Trapped (4 page)

Lisa returned to Jessica’s crib
, and found that her fever had increased to 103.8. The baby was less responsive.

She rushed back to the nursing station
, and called Whitney. “Judy Kern said something about an infection on delivery, Doctor. Do you recall anything?”

“No, not a thing. How’s the baby doing?”

“I think you’d better come in.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t like the way she looks. Her fever’s up, and she’s more lethargic.”

“Don’t take this personal
ly, Ms. Cooke, but I want your charge nurse to make an assessment, and then call me.”

“I don’t know if we have time for that. We need to do something.”

“Do as I ordered, damn it,” Whitney yelled, and then the line went dead.

Lisa repeated Whitney’s orders to the night charge nurse, and then said, “I’m going to medical records. We must have that chart.”

The medical records room was a trip through manila canyons, with charts piled on shelves floor to ceiling, and stacked on virtually every horizontal surface.

“I’ve looked everywhere,” the night records clerk said. “I can’t find it.”

Lisa looked at a glassed-in room in the corner. “What’s that area for?”

“That’s where the doctors do their medical records work, signing charts
, and doing dictations. I checked the chart sign-in sheet, but nobody signed it into that area.”

When they entered the room, Lisa noted stacks of charts in bright red covers. “
What are the red ones?”

“Those are the charts that are way overdue for completion. It’s a gentle reminder to the docs to get those done first.”

“Where are Dr. Whitney’s charts?”

The clerk pointed to a shelf f
illed with perhaps fifty charts. About half of them were red-covered.

“I’ll start on the right, you start on the left,” Lisa said.

After about ninety seconds, the clerk held up a red-covered chart, and shouted, “I found it.”

Lisa scanned Jessica’s chart
, and found the culture report, which showed heavy growth of group B streptococci, a potent and potentially lethal bacterial infection.

She dialed the hospital operator. “I need Dr. Whitney
, stat.”

Lisa listened as the phone at the doctor’s residence rang and rang.

“I’m sorry, nobody’s answering.”

This baby’s going to die.

“Get me the chief of pediatrics, stat.”

“I’m not supposed to disturb Dr. Harding unless it’s an emergency,” pleaded the operator.

“Get him on the line before this baby dies.”

When Richard Harding was fully awake, Lisa outlined the situation.

“That son-of-a bitch,” Harding shouted. “I’ll be right in.”

“How long will that take Doctor?
” Lisa asked. “Give me orders and I’ll get things started.”

“I live a hundred yards from the hospital. Will that be quick enough?”

Lisa grabbed the chart, and returned to the pediatric ward. As she approached Jessica’s room, the charge nurse was leaving. “She looks terrible. I can’t get Whitney. That baby is going to die if we don’t do something.”

“I found the
birth chart, and Dr. Harding will be here in a minute. This has got to be streptococcal sepsis, or meningitis.”

The door to the stairway slammed open
, and Harding, in sweatpants and t-shirt, yelled, “Draw up the penicillin. I’ll give it.”

When Harding barged into the room, Judy and David stared wide-eyed at Richard. “Who
…what?”

“This is Dr. Harding,” Lisa said
. “He’s the chief of pediatrics. We’re here to help Jessica.”

“Where’s Shelly—Dr. Whitney?” David asked.

Harding looked around the room, and then said, “Lend me your ears, Lisa.”

Lisa handed him her stethoscope.

Jessica’s skin was bright red. Her pounding heart fluttered through her thin chest wall, and the space between her ribs retracted with each breath. When they moved Jessica’s arms and legs, they were flaccid.

He turned to Judy and David. “This is one sick little girl. I need to do a spinal tap. Please wait outside.”

“Wait one god damn second. We don’t know you from Adam. Where’s Dr. Whitney?”

“I don’t know, but listen to me carefully
. I’ve practiced pediatrics for twenty-five years. I’m chief of pediatrics, and if you don’t get out of my way, you’re going to have a dead baby.”

David barely managed to catch Judy as she screamed and slumped to the floor.

Richard completed the spinal tap in two minutes. He felt his entire body relax as clear fluid dripped from the spinal needle.

As he finished, the charge nurse returned with the penicillin. Richard calculated the dose
, and administered it slowly by intravenous drip.

“Have somebody cover Lisa’s patients,” Richard said. “She’ll be with me for a while.”

