stayed at the hospital and was available to him.

Honey envied the nurses. They were able to nurture their patients without worrying about major medical decisions.
I never wanted to be a doctor,
Honey thought.
I always wanted to be a nurse.

There are no nurses in the Taft family.

In the afternoons when Honey left the hospital, she would go shopping at the Bay Company, and Streetlight Records, and buy gifts for the children in pediatric care.

“I love children,” she told Kat.

“Are you planning to have a large family?”

“Someday,” Honey said wistfully. “I have to find their father first.”

One of Honey’s favorite patients in the geriatric ward was Daniel McGuire, a cheerful man in his nineties who was suffering from a diseased liver condition. He had been a gambler in his youth, and he liked to make bets with Honey.

“I’ll bet you fifty cents the orderly is late with my breakfast.”

“Ill bet you a dollar it’s going to rain this afternoon.”

“Ill bet you the Giants win.”

Honey always took his bets.

“Ill bet you ten to one I beat this thing,” he said.

“This time I’m not going to bet you,” Honey told him. “I’m on your side.”

He took her hand. “I know you are.” He grinned. “If I were a few months younger…”

Honey laughed. “Never mind. I like older men.”

One morning a letter came to him addressed to the hospital. Honey took it to him in his room.

“Read it to me, would you?” His eyesight had faded.

“Of course,” Honey said. She opened the envelope, looked at it a moment, and let out a cry. “You’ve won the lottery! Fifty thousand dollars! Congratulations!”

“How about that?” He yelled. “I always knew I’d win the lottery one day! Give me a hug.”

Honey leaned down and hugged him.

“You know something, Honey? I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

When Honey came back to visit him that afternoon, he had passed away.

Honey was in the doctors’ lounge when Dr. Stevens walked in. “Is there a Virgo here?”

One of the doctors laughed. “If you mean a virgin, I doubt it.”

“A
Virgo,
” Stevens repeated. “I need a Virgo.”

“I’m a Virgo,” Honey said. “What’s the problem?”

He walked up to her. “The problem is that I have a goddam maniac on my hands. She won’t let anyone near her but a Virgo.”

Honey got up. “Ill go see her.”

“Thanks. Her name is Frances Gordon.”

Frances Gordon had just had a hip replacement. The moment Honey walked into the room, the woman looked up and said, “You’re a Virgo. Born on the cusp, right?”

Honey smiled. “That’s right.”

“Those Aquarians and Leos don’t know what the hell they’re doin’. They treat patients like they’re meat.”

“The doctors here are very good,” Honey protested. “They—”

“Ha! Most of them are in it for the money.” She looked at Honey more closely. “You’re different.”

Honey scanned the chart at the foot of the bed, a surprised look on her face.

“What’s the matter? What are you lookin’ at?”

Honey blinked. “It says here that your occupation is a…a psychic.”

Frances Gordon nodded. “That’s right. Don’t you believe in psychics?”

Honey shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”

“That’s too bad. Sit down a minute.”

Honey took a chair.

“Let me hold your hand.”

Honey shook her head. “I really don’t…”

“C’mon, give me your hand.”

Reluctantly, Honey let her take her hand.

Frances Gordon held it for a moment, and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she said, “You’ve had a difficult life, haven’t you?”

Everyone has had a difficult life,
Honey thought.
Next she’ll be telling me that I’ll be taking a trip across the water.

“You’ve used a lot of men, haven’t you?”

Honey felt herself stiffen.

“There’s been some kind of change in you—just recently—hasn’t there?”

Honey could not wait to get out of the room. The woman was making her nervous. She started to pull away.

“You’re going to fall in love.”

Honey said, “I’m afraid I really have to…”

“He’s an artist.”

“I don’t know any artists.”

“You will.” Frances Gordon let go of her hand. “Come back and see me,” she commanded.

“Sure.”

Honey fled.

Honey stopped in to visit Mrs. Owens, a new patient, a thin woman who appeared to be in her late forties. Her chart noted that she was twenty-eight. She had a broken nose and two black eyes, and her face was puffy and bruised.

Honey walked up to the bed. “I’m Dr. Taft.”

The woman looked at her with dull, expressionless eyes. She remained silent.

