“There’s got to be some sort of an explanation,” snarled the infuriated Spallek. He took hold of his face mask still tied around his neck and yanked it free, snapping the cord. He flung it to the floor. “That doesn’t seem too much to ask,” he hissed before abruptly turning away and leaving. He collided with Bellows, who miraculously managed to juggle the small tray he was carrying without dropping any of its contents. There were no words of apology from Dr. Spallek. He crossed the recovery room and blasted open the doors to the hall.
Bellows went directly to the left of the bed and put down the tray. Susan advanced warily, watching the expressions of the remaining people. The black doctor straightened up and his dark eyes followed the exit of the irate Dr. Spallek. Susan was immediately taken by the imposing image of the man. His tag gave his name: Dr. Robert Harris. He was tall, well over six feet, his dark hair textured into a restrained Afro. His blemishless tawny skin shone, and his face reflected a curious combination of culture and restrained violence. His movements were calm, almost to the point of deliberate slowness. As his eyes returned from watching Spallek’s exit they passed over Susan’s face before returning to the respirator at the side of the bed. If he had noticed Susan, he gave no hint whatsoever.
“What did you use for the pre-op, Norman?” asked Harris, pronouncing each word carefully. He had a cultured Texas accent—if that were possible.
“Innovar,” said Goodman. The pitch of his voice was abnormally high and cracking under the strain.
Susan moved up to the foot of the bed where Spallek had been standing. She studied the crumpled man next to her, Dr. Goodman. He looked pale and his hair was matted with perspiration to his forehead. He had a prominent nose, which Susan saw in perfect profile. His deep-set eyes were riveted to the patient. He did not blink.
Susan looked down at the patient, her eyes wandering to the wrist which Bellows was prepping for the arterial stick. With an exaggerated double-take, her eyes shot back to the face of the patient as recognition occurred. It was Berman!
In contrast to the tanned visage Susan recalled from their meeting in room 503 only ninety minutes ago, Berman’s face was a dusky gray color. The skin was pulled taut over his cheekbones. An endotracheal tube protruded from the left side of his mouth and some dried secretion was crusted along his lower lip. His eyes were closed but not completely. His right leg was in a huge plaster cast.
“Is he all right?” blurted Susan looking from Harris to Goodman. “What happened?” Susan spoke from emotion, without thinking; she sensed something was wrong and she reacted impulsively. Bellows was surprised at her sudden questions and looked up from his work, holding the syringe in his right hand. Harris straightened up slowly and turned toward Susan. Goodman’s eyes did not stray.
“Everything is absolutely perfect,” said Harris with a pronunciation suggesting an Oxford sojourn some time in his past. “Blood pressure, pulse, temperature all perfectly normal. However, he has apparently enjoyed his anesthetic slumber so much that he has decided not to wake up.”
“Not another one,” said Bellows, switching his attention to Harris and concerned that he was going to be saddled with another problem like Greenly. “What does the EEG look like?”
“You’ll be the first to know,” said Harris with a trace of sarcasm. “It’s been ordered.”
Comprehension for Susan was delayed by emotion, for hope was momentarily stronger than reason. But eventually it flooded over her.
“EEG?” asked Susan apprehensively. “You mean he’s like the patient down in the ICU?” Her eyes darted back and forth between Berman and Harris, then to Bellows.
“Which patient is that?” asked Harris, picking up the anesthesia record.
“The D&C mishap,” said Bellows. “You remember, about eight days ago, the twenty-three-year-old girl.”
“Well I hope not,” said Harris, “but it’s beginning to look that way.”
“What was the anesthesia?” asked Bellows lifting Berman’s right eyelid and glancing down into the widely dilated pupil.
“Neurolept anesthesia with nitrous,” said Harris. “The girl’s was halothane. If the problem is the same clinically, it wasn’t the anesthetic agent.” Harris looked up from the anesthesia record toward Goodman. “Why did you give this extra cc of Innovar toward the end of the case, Norman?”