Lisa worked into the morning shift with Dr. Harding, and gradually the baby’s temperature fell. As they stood outside the room sipping orange juice, a baby’s strong cries echoed from within. Harding and Lisa and smiled and hugged.

“You had a good night, Lisa. You saved that baby’s life.”

Lisa was warm all over as she prepared to leave. She approached the nurse’s station where two white-coated men were standing in the transcription room. A red-faced Harding stood over a pale Dr. Whitney, pointing his finger and yelling. Lisa couldn’t hear the words. She didn’t need to.

Lisa Cooke and Phoebe Davis had, in spite of the distance, maintained their friendship. They’d visit each other whenever possible, and talked on the phone once or twice a week.

“Hold on to your hat, sweetie,” Phoebe said. “I found a job for you at Brier NICU.”

“Fantastic! Who do I call?”

Phoebe gave Lisa the phone number of Eileen Baker, the nursing care coordinator of the NICU
, and they arranged an interview.

Lisa used her day off for the trip to Berkeley.

Brier Hospital was a study in contrasts, a turn-of-the-century Victorian mansion as its administration center, and a modern six-story hospital.

She found her way to the NICU and asked for Eileen Baker.

They hit it off at once.

“We’d love to have you, Lisa. You’re just what we’re looking for,” Eileen said.

“That’s great. I’ve always wanted to be in pediatrics, and especially in NICU.”

“I can offer you a night shift position starting as soon as you can get here.”

The balloon of Lisa’s happiness deflated. “I’m so sorry, Eileen, but I can’t work the night shift. I’ve tried before, but I can’t sleep during the day.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Eileen said. “You’d fit in here. Think about it, and remember that we’re looking for someone who will be with us for the long haul.” She hesitated
for a moment, and then continued, “My real problem is seniority. New hires usually start on the night shift. I want you, but I don’t want a revolution on my hands.”

“I understand perfectly,” Lisa said
. “Everyone I met here is great, and this being a referral center for preemies, it’s perfect for me. I’d do it, if only I could sleep, but I can’t. I appreciate the offer, Eileen. Keep me in mind if anything else comes up.”

Lisa stopped by the ICU to see Phoebe, and brought the news.

“They’re out of their minds,” Phoebe shouted. “Letting you go because of a shift problem… that’s nuts. They need a longer term perspective. Let me apply the Phoebe magic.”

When Lisa returned to her apartment in Chico, the light was flashing on her answering machine. She pushed the play button
, and heard Eileen’s voice, “Call me, Lisa. I’ve managed to find a day position for you.”

Lisa picked up the phone
, and dialed Phoebe’s number. When she answered, Lisa said, “Make room for me, I’m moving in.”

Chapter Five

Dr. Michael Cooper was the medical director of the NICU. He sat on the hard dressing room bench in his usual green scrub suit and cap, and reached for the matching special-ordered size 18 shoe covers. He groaned as he struggled to put them on, and then he entered the unit.

I’ve got to get back to the gym
,
he thought.

Mike and his partners, Kenneth Dillard and Bradley Rosin, after many years, had finally obtained an exclusive contract from Brier Hospital to provide pediatric care to the most desperate of newborns.

Mike arrived this morning to make rounds on five preemies. He walked into the central nursing station, which they’d decorated with pale yellow wallpaper, pastel pink and blue ribbons, and scrolls of nursery rhymes. A large white board listed the name of each baby, the assigned nurse for the shift, and any scheduled treatments.

In spite of the name,
“Neonatal Intensive Care”, this unit, like medical, surgical, or coronary intensive care units, shared a characteristic ambiance; days of peace and quiet could yield, in an instant, to the frenzy of the approaching storm, a tiny, premature infant.

Although the u
nit had modern ventilation, the unit still smelled of antiseptics, antibiotics, Desitin, and the distinctive aroma of meconium, the intestinal contents of newborns. Soft-soled shoes permitted the staff to move silently around the room, and monitors, ventilators, and vacuum suctions blended together as white background noise.

Sharon Bridges was a veteran neonatal nurse. She gave Mike an update on the condition of three level
-one (the healthiest) babies, and assisted in his examination. Mike watched them breathing through the transparent hood of their incubators, and then extended his arms through the portals to examine them. The head of his pediatric stethoscope loomed large over their tiny chests as they struggled to breathe. Their chests would rise and fall with the assistance of the respirators. Today, they were all doing well.