“What happened to you?”

“I fell down some stairs.” When she opened her mouth, she revealed a gap where two front teeth were missing.

Honey glanced at the chart. “It says here that you have two broken ribs and a fractured pelvis.”

“Yeah. It was a bad fall.”

“How did you get the black eyes?”

“When I fell.”

“Are you married?”

“Yeah.”

“Any children?”

“Two.”

“What does your husband do?”

“Let’s leave my husband out of this, okay?”

“I’m afraid it’s not okay,” Honey said. “Is he the one who beat you up?”

“No one beat me up.”

“I’m going to have to file a police report.”

Mrs. Owens was suddenly panicky. “No! Please don’t!”

“Why not?”

“He’ll kill me! You don’t know him!”

“Has he beaten you up before?”

“Yes, but he…he doesn’t mean anything by it. He gets drunk and loses his temper.”

“Why haven’t you left him?”

Mrs. Owens shrugged, and the movement caused her pain. “The kids and I have nowhere to go.”

Honey was listening, furious. “You don’t have to take this, you know. There are shelters and agencies that will
take care of you and protect you and the children.”

The woman shook her head in despair. “I have no money. I lost my job as a secretary when he started…” She could not go on.

Honey squeezed her hand. “You’re going to be fine. I’ll see that you’re taken care of.”

Five minutes later Honey marched into Dr. Wallace’s office. He was delighted to see her. He wondered what she had brought with her this time. At various times, she had used warm honey, hot water, melted chocolate, and—his favorite—maple syrup. Her ingenuity was boundless.

“Lock the door, baby.”

“I can’t stay, Ben. I have to get back.”

She told him about her patient.

“You’ll have to file a police report,” Wallace said. “It’s the law.”

“The law hasn’t protected her before. Look, all she wants to do is get away from her husband. She worked as a secretary. Didn’t you say you needed a new file clerk?”

“Well, yes, but…wait a minute!”

“Thanks,” Honey said. “We’ll get her on her feet, and find her a place to live, and she’ll have a new job!”

Wallace sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“I knew you would,” Honey said.

The next morning, Honey went back to see Mrs. Owens.

“How are you feeling today?” Honey asked.

“Better, thanks. When can I go home? My husband doesn’t like it when—”

“Your husband is not going to bother you anymore,” Honey said firmly. “You’ll stay here until we find a place
for you and the children to live, and when you’re well enough, you’re going to have a job here at the hospital.”

Mrs. Owens stared at her unbelievingly. “Do…do you mean that?”

“Absolutely. You’ll have your own apartment with your children. You won’t have to put up with the kind of horror you’ve been living through, and you’ll have a decent, respectable job.”

Mrs. Owens clutched Honey’s hand. “I don’t know how to thank you,” she sobbed. “You don’t know what it has been like.”

“I can imagine,” Honey said. “You’re going to be fine.”

The woman nodded, too choked up to speak.

The following day when Honey returned to see Mrs. Owens, the room was empty.

“Where is she?” Honey asked.

“Oh,” the nurse said, “she left this morning with her husband.”

Her name was on the PA system again. “Dr. Taft…Room 215…Dr. Taft…Room 215.”

In the corridor Honey ran into Kat. “How’s your day going?” Kat asked.

“You wouldn’t believe it!” Honey told her.

Dr. Ritter was waiting for her in Room 215. In bed was an Indian man in his late twenties.

Dr. Ritter said, “This is your patient?”

“Yes.”

“It says here that he speaks no English. Right?”

“Yes.”

He showed her the chart. “And this is your writing?
Vomiting, cramps, thirst, dehydration…”

“That’s right,” Honey said.

“…absence of peripheral pulse…”

“Yes.”

“And what was your diagnosis?”

“Stomach flu.”

“Did you take a stool sample?”

“No. What for?”

“Because your patient has cholera, that’s what for!” He was screaming. “We’re going to have to close down the fucking hospital!”

“C
holera?
Are you telling me this hospital has a patient with
cholera
?” Benjamin Wallace yelled.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Are you absolutely
sure
?”

“No question,” Dr. Ritter said. “His stool is swarming with vibrios. He has low arterial pH, with hypotension, tachycardia, and cyanosis.”

