Although Donald’s complaints certainly reminded him of his other deceased patients, there was an aspect of Donald’s history that was different: Donald had never had chemotherapy.
Donald had been initially diagnosed as having pancreatic cancer, but surgery had proved this not to be the case. He’d undergone a massive operation called a Whipple procedure which included the removal of his pancreas, parts of his stomach and intestines, and a good deal of lymphatic tissue. When pathology examined the tumor it had been determined to be benign.
Since he had had such extensive surgery on his digestive system, but had not had chemotherapy to compromise his immune system, David was hopeful that Donald’s complaints were purely functional and not harbingers of whatever afflicted David’s other unlucky patients.
After finishing his rounds, David called admitting to find out Caroline’s room number. On his way he had to pass the ICU. Steeling himself against what he might learn, he went in to check on Jonathan Eakins.
“Jonathan Eakins died about three this morning,” the busy head nurse said. “It was a very quick downhill course. Nothing we did seemed to help. It was a shame. A young man like that. It proves you never know when you’re going to have to go.”
David swallowed hard. He nodded, turned, and left the unit. Even though he’d known in his heart that Jonathan would die, the reality of it was hard to take. David still had a hard time absorbing the staggering fact: he had now lost four patients in a little over a week.
On a brighter note, David discovered that Caroline had responded well to her treatment of IV antibiotics and intensive respiratory therapy. Her fever was gone, her color was pink, and her blue eyes sparkled. She smiled broadly the instant David appeared.
“Nikki wants to come to visit you,” David said.
“Cool,” Caroline said. “When?”
“Probably this afternoon,” David said.
“Could you please ask her to bring me my reading book and my spelling book,” Caroline said.
David promised he would.
The first thing David did when he got to his office was call home. Nikki answered. David told her that Caroline was much better and that Nikki could visit her that day. He also relayed Caroline’s request for her books. Then David asked Nikki to put her mother on the line.
“She’s in the shower,” Nikki said. “Should she call you back?”
“No, it’s not necessary,” David said. “But I want you to remind her of something. She brought a gun home yesterday. It’s a shotgun, and it is leaning against the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. She’s supposed to show it to you and warn you not to touch it. Will you remind her to do all that?”
“Yes, Dad,” Nikki said.
David could picture his daughter rolling her eyes.
“I’m serious,” he said. “Don’t forget.”
Hanging up the phone, David wondered about the gun. He didn’t like it. Yet he wasn’t about to force the issue at the moment. More than anything, he wanted Angela to give up her obsession with Hodges’ murder. A brick through the front window was all the warning David needed.
David decided to take this early-morning opportunity to get through some of the never-ending reams of paperwork he was forced to process in connection with his practice. As he laid the first form on his desk, the phone rang. The caller was a patient named Sandra Hascher. She was a young woman with a history of melanoma that had spread to regional lymph nodes.
“I didn’t expect to get you directly,” Sandra said.
“I’m the only one here just now,” David explained.
Sandra told him she’d been having trouble with an abscessed tooth. The tooth had been pulled, but the infection was worse. “I’m sorry to bother you with this,” she continued, “but my temperature is one hundred and three. I would have gone to the emergency room, but the last time I took my son there I had to pay for it myself. CMV refused.”
“I’ve heard the story before,” David said. “Why don’t you come right over. I’ll see you immediately.”
“Thanks, I’ll be right there,” Sandra said.
The abscess was impressive. The whole side of Sandra’s face was distorted by the swelling. In addition, the lymph nodes beneath her jaw were almost golf-ball size. David checked her temperature. It was indeed one hundred and three.