Mike looked at his patient list. “Who’s taking care of babies Kramer and Goldstein?”

“Lisa has them, today,” Sharon said. “She’s on break in the nurse’s lounge.”

“Lisa? I don’t know her. How long has she been with us?”

“Two weeks. Lisa Cooke. She’s a recent graduate. You’ll love her; she’s great. Do you want me to get her for you?”

“No,” he said as
Sharon caressed their last little patient, “you’re busy enough. I’ll get her.”

The day-to-day expression of maternal love that these nurses gave so freely never failed to move Mike. He
had become part of a team that shared the same goals, to steer these babies through the tumultuous rapids of being born too soon, and to ready them for the calm waters of home.

Mike grabbed the two remaining charts
, and walked to the back of the unit. He knocked softly on the door of the nurse’s lounge. He knocked twice more and then entered.

The room had a large rectangular table in the center
, as well as several easy chairs. A faded brown sofa filled most of the remaining space. Baby pictures, graduates of the NICU, and charts showing the stages of delivery decorated the walls. Schedules, announcements, and a variety of ‘must read’ forms and regulations covered several bulletin boards.

Mike scanned the room, finally locating a head of auburn hair just below table level in the rear. As he neared, a young woman was sitting on a foam-rubber mat with her eyes closed, legs crossed, and her arms at her side. She held her palms open,
and the tips of her thumbs and index fingers formed a perfect circle.

Mike coughed
, but there was no reaction.

He
coughed again.

Real subtle
, he thought.

He had the sudden urge to shake the woman, but thought better of it
, and decided to sit at the table to read the charts.

Moments later, a soft voice said, “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know anyone was here. Can I help you?”

Mike didn’t know if it was the voice, the sensual smile, or maybe those green eyes, but he suddenly became nervous.

“I’m Mike Cooper. You’re Lisa?”

“Yes, Doctor. My name is Lisa Cooke,” she said formally. “It’s nice to meet you.”

The room temperature suddenly dropped twenty degrees as her words belied her sweet appearance.

What was that all about?
He thought.

“I’m sorry, but I knocked several times. I hope I didn’t disturb you. That was some sort of yogi meditation?”

“Yes, Doctor. The correct term is ‘Yoga’.”

Ouch
,
he thought.

“We call that the Dhyana Mudra position for meditation.”

“If I could ever get myself in that position,” he said, smiling, “I’d need a crane to get me up.”

Her face remained impassive.

Well, this is going especially well,
he thought.
Better get to business.

“I’d like to make rounds on the Kramer and the Goldstein babies, if you’re free.”

“Of course, Doctor.”

He watched as she gracefully unfolded herself
, and stood. As she walked past him in her green scrub dress toward the door to the unit, he noted that she was about five feet eight inches in height with an athletic, female shape.

When she stopped to face him at the first baby, she was wearing a red AIDS awareness pin
, and a
Know More
pink bracelet for breast cancer. In addition, she wore a brown pin that he didn’t recognize.

“What’s the brown pin for?” he asked.

“That’s the anti-tobacco pin, Doctor.”

Why does the word
“doctor”, from her lips, sound like an insult
? he thought.

Forget about it
, he thought,
you can’t connect with everyone.

He picked up the vital sign clipboard from the side of the incubator
, noting that there were no entries for the last two hours.

“Where are the baby’s most recent vital signs?”

“I have them here,” she said, reaching into the pocket of her scrubs for a folded scrap of paper.

“Please try to keep the vital signs sheet up
dated.”

“Yes, Doctor,” she said
as she looked at her feet.

“It’s important,” he said, trying to criticize the omission
, and not her, personally. “If something should happen to one of these babies, especially if her nurse is momentarily unavailable, the vital signs could be lifesaving.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Cooper. It won’t happen again.”

Enough said,
he thought.

After completing rounds, Mike left the unit for his office on the sixth floor of the hospital.

“What’s with that guy, Sharon?” Lisa
asked after Mike left.

“What are you talking about?”

“He acts like he’s got a rod up his ass.”

“Listen, Lisa, I don’t know where you get any of that. Mike Cooper may be the best pediatrician I’ve ever known, and I’ve worked for more than a few. Moreover, h
e’s a great guy, dedicated to his patients, compassionate with their distraught parents, and he’s a joy to work with.”