By law, all cases of cholera and other infectious diseases must immediately be reported to the state health board and to the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta.

“We’re going to have to report it, Ben.”

“They’ll close us down!” Wallace stood up and began to pace. “We can’t afford that. I’ll be goddamned if I’m going to put every patient in this hospital under quarantine.” He stopped pacing for a moment. “Does the patient know what he has?”

“No. He doesn’t speak English. He’s from India.”

“Who has had contact with him?”

“Two nurses and Dr. Taft.”

“And Dr. Taft diagnosed it as stomach flu?”

“Right. I suppose you’re going to dismiss her.”

“Well, no,” Wallace said. “Anyone can make a mistake. Let’s not be hasty. Does the patient’s chart read stomach flu?”

“Yes.”

Wallace made his decision. “Let’s leave it that way. Here’s what I want you to do. Start intravenous rehydration—use lactated Ringer’s solution. Also give him tetracycline. If we can restore his blood volume and fluid immediately, he could be close to normal in a few hours.”

“We aren’t going to report this?” Dr. Ritter asked.

Wallace looked him in the eye. “Report a case of stomach flu?”

“What about the nurses and Dr. Taft?”

“Give them tetracycline, too. What’s the patient’s name?”

“Pandit Jawah.”

“Put him in quarantine for forty-eight hours. He’ll either be cured by then or dead.”

Honey was in a panic. She went to find Paige.

“I need your help.”

“What’s the problem?”

Honey told her. “I wish you would talk to him. He doesn’t speak English, and you speak Indian.”

“Hindi.”

“Whatever. Will you talk to him?”

“Of course.”

Ten minutes later, Paige was talking to Pandit Jawah.

“Aap ki tabyat kaisi hai?”

“Karab hai.”

“Aap jald acha ko hum kardenge.”

“Bhagwan aap ki soney ga.”

“Aap ka ilaj hum jalb shuroo kardenge.”

“Shukria.”

“Dost kiss liay hain?”

Paige took Honey outside in the corridor.

“What did he say?”

“He said he feels terrible. I told him he’s going to get well. He said to tell it to God. I told him we’re going to start treatment immediately. He said he’s grateful.”

“So am I.”

“What are friends for?”

Cholera is a disease that can cause death within twenty-four hours from dehydration, or that can be cured within a few hours.

Five hours after his treatment began, Pandit Jawah was nearly back to normal.

Paige stopped in to see Jimmy Ford.

His face lit up when he saw her. “Hi.” His voice was weak, but he had improved miraculously.

“How are you feeling?” Paige asked.

“Great. Did you hear about the doctor who said to his patient, The best thing you can do is give up smoking, stop drinking, and cut down on your sex life’? The patient said, ‘I don’t deserve the best. What’s the second best?’”

And Paige knew Jimmy Ford was going to get well.

Ken Mallory was getting off duty and was on his way to meet Kat when he heard his name being paged. He hesitated, debating whether or not simply to slip out. His name was paged once more. Reluctantly, he picked up a telephone. “Dr. Mallory.”

“Doctor, could you come to ER Two, please? We have a patient here who—”

“Sorry,” Mallory said, “I just checked out. Find someone else.”

“There’s no one else available who can handle this. It’s a bleeding ulcer, and the patient’s condition is critical. I’m afraid we’re going to lose him if…”

Damn!
“All right. I’ll be right there.”
I’ll have to call Kat and tell her I’ll be late.

The patient in the emergency room was a man in his sixties. He was semiconscious, ghost-pale, perspiring, and breathing hard, obviously in enormous pain. Mallory took one look at him and said, “Get him into an OR, stat!”

Fifteen minutes later, Mallory had the patient on an operating table. The anesthesiologist was monitoring his blood pressure. “It’s dropping fast.”

“Pump some more blood into him.”

Ken Mallory began the operation, working against time. It took only a moment to cut through the skin, and after that, the layer of fat, the fascia, the muscle, and finally the smooth, transparent peritoneum, the lining of the abdomen. Blood was pouring into the stomach.

“Bovie!” Mallory said. “Get me four units of blood from the blood bank.” He began to cauterize the bleeding vessels.

The operation took four hours, and when it was over, Mallory was exhausted. He looked down at the patient and said, “He’s going to live.”

One of the nurses gave Mallory a warm smile. “It’s a
good thing you were here, Dr. Mallory.”

He looked over at her. She was young and pretty and obviously open to an invitation.
I’ll get to you later, baby,
Mallory thought. He turned to a junior resident, “Close him up and get him into the recovery room. I’ll check on him in the morning.”

Mallory debated whether to telephone Kat, but it was midnight. He sent her two dozen roses.

When Mallory checked in at 6:00
A.M.
, he stopped by the recovery room to see his new patient.

“He’s awake,” the nurse said.

Mallory walked over to the bed. “I’m Dr. Mallory. How do you feel?”

“When I think of the alternative, I feel fine,” the patient said weakly. “They tell me you saved my life. This was the damnedest thing. I was in the car on my way to a dinner party, and I got this sudden pain and I guess I blacked out. Fortunately, we were only a block away from the hospital, and they brought me to the emergency room here.”

“You were lucky. You lost a lot of blood.”

“They told me that in another ten minutes, I would have been gone. I want to thank you, doctor.”

Mallory shrugged. “I was just doing my job.”

The patient was studying him carefully. “I’m Alex Harrison.”

The name meant nothing to Mallory. “Glad to know you, Mr. Harrison.” He was checking Harrison’s pulse. “Are you in any pain now?”

“A bit, but I guess they have me pretty well doped up.”

“The anesthetic will wear off,” Mallory assured him. “So will the pain. You’re going to be fine.”

“How long will I have to be in the hospital?”

“We should have you out of here in a few days.”

A clerk from the business office came in, carrying some hospital forms. “Mr. Harrison, for our records, the hospital needs to know whether you have medical coverage.”

“You mean you want to know if I can pay my bill.”

“Well, I wouldn’t put it like that, sir.”

“You might check with the San Francisco Fidelity Bank,” he said dryly. “I own it.”

In the afternoon, when Mallory stopped by to see Alex Harrison, there was an attractive woman with him. She was in her early thirties, blond and trim, and elegant-looking. She was wearing an Adolfo dress that Mallory figured must have cost more than his monthly salary.

“Ah! Here’s our hero,” Alex Harrison said. “It’s Dr. Mallory, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Ken Mallory.”

“Dr. Mallory, this is my daughter, Lauren.”

She held out a slim, manicured hand. “Father tells me you saved his life.”

He smiled. “That’s what doctors are for.”

Lauren was looking over him approvingly. “Not all doctors.”

It was obvious to Mallory that these two did not belong in a county hospital. He said to Alex Harrison, “You’re coming along fine, but perhaps you’d feel more comfortable if you called your own doctor.”

Alex Harrison shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. He didn’t save my life. You did. Do you like it here?”

It was a strange question. “It’s interesting, yes. Why?”

Harrison sat up in bed. “Well, I was just thinking. A good-looking fellow as capable as you are could have a damned bright future. I don’t think you have much of a future in a place like this.”

“Well, I…”

“Maybe it was fate that brought me here.”

Lauren spoke up. “I think what my father is trying to say is that he would like to show you his appreciation.”

“Lauren is right. You and I should have a serious talk when I get out of here. I’d like you to come up to the house for dinner.”

Mallory looked at Lauren and said slowly, “I’d like that.”

And it changed his life.

Ken Mallory was having a surprisingly difficult time getting together with Kat.

“How’s Monday night, Kat?”

“Wonderful.”

“Good. I’ll pick you up at—”

“Wait! I just remembered. A cousin from New York is coming to town for the night.”

“Well, Tuesday?”

“I’m on call Tuesday.”

“What about Wednesday?”

“I promised Paige and Honey that we’d do something together Wednesday.”

Mallory was getting desperate. His time was running out too fast.

“Thursday?”

“Thursday is fine.”

“Great. Shall I pick you up?”

“No. Why don’t we meet at Chez Panisse?”

“Very well. Eight o’clock?”

“Perfect.”

