“Nothing I can prove. But all I know is things
were going smoothly, the consents were signed, then
two of them–a man and a woman–visited the parents
and disaster!”
A plate heaped with scrambled eggs arrived along
with a dish of yellow sauce. I remembered his affection
for hollandaise. He poured the sauce on the
eggs and used his fork to divide the mound into
three sections. The middle segment was consumed
first, followed by the one on his right, and finally
the left third disappeared. More dabbing, more imaginary
crumb disposal.
“What does your Fellow have to do with it?”
“Valcroix? Probably plenty. Let me tell you about
this character. On paper he looked great–M.D.
a French-Canadian–internship
and residency at Mayo, a year of research at Michigan. He’s close to orty, older than most applicants,
so I thought he’d be mature. Ha! When I interviewed
him I talked to a well-groomed, intelligent man. What showed up six months later was an
aging flower child.
The man is bright but he’s unprofessional. He
tas and dresses like an adolescent, tries to get
down to the patients’ level. The parents can’t re-
and eventually the kids see through it,
are other problems, as well. He’s slept
one mother of a patient that I know
48 Jonathan Kellerman
about and I suspect there’ve been several others. I
chewed him out and he looked at me as if I were
crazy to be worried about it.”
“A little loose in the ethics department?”
“He has no ethics. Sometimes Fm convinced he’s
drunk or on something, but I can’t trip him-up on
rounds. He’s prepared, always has the right answer.
But he’s still no doctor, just a hippie with a
lot of education.”
“How’d he get along with the Swopes?” I asked.
“Maybe too well. He was very chummy with the
mother and seemed to relate to the father as well as
anyone could.” He looked into his empty coffee
cup: “I wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted to sleep
with the sister–she’s a looker. But that’s not what’s
bothering me right now.”
He narrowed,his eyes.
“I think Dr. August Valcroix has a soft spot in
his heart for quacks. He’s spoken up at staff meetings
about how we should be more tolerant of what
he calls alternative health care approaches. He spent
some time on an Indian reservation and was impressed
with the medicine men.’ The rest of us. are
discussing the New England Journal and he’s going
on about shamans and snake powders. Unbelievable.”
He grimaced in disgust.
“When he told me they were pulling the boy out
of treatment I couldn’t help but feel he was gloating.” “Do you think he actually sabotaged you?”
“The enemy from within?” He considered it. “No,
not overtly. I just don’t think he supported the
treatment plan the way he should have. Dammit,
Alex, this isn’t some abstract philosophy seminar.
There’s a sick boy with a nasty disease that I can
BLOOD TEST 49
treat and cure and they want to prevent that treatment. It’smmurder!”
“You could,” I suggested, “go to court on it.”
He nodded sadly.
“I’ve already broached the subject with the hdso
pital attorney and he thinks we’d win. But it would
be a Pyrrhic victory. You remember the Chad Green
case–the child had leukemia, the parents pulled
him out of Boston Children’s and ran away to Mexico
for Laetrile. It turned into a media circus. The-parents
befame heroes, the!octors and the hospital,
big bad wolves. In the end, with all the court
orders, the boy never got treated and died.”
He placed an index finger against each temple
and pressed. A pulse quivered under each finger-
tip. He winced
“Migraine?”
“Just started. I can handle it.” He sucked in his
breath. The paunch rippled.
“I may have to take them to court. But I want to
avoid it. Which is why I called you, my friend.”
He leaned forward and placed his hand over mine.
His skin was unusually warm and just a bit moist.
“Talk to them, Alex Use any tricks you’ve got up
your sleeve. Empathy, sympathy, whatever. Try to
get them to see the consequences of what they’re
doing.”