“And I’d like you to stay out of my hair. I’m a busy man. I’m taking care of real patients, not sitting on my ass looking at pictures all day.”
Mannerheim turned and started away.
Philips felt a surge of fury. He wanted to shout, “You arrogant provincial bastard.” But he didn’t. That was what Mannerheim expected, maybe even wanted. Instead Martin went for the surgeon’s known Achilles’ heel. In a calm, understanding voice Martin said: “Dr. Mannerheim, you need a psychiatrist.”
Mannerheim whirled, ready for combat, but Philips was already out the door. To Mannerheim, psychiatry represented the absolute antithesis of everything he stood for. For him it was a morass of hyperconceptual nonessence, and to be told he needed one was the worst insult he could absorb. In a blind rage the surgeon crashed through the door into the dressing area, tore off his bloodstained OR shoes and threw them the length of the room. They crashed into a bank of lockers and skidded under the sinks.
Then he snatched the wall phone and made two loud phone calls. First he called the Director of the hospital, Stanley Drake, then he called the Chief of Radiology, Dr. Harold Goldblatt, insisting to each that he wanted something done about Martin Philips. Both men listened in silence: Mannerheim was a powerful individual within the hospital community.
Philips was not the kind of person who got angry very often, but by the time he reached his office, he was steaming.
Helen looked up when he appeared. “Remember you’ve got the medical-student lecture in fifteen minutes.”
Philips mumbled under his breath as he walked by her. To his surprise Denise was sitting in front of his alternator studying McCarthy’s and Collins” charts. She looked up when he came in. “How about a bite of lunch, old man?”
“I don’t have time for lunch,” snapped Philips, throwing himself into his chair.
“You’re in a wonderful mood.”
Leaning his elbows on the desk, he covered his face with his hands. There was a moment of silence. Denise put the charts down and stood up.
“I’m sorry,” said Martin through his fingers. “It’s been a trying morning. This hospital is capable of erecting unbelievable barriers to any enlightened inquiry. I might have stumbled onto an important radiological find, but the hospital seems determined to discourage me from looking into it.”
“Hegel wrote: ‘Nothing great in the world has been accomplished without passion,’ ” Denise said with a twinkle. Her undergraduate major had been philosophy and she’d discovered that Martin enjoyed her ability to quote some of the great thinkers.
Philips finally took his hands from his face and smiled. “I could have used a little more passion last night.”
“Leave it to you to interpret the word in that context. That’s hardly what Hegel meant. Anyway, I’m going to have some lunch. You sure you can’t join me?”
“Not a chance. I’ve got a lecture with the medical students.”
Denise started toward the door. “By the way, as I was going through those charts of Collins and McCarthy I noticed both had several atypical Pap smears.” Denise paused at the door.
“I thought their GYN exams were normal,” said Philips.
“Everything was normal except the Pap smears on both patients. They were atypical, meaning they weren’t frankly pathological, just not perfectly normal.”
“Is that uncommon?”
“No, but it’s supposed to be followed up until the test is normal. I didn’t see any normal reports. Well, it’s probably nothing. Just thought I’d mention it. Bye!”
Philips waved but stayed at his desk, trying to recall Lisa Marino’s chart. It seemed to him that he remembered the Pap smear being mentioned there as well. Leaning out into the hall, Philips caught Helen’s attention: “Remind me to head down to Gynecology Clinic this afternoon.”
At 1:05 P.M., armed with his carousel labeled “CAT Scanner Introductory Lecture,” Philips entered the Walowski Memorial Conference room. It was a far cry from the rest of the Department of Radiology, which was utilitarian and crammed into inadequate space. The conference room was inordinately plush, looking more like a Hollywood screening room than a hospital auditorium. The chairs were upholstered with a soft corduroy and arranged in tiers, giving each an unobstructed view of the screen. When Philips entered, the room was already filled.