Mallory waited at the restaurant until nine o’clock and then telephoned Kat. There was no answer. He waited another half hour.
Maybe she misunderstood,
he thought.
She wouldn’t deliberately break a date with me.

The following morning, he saw Kat at the hospital. She ran up to him.

“Oh, Ken, I’m so sorry! It was the silliest thing. I decided to take a little nap before our date. I fell asleep and when I woke up it was the middle of the night. Poor darling. Did you wait for me long?”

“No, no. It’s all right.”
The stupid woman!
He moved closer to her. “I want to finish what we started, baby. I go crazy when I think about you.”

“Me, too,” Kat said. “I can’t wait.”

“Maybe next weekend we can…”

“Oh, dear. I’m busy over the weekend.”

And so it went.

The clock was running.

Kat was reporting events to Paige when her beeper went off.

“Excuse me.” Kat picked up a telephone. “Dr. Hunter.” She listened a moment. “Thanks. I’ll be right there.” She replaced the receiver. “I have to go. Emergency.”

Paige sighed. “What else is new?”

Kat strode down the corridor and took an elevator down to the emergency room. Inside were two dozen cots, all of them occupied. Kat thought of it as the suffering room, filled day and night with victims of automobile accidents, gunshots or knife wounds, and twisted limbs. A kaleidoscope of broken lives. To Kat it was a small corner of hell.

An orderly hurried up to her. “Dr. Hunter…”

“What have we got?” Kat asked. They were moving toward a cot at the far end of the room.

“He’s unconscious. It looks as though someone beat him up. His face and head are battered, he has a broken nose, a dislocated shoulder blade, at least two different fractures to his right arm, and…”

“Why did you call me?”

“The paramedics think there’s a head injury. There could be brain damage.”

They had reached the cot where the victim lay. His face was caked with blood, swollen and bruised. He was wearing alligator shoes and…Kat’s heart skipped a beat. She leaned forward and took a closer look. It was Lou Dinetto.

Kat ran skillful fingers over his scalp and examined his eyes. There was a definite concussion.

She hurried over to a telephone and dialed. “This is Dr. Hunter. I want a head CAT scan done. The patient’s name is Dinetto. Lou Dinetto. Send down a gurney, stat.”

Kat replaced the receiver and turned her attention back to Dinetto. She said to the orderly, “Stay with him. When the gurney arrives, take him to the third floor. I’ll be waiting.”

Thirty minutes later on the third floor, Kat was studying the CAT scan she had ordered. “He has some
brain hemorrhaging, he has a high fever, and he’s in shock. I want him stabilized for twenty-four hours. I’ll decide then when we’ll operate.”

Kat wondered whether what had happened to Dinetto might affect Mike.

And how.

Paige stopped by to see Jimmy. He was feeling much better.

“Did you hear about the flasher in the garment district? He walked up to a little old lady and opened up his raincoat. She studied him a moment and said, ‘You call
that
a lining?’”

Kat was having dinner with Mallory at an intimate little restaurant near the bay. Seated across from Mallory, studying him, Kat felt guilty.
I should never have started this,
she thought.
I know what he is, and yet I’m having a wonderful time. Damn the man! But I can’t stop our plan now.

They had finished their coffee.

Kat leaned forward. “Can we go to your place, Ken?”

“You bet!”
Finally,
Mallory thought.

Kat shifted in her chair uncomfortably and frowned. “Uh, oh!”

“Are you all right?” Mallory asked.

“I don’t know. Would you excuse me for a moment?”

“Certainly.” He watched her get up and head for the ladies’ room.

When she returned, she said, “It’s bad timing, darling. I’m so sorry. You’d better get me home.”

He stared at her, trying to conceal his frustration.
The damned fates were conspiring against him.

“Right,” Mallory said curtly. He was ready to explode.

He was going to lose a precious five days.

Five minutes after Kat returned to the apartment, the front doorbell rang. Kat smiled to herself. Mallory had found an excuse to come back, and she hated herself for being so pleased. She walked over to the door and opened it.

“Ken…”

Rhino and the Shadow were standing there. Kat felt a sudden sense of fear. The two men pushed past her into the apartment.

Rhino spoke. “You doin’ the operation on Mr. Dinetto?”

Kat’s throat was dry. “Yes.”