“There’s something about him that bugs me,” she said
, rubbing the thin scar across her left eyebrow.

“I don’t know what’s
on your mind, Lisa, but you’d better look inside yourself before you dismiss a guy like Mike Cooper.”

Of course, she knew
why she felt this way. Mike Cooper, tall and bear-like, with thinning brown hair, reminded her of her father. Of all the psychobabble foisted upon women, the saying that women tended to choose a man from the shadow of their fathers, was the one that she could least abide. The winds of ambivalence swirled in her mind. She had sought her father’s protection, acceptance, and love, but had found only betrayal, rejection, and brutality.

Early the next morning, Mike sat in the office lounge drinking coffee with his partner and close friend, Bradley Rosin. “Have you worked with that new nurse, Lisa Cooke?” Brad asked.

“Cool—icy
-cool—I think. We met yesterday, and it didn’t go well.”

“Earthy, I think,” Brad said
. “And exotic-looking, too.”

“Share that with Marcia, why don’t you
? She’s a modern, understanding wife.”

“Marcia says I can look
, as long as I don’t touch.”

Mike’s partners were married,
though Brad’s was more successful than Kenny Dillard’s. Kenny and his wife, Rita, had done more to caution Mike against marriage than anything else.

“All I need to do is spend another evening with Kenny and Rita, and I’ll unpack my monastery robes. If
there’s anything I’d expect from marriage, it would be peace and a soft place to land.”

“I know,” Brad said, “but somewhere in the midst of the constant bickering and the occasional blowouts, they care for each other.”

“If that’s caring for each other, then I’ll pass.”

Mike liked Marcia Rosin. She was like a sister, always after him to modify his diet, and to get more exercise. Mike’s bachelor status was the irresistible object to Marcia’s immovable force. “You must meet so-and-so. She’s perfect for you.”

Marcia had introduced him to several beautiful and interesting women, but they
had never clicked.

“I want you to come over to meet someone
on Sunday night,” she said.

“I can’t, Marcia. I’m having a liver transplant.”

Mike dated in college, medical school, and through his years of specialty training. He discovered that
, while surrounded with desirable women, his first instinct was to befriend them, rather than bed them. He had many female friends, few lovers, and then there was Karen Andrews…

“I knew she was wrong for you,” Mike’s oldest sister, Lilly said.

“Nobody’s ever good enough for you guys,” Mike replied.

He called Lilly after he ended an eight-month relationship with Karen. Mike trusted women too much, which was one disadvantage of his upbringing. Karen, a beautiful, outgoing rep for a drug company, peddled her wares—and, some nurses said, her ass—to available Brier Hospital physicians. His secretary had kept drug and equipment salespeople at bay, but when Karen entered his office, he had decided to make an exception.

“It’s no mistake that they choose the beautiful people to be drug reps,” said Harriet Cox, his secretary. “Don’t make a fool of
yourself,” she had whispered in Mike’s ear before she sent Karen into his office.

They
had hit it off from the start. She was exciting and intelligent, and they were great in bed together. Mike had a busy call schedule, and hers required that she cover a territory extending from the San Francisco Bay Area to the California-Oregon border. Getting together was difficult and frustrating.

After Karen returned from her last trip, she
had said, “We can’t go on this way.”

“This way seems pretty good to me,” Mike replied as he pulled her by her narrow waist to his side.

“No,” she smiled. “We waste too much time apart. Why don’t we move in together?”

A few months into their new arrangement, Mike knew he’d made a
mistake. Afterward, he had an appreciation of the value of this trial marriage that saved each of them from making a terrible choice.

Mike
had tried to weigh their potential for a long-term relationship, but in the heat of romance and their raw sexuality, this was like standing on a scale with one foot on the floor. They didn’t fight over where you squeezed the toothpaste, or whether or not the toilet seat was left up; living together was a revelation of personality and character.

“You’re holding back, Karen,” he
had said one night after they had made passionate love.

“Holding back?”

“Emotionally, I mean.”

“You’re getting everything I have to give, Michael.”

Mike sought the gateway to her soul, the emotional equivalent of their sexual intimacy, while she kept him at bay. He never knew why. Alternately, he blamed himself. The arguments that followed were surrogates for this one crucial issue, and had led to